My adult students and I painted “en plein-air” (outdoors) morning, noon and night – all through the spring and summer of 2014. We look forward to what the autumn season will provide for us in the manner of color and scope.

In a article written by Kelly Compton “Highlighting Women Artists” in Fine Art Connoisseur October 2014 issue, we read “Until the 1960’s, society expected most women who were trained professionally in the visual arts to teach, rather than to exhibit actively. Those who did successfully pursue a public career often started out with an independent income or privileged access to the system.”

According to a recent poll, 51% of American visual artists are women, yet only 5% of the artworks on view in this country’s museums are made by women.

Those of us who are “called” to paint, do it no matter what the circumstances are. The joy that results during the process cannot be described with words. Some of us use every bit of time and effort to develop the talent that we have been given by God. If it came down to a choice between “eating out” or buying art supplies and art lessons – the latter would always win.

Ruth Bach-Dhondy, who just celebrated her 70th birthday, does not need to make such choices. Her supportive husband Noshir understands the importance of his wife’s desire to create. He makes sure that she has everything that she needs and more. She has and does it all and I am very happy for this woman whom I have adopted as my “sister.”

We both grew up on farms; yet, Ruth continues to live on the farm on which she was raised. In front of the Bach-Dhondy home lies flat land where the horses can graze. Hay fields border the pastures. Rising abruptly behind the homestead is a giant range of mountains – part of the Catskills.  This type of farmland was not possible where I was raised in northern Maine. In Aroostook County, the land was flat with a few rolling hills. The contrast in land was what I first fell in love with after moving to Ulster County, New York in 1973.

Ruth doesn’t take the beauty of the land surrounding her for granted. She is often portraying it on canvas for the pleasure of everyone. Ruth has won many awards over the years.  Most recently, she won “Best of Show” at our KBS 24th Annual Art Show in May 2014 ( Art Judge: Carol Davis.)  She won “Grand Prize”  (Art Judge: Douglas James McGuire) at the Columbia-Greene Community College KBS art show in September 2013 with a scene that she painted of her property in winter. She said she did not have to look at it (paint it – en plein-air) …her memory has that scene recorded photographically in her mind.

Ruth is pictured here painting a scene in Teresa Herzog’s backyard one evening this summer…

It is like a melody which gets played over and over again – its tantalizing effect captures our hearts and minds. I remember Ruth’s award-winning paintings in my mind as I listen to the music of the nearby mountains.

At the beginning of summer 2014, Sydney,  Etolie Steinlage and I set up our easels on the property of Gyongyi and the late John Henson on the bank of the Hudson River. We had a gorgeous day for a class “en plein-air.”

Sydney won Best of Show in the “Oval Painting” division of the Kristy Bishop Studio Art Show at Columbia-Greene Community College in September 2013 (Scenes of the Hudson Valley Art – Art Judge: Douglas James McGuire) and Runner-Up to Best of Show in the children’s division at the 48th Annual Mum Festival Art Show in Saugerties, NY October 2013. (Art Judges: Jacquie Roland & Konnie Fatum)

In the reading the book “Horse Sense for People” by Monty Roberts, I found a similarity between gentling a horse and gentling an art student. The key for the art teacher is to be meek and humble in the approach and the student will want to learn more about creating artwork. In this fast-paced world that we live in – being gentle and meek are traits that are not associated with success. I contend that Jesus who was not marked by weakness had the right idea that the meek will inherit the earth. The Spirit of God can work on our inner character by gentling us and we, in turn, gentle those in our midst.

Sydney and Etolie are intelligent and sensitive young artists and they hold me accountable for my artistic decisions. I learn from them as they learn from me. Blessed is the person who when rebuked (with constructive criticism) can accept it humbly and with courtesy, always showing gentleness. Yet, I am still the leader who is setting values and gathering everyone to work together as a team. People watch what we do to see if we “walk the talk.” Our word is our bond and respect is earned when we can do this. Gentleness is strength under control.

Paul Strand wrote: “Where there is love and wisdom, there is neither fear nor ignorance. Where there is gentleness and humility, there is neither anger nor frustration. Where there is poverty with joy, there is neither greed nor covetousness.”

All of my young students (and older ones) are working on artwork for upcoming art shows. I will publish dates and times in the events section of this website. See you soon!

My dad was a busy man. George Bishop was known as one of the best farmers in Aroostook County, Maine. It seemed like he was always working and he worked at what he loved.

When he decided that it was time for me to ride my big new bicycle without training wheels – he removed them, put the bike on a slight hill and said, “Get on.” I was tall at age six, but not confident that I would do well. Of course, I ended up in the ditch. Dad had gone back to work in the barn. Had he seen my failure like the time I was studying the sky at the end of the wharf at our camp and in a few seconds I was gulping water?  My second try on the bike was a winner.

At age 12, Dad decided it was time for me to learn how to drive a vehicle. By this time, I was 5′ 7″ tall and lanky. The clutch and the gas peddle on the new Jeep Wagoneer would be manipulated by my size 10 feet. I took my Dad for a few bumpy starts until I got the hang of the standard transmission. (Dad did not get angry or criticize my performance.) Away we went…behind the barn, I followed the dirt road to the back pasture. I had successfully maneuvered the three gears and after I stopped, Dad showed me how to put it in reverse.  Then, to my horror, he got out of the jeep and directed me to take it by myself around the field. I tried to argue that I was not ready for that. But I remembered the bicycle lesson and gave it a try. I drove back to pick him up and managed not to run over him.

My mom had given me a set of several art books about master painters for Christmas. In the one about Van Gogh, I learned that he painted “en plein-air”  meaning outdoors. So, I set up my new tall easel (as I wrote in an earlier blog) and produced my first plein-air pastel of our home (pictured here.) Next, I put the easel, a 16″ x 20″ canvas, my oil paints and brushes in a large wooden box in the jeep and headed for the back pasture.  By now, I was a good driver and since Dad drove a pick-up, I was free to use the Jeep anytime.  No one was  seen painting outdoors in northern Maine, not to mention, a twelve year old driving on 450 acres of farm land. I parked the jeep so that I could set up my easel at the rear of the vehicle and use the open tail gate as a seat. With the three horses, Dusty, Taffy and King in the pasture nearby – flying insects became an issue.  It annoyed me that  I had to keep removing them from the wet oil paint on my canvas.  Never-the-less, the painting on the right (pictured here) is the result of that painting excursion.

My mom started her own business of raising dogs in 1958. Her ingenuity and fearlessness was a great example for me. My Dad always gave me a push when the time was right. His love of the land inspired me to see the beauty in it which I tried to transcribe into my artwork.

There are some artists who paint while bandaged ( ie. Vincent van Gogh.) Teresa Herzog’s bandaged right hand is not the result of a self-inflicted wound – her doctor advised her to have an operation so that she could continue to produce beautiful paintings. She wastes no time getting back to the development of her talent.

Teresa is experimenting with a monochromatic version ( all shades and tints between black and white) of a stream in Palenville during one of my outdoor classes. We received permission from the Higgins family to set up our easels on their property and attempt to capture the essence of a late summer vision.

I am reminded of Vincent van Gogh  whenever we go outside the studio to paint. Vincent plied his craft even in windstorms; although, we are more mindful of the weather. The idea of tying my easel with canvas to a tree is not appealing to me. The point of the matter is that we must get out there (as long as it is not raining) as much as possible.

Lynn Woods wrote in a recent Saugerties Times issue about hearing one complaint concerning the Saugerties Art Tour…most of the artists were over sixty years old. Some would welcome  younger, more edgy artists to show their work. I would say that we older artists are still here because of our determination to stay with it- even when it is most difficult. Most of the artists have spouses or partners that help support their efforts, too.

I think of Vincent and how he longed to have an art colony at the “Yellow House” in Arles, France and how loneliness played a part in his emotional distress. To study, we have thousands of letters that were exchanged between him and his brother, Theo, who supported him financially. Theo believed in Vincent’s talent and suggested that Vincent become an artist when he lost his first job working for art dealers at age 16. As part of moral support, Theo made a business arrangement with Vincent. As payment for the loans, Theo would receive the best paintings that Vincent produced. As a result, his small apartment in Paris was filled with Vincent’s 200 paintings. During his lifetime, only one painting “Red Vineyard” was sold for 400 franks to a woman artist in France.

The letters written by Vincent show great intelligence and spirituality. It is said in an art film about the painter that he started to lose his faith when he returned to live with his father, a minister, and his family after holding jobs as an art dealer, school teacher, bookshop assistant, theology student and lay preacher to the poor. How does one measure another person’s spirituality? I suspect that only God can do that!

There have certainly been times in my life – looking in from the outside- that someone might think that I lost my faith – but I didn’t. Just my actions were out of line with my beliefs. My spirit was and is firmly held by my Loving Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Vincent’s sermons were criticized because he wrote them and read them from the pulpit. Some people require time to practice public speaking and Vincent’s authorities in the church decided not to give him that time when they found that he took his charity work to the greatest extent – he gave away most of his possessions to people who needed them.

His artwork became his spiritual language and his letters. To his brother he wrote: “What I want and aim at is confoundedly difficult, and yet, I do not think I aim too high. I want to do drawings which touch some people.” (1882)

Isn’t that what we all want to do? We want to connect with others with our work and teaching. We are all teachers and learners at the same time.

Thank you, Teresa, for what I have learned from you, your life and your work!

This was my first year on the Saugerties Artist’s Studio Tour and it was a great experience. My new landlords, John and Angela Morano own what I call the “Little Yellow Van Gogh House” at 147 Market Street, Saugerties, NY. Of course, I am not in the same league as Vincent, but I am reminded of his “studio of the South” which was based in his rented Yellow House in Arles, France around 1888. He had the dream of artists coming together and supporting one another’s work in that house. John and Angela support my efforts of teaching young and older artists in my studio and being on the tour. I enjoy the space where I live and work and it is easy to keep it clean – no paint anywhere but on the canvases.

Support is a good word to use concerning the art tour. Most of the thirty-four artists met every month at the Senior Center to encourage each other in the venture of the annual event. Opening a studio to the public is an awesome task. Most studios are set up for work, not exhibition. Finding wall space is a challenge for a multitude of paintings so my show spilled out into the back yard. (I have not had a yard since living in my childhood home in northern Maine.)

I knew about 15- 20 people who came here over the two days. More than sixty people were new to me and everyone was complimentary. Even a couple of women who were steadfast abstract enthusiasts took time to view my representational work and made me feel encouraged to continue my pursuit. (My available abstract “Theory of Everything” is currently on exhibition at the Arts Society of Kingston until Aug. 26, 2014.)

One man was moved to tears when he viewed my “Aerial View of the Hudson Valley” award-winning pastel of Palenville from a plane. His family has lived in the Hudson Valley for 400 years or more. This is a dream of an artist – to have someone so moved emotionally by a work of art  that they can express it to us in some manner. Certainly, we artists employ every bit of our own emotion as we work on it.

I received an email from the woman who bought my pencil drawing “Fab Four” four sets of eyes of the Beatles. She expressed how much she is enjoying the work of art. This means a great deal to me! (And of course, “Big Pink” is in an honored place in the Boolukos home, I am told!)

Most of us artists spend a tremendous time alone in the studio – working- and we may spend a couple of hours at an art show where our work or a friend’s work is being displayed. The idea of spending eight consecutive hours speaking about our work (10 am – 6 pm for two consecutive days on the art tour) was a bit daunting at first. When I am not painting and /or teaching, I am writing about it – another job that requires alone time and a quiet atmosphere. Since I am shy by nature, I joined the Toastmasters Club in 2008 to help me verbally  express how I feel about art and to feel more comfortable meeting new people.

Teaching art is whole different matter. My focus is to share with another person the tremendous joy that there is in creating something beautiful. My classes are small (between 3 and 5 people at one time.) I used to teach 25 – 30 people at one time at the Community College and I felt as though I couldn’t connect with each individual as I can now.

I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to visit my studio and to those who bought art work. It makes me happy to know that the work has gone to good homes!

George Boolukos is the type of person that wins your heart the minute you meet him. The same description fits his wife Maria and their three children. In them, you find a variety of Saints.

A few weeks ago, I came out of a dollar store in Kingston and found a Hot Pink Cadillac, my favorite year 1959, parked with a man at the wheel and three children in the back seat. I asked him if I could take a photo of his car. He jumped out, told me to get in the driver’s seat and he would take a photo of me. George is a man with a big heart!

From those photos, I devised four paintings that are “out of the box” for me…literally since two are painted on Masonite open-backed boxes 11″ x 11″ front & 2″ wide from the wall.

I emailed photos of the paintings to George and invited him and his family to attend two art exhibitions where his “Big Pink” was featured in paintings. He arrived with her in all of her glory.

At the first show, a woman crashed her bicycle against the curb as she was studying “Big Pink” instead of the road before her. George picked her up from the grass and she was fine…perhaps she had one too many drinks at the art show. Also, Big Pink refused to start when it was time to leave and she was guzzling fuel as if there was no end to the source.

When Big Pink was ready to go, George gave me a ride in her. She roared down Main Street in Saugerties with the flair of a pink elephant. Heads turned, hands waved…I felt like a celebrity as I reached for my dark glasses…knowing all the while that Big Pink was the star of the show. I was just an artist trying to copy her and George was steering her in the right direction.

About George…his personality is generous, trusting and loving. When you meet a “saint” you know that you are safe in his or her presence. George has an artistic spirit, too. He thinks faster than I do and I love the photo compositions that he arranges. I look forward to a long and rewarding friendship with the Boolukos family. At my studio sale, they became owners of two paintings of the car (pictured here.) God does the unexpected…Big Pink started a conversation and look where that talk took us!

My maternal grandmother, “Grammy” was instrumental in guiding me in the direction of being an artist. She pointed out to my mother that I traced the designs on her flower print dress with my right index finger when I was a baby. Being the first girl to arrive in the George and Kathleen Bishop family in 1951 must have been an excitement for the flower-loving women. Already, Jerry, (9) and Hollis (7) were camping with their Dad and complying with  the male-orientated country living agenda in Northern Maine. A baby named “Kristy” had spotted design and was fascinated by it!

Grammy and Mom appreciated art. “Be sure to get art lessons for Kristy as soon as she starts school,” Grammy reminded Mom. Could Grammy have had an inkling that she would not be around to make sure that it happened? Regardless, Mom kept her promise and delivered me to Bessie Higgins, a professional oil painter in Presque Isle, Maine when I was eight years old. It was after Grammy passed away from a fierce battle with cancer. Higgin’s studio was the porch of her home, located 10 miles from our home in Fort Fairfield. She was an accomplished artist who had made her name by getting her artwork juried into shows in Boston, Ma. on a regular basis. After enjoying the smell of oil paint and turpentine that emanated from her studio, I was shown the work that would be shipped out for the next show. This is where I should be, I thought. No more tap dancing lessons in P.I. with Celeste or even ballet that I admired from a distance. My younger sister Vicki and I would sample it all and decide which direction we would take. Or…would we move along with  the whims of our fanciful mother? (Side Note:  When she took us to the photographic studio for pictures of us – the photographer would ask if he could photograph her! I don’t doubt that this happened – she was beautiful, had style and the money to promote it.)

My mom kept books. Not the financial kind in the early days – scrapbooks. Everything noteworthy had to be kept for prosperity…so all my drawings and paintings were glued or stuffed into 14″ x 18″ scrapbooks. My art teacher was pleased with a portrait of a horse in colored pencil and the portrait of Elizabeth Taylor (subjects I had chosen) but I wanted to paint in oils…that delicious smell that consumed her studio and the brushes I studied in awe. They stood at attention in containers beckoning me to use them.

I was told that I had to draw first, use charcoal, colored pencil, and watercolor before I could advance to the “promised land of oils.” All of this I did until one day I was given a photo of a woman’s face in a magazine. “Draw this, ” she said. I produced the  best drawing that I had ever drawn – it looked exactly like the woman! “Today, you will learn how to use watercolor, ” announced Mrs. Higgins.

She mixed the watercolors for me and told me what to do. As I applied it to the paper within the lines of the feminine face. The color and the value were much darker than the woman’s complexion and I was startled to say the least.  I was down right horrified! My drawing was ruined…I told my mother that I didn’t want to go back to Mrs. Higgins for anymore classes!

As an art teacher today, I wonder if Mom’s decision was correct in listening to my complaint about one art lesson that failed. (I still have the disastrous painting that was not completed.) In High School, my mom would let me skip school to stay home and paint whenever I wished  – which was often during my senior year. “I feel  sorry that you don’t like to go to school – It’s such hard work!” she sympathized. (In the past, she had told me how she struggled with the college course in high school.) Over and over, she would write notes to the principal saying that I was sick… until the guidance counselor decided that just maybe I wasn’t sick so much and told me that I wouldn’t graduate if I missed anymore school. His ploy worked. It was true that I had worked very hard to maintain a high average all through high school in hopes that I would be nominated for the National Honor Society but that was dashed when I was caught letting my friend copy my homework for Geometry class…we both were disqualified as a result. I had invented a new theory/answer and I was not going to let my friend take the credit for it when she was called upon to write it out for the class at the front of the room…she didn’t understand it, anyway – so I explained it to the teacher. Mr. McLaughlin was stunned and full of praise for me…but…still, he was correct in sharing our poor moral judgment with the other teachers.  My friend and I both regretted what we did. We paid the price for the mistake by not getting nominated.

All of the high school students took an aptitude test to find out what career was best for each one. Mr. Willette, the guidance counselor, showed me the chart afterward. The graph line for art started from the left side of the page and was drawn all the way to the right in red ink while all of the other lines for other occupations were short.  Language skills were better than most but it confirmed the fact that I had believed ever since I was six years old. I was an artist. And it was this propensity for art that proved useful in geometry and algebra classes as well. Although I loved English, I could not read one complete book all through school (a story for another day) …I drew and painted every chance I could get.