Join us this coming weekend at the Lake Oswego Festival of the Arts ! First things first: here’s a late-breaking heads-up that I will be releasing new works to the public during the show, Friday through Sunday, June 26-28 in George Rogers Park. The above painting and several others will debut at the festival.
Hello, dear friends! Yes, I’m still out here, and I’m still making art. This has been quite a year and there is much to tell. I realize, of course, that I say that a lot. But only because it’s true.
I made a promise early on that this ArtJournal would be a shared adventure. Throughout the seasons of life, the push and pull of desires and interests slosh around like tides. It can be easy to forget why one started out on a certain road, just as it can be tempting to keep walking the same road simply because it stretches out ahead of you. The best way to navigate is to keep a finger or two on your own personal touchstones.
One of mine is connecting with people. Even so, I have to admit I’ve been feeling a nagging sense of ambivalence about reaching out. Maybe it’s because our time and attention have become such a commodity these days. Or maybe it’s that media platforms have become so strange and cluttered with AI content, making one wonder what’s real, what’s valuable, what’s true.
All of that and more, probably. This ArtJournal already feels like a relic from another time. Who has time to read? Let alone write anything with your own brain. I have to wonder, will this become a lost art, like love letters in the mail? Will there be nothing left but fleeting video clips?
There are a few headwinds, for sure. But like everything else in this endeavor, it’s an experiment. Maybe a few people out there still value shared experience, or maybe some honest talk about the creative process. I’m betting on it, for now. If that’s you, read on.
For some time now I’ve felt my paintings are a personal expression of lived experience in real places. As in, a way to express what it’s like to be immersed in the elemental qualities of the natural world.
Mainly my approach has been all about looking harder, deeper, and longer to understand what I’m seeing out there in the landscape. The old artist trope is that one must see something first before one can even try to express it. For example, layers of shadow, reflection and refraction in a body of water. Or discerning the colors and subtle shades of clouds. And thousands of other things. Just when you think you know what you’re seeing, you see more.
That cycle of seeing and experimenting has driven me for years. At some point you might say it evolved into a sort of devotional practice. The more I see, and the better I get at incorporating it into the work, the more complete and compelling the visual experience. The more “truth” it holds.
In any case, I suppose that’s a technical way of saying I’ve been on a mission to understand my subjects as deeply as possible, visually. The landscape is enormously complex and diverse, and I end up taking on harder subjects for the rich learning opportunities they offer. Each painting is a teacher, as they say.
For example, the title painting “Cape Cove” is the culmination of countless days and hours spent at this amazing place over decades, wondering how I might encompass a landscape this big, complex and active. I knew it had to be big (48 x 96 inches) to carry the message. For several months this past fall and winter I worked on different compositions, piecing together references and adding quite a bit of my own experience to build a portrait that feels right to me.
This painting was a great teacher. Among many other things, I learned that paintings like this take serious time and focus. There’s also more at stake, putting a lot of eggs in one basket. But the learning that can take place at a larger scale has a different quality to it. For example, the range of what can be seen and expressed increases with the size of the work. Making bigger paintings is another way of pushing your learning. Just as, years ago, I experimented with fast iterations of small paintings (the “Little Big Mountain” series). Or working en plein air (outside, all in one go).
Within each new challenge lie the seeds of new skills. Like a tool kit. It’s as though I’ve been making the tools I need to build the next thing. If that makes sense.
Aside from the studio work, I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking this past year. What I’m starting to understand is that my relationship with the landscape - and making art in general - is a lot more complex than an expression of the landscape itself, worthy and unattainable as that may be. In other words, there are more layers to unfold, and much remains to be explored. Those “unexplored layers” have been very patient but are slowly demanding attention.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t be surprised if you see some different work showing up. This journey is a long one. It will last the rest of my life. And the truth is I don’t know where it’s going to take me.
I don’t think this is really “where I’m going,” but you might be interested to see some different artwork. Some of you may know this, but like many artist I make personal art outside the public-facing work of my website. These artworks usually have permission to do anything, change in any way, which helps me break my own conventions and remain open to change. New patterns and techniques emerge. Sometimes this crystalizes and takes on consistent qualities.
For example, this series of imaginative landscapes was inspired by my travels in Japan. These paper prints borrow the vertical format and restrained color palette of ancient silk paintings, but are otherwise free-wheeling, free-hand drawings using an iPad and stylus. Every shape has permission to change. These took 18 months to complete in the sense that I would work on them, change them, set them aside many times before they finally felt whole, balanced, and interesting.
Japanese Landscapes No. 1-3 by Robin Hostick
In an ArtJournal post last year I talked about our travels in Japan, saying I wasn’t sure how I was going to respond to the landscape artistically. It’s so embedded in culture, it’s hard to separate. Hence, I ended up “feeling” my way into that with these images, wondering what would emerge. If you look closely, you’ll find hints of ancient spirits and modern culture.
I have a feeling the answer to what comes next will take on a similar approach. Something tells me I need to stay open to what emerges rather than having a set idea of what my art is supposed to be or do.
If you’ve read this far, thank you for being part of my journey. Connecting with you is important to me and a big part of why I do this work. If you have any thoughts or impressions on any of this, I’d love to hear it.
In the meantime, get out there and enjoy this beautiful summer!
