Aug 15

Aug 15 Heather Neill :: Signaling Home

We caught up with Artist Heather Neill just as she put the finishing touches on her new show for the Granary Gallery that will Premiere on August 16th. Sadly, due to the challenges caused by COVID-19, we will not be seeing Heather and her wife for their annual visit to the Vineyard. Lucky for us, she has poured her passion for the Island into love letters in the form of videos, and Painters Notes now live on her new channel. Read on for more!

Q: Admirers universally feel or remark on the intimacy of your relationship with light. Was this relationship in place in your early painting career, or did you grow toward the light?
A: I appreciate that sentiment deeply. The line from a Leonard Cohen song is taped to my easel, “There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” I had to live through years of darkness to learn to love those cracks. Today, I watch in wonder as the flats of seedlings that have taken over every corner of this late winter studio are bending towards their light. I’m leaning in with them.

Q: The intricacy of detail in your paintings requires extraordinary discipline and patience. Do these virtues come naturally to you, or are they the reward for long hours at the easel? What does it look like when you struggle? How do you resolve it?
A: Yes, you bet, it takes tremendous discipline just to show up at the easel every day. This comes naturally to me. The detail, yep, it takes patience, something for which I have all the time in the world. I LOVE rendering the fine lines and the subtle shifts along an edge. My work ethic is fierce and I’ve worked many jobs, for many years, to earn enough money to paint, never expecting I could make a living as an artist. I work very hard every day in keeping that dream a reality.

The gift of long hours at the easel is getting to build on the previous day’s work, but it can also be the struggle. I can throw myself full-tilt into a passage of color, only to face it in the harsher morning light, when I realize it’s a mess. Then I have to come at it another way, to experiment, to play, and to wrestle until it sings. From the inside this looks dark and stormy — a familiar meandering trail of slain dragons, broken lances, and tilted-at-windmills. These days I’m easier with myself when struggling through self-doubt, technical mastery, and the slog of the business end of art. When the going gets tough, I go to the garden and weed.

Q: You’ve recently launched a YouTube channel of videos that bring to life your whimsical Painter’s Notes from your blog. Can you say more?
A: Answering this question here in my studio today is a bit difficult...as my eyes are swimming with tears. These emotional waves are part exhaustion, part sadness, and part grief, and I suspect that all humans on the planet are experiencing similar deep gulps and the now all too familiar gut punches during this global crisis. I preface my response with that measure of honesty because it is the reason that I decided to dip into the medium of video for this year's Painter's Notes.

Early on, we decided that going to the Vineyard for my Granary Gallery Show would not be possible this year. As two vulnerable old ladies, we are listening to real scientists and doctors for our own safety. And our concern for our Vineyard family of friends and the much-valued island community was paramount in the decision not to burden the resources there.

That has left us wondering how we could find a way to "be there" without actually being there. I have come to enjoy learning from videos of gardening gurus, repair experts, to checking in on my creative friends scattered around the planet...it has changed our world to access this wealth of information at our fingertips.

So...I decided to try it out. Little did I know the learning curve ahead of me...and many thanks to the friends who stepped in when I needed extra help. The process was exciting on a professional level as it made me see the paintings, and how they are taken in by the viewers in a new way. I never want to compromise the personal connections people make with art. Until now, my written Painter's Notes hovered somewhere in the background of the Gallery for casual reading and enhancement.

My hope with these videos is that there will be some value-added content for both the Gallery and the patrons, who are like me, visual and audible learners.

What I didn't count on...was the profoundly emotional sadness...those waves again...that have washed over me as the reality of not being there for the show opening hits. But those waves are just that...and in the troughs, we are well and, as you can see in the videos, happy to be able to keep painting and be with each other. So we hope you enjoy the peeks into our studio world...and be safe out there.

“This portrait of our dear friend Arthur walking in his calm powerful grace has been a comfort leaning against the wall in the studio lo these many weeks since it came off the easel. It has been hard not to be able to gather for our evenings of conversation and frivolity in the midst of the pandemic…when we could all desperately use that fellowship.”

Q: Do you consider yourself a visual historian? Documentarian? Storyteller?
A: Yes, I aspire to all three as part of living a curious life. I think about being a good visual storyteller, spinning a yarn worthy of a glass of port by the fireside on a winter’s night. And I enjoy learning the history behind places and objects and people that the muses throw in my path. I suppose that if my paintings are touchstones to those things I’ve gleaned along the way, “that’d be sorta fun,” to quote Ted Meinelt (the beloved Island art teacher).

Q: Can you describe your physical process of painting?
A: First there is the panel making process — humble grunt work — which takes the better part of three weeks and is done in batches of 20 or more, leaving me with a stack of gessoed panels ready for primetime. During this same period, I'm fine tuning the composition on my sketch before transferring it to the panel. I do this by tracing with graphite paper, or sketching directly, up on the panel. Then, the painting begins. Key reference points get highlighted and I build the forms with foundation color, knowing most will not be seen in the final product. But the way the colors are laid, in layers, is essential to creating a realistic object. A kitchen apron is woven loosely enough for light to pass through, so I start with the weft. A teacup is solid porcelain that reflects light, with the beautiful exception of those deliciously thin rims glowing from within, so I build a layer of opaque clay. A wood paneled wall, or floor, even after centuries of foot traffic, needs to retain enough of its youthful warm colors to radiate, so I start with a wash of transparent earth orange. If I carefully build those colors into the structure from the start, then I can convince the viewer to come with me into this kitchen or barn, to pick up this apron, and to see what I was really trying to get them to see.

With twenty years of painting (as a professional) under my belt, I’ve settled into a comfort with the tools and techniques. This allows me to devote time to the challenges of interpretation, and deeper understandings of subject and narrative, which translates to longer sittings with each painting. Depending on the size and subject matter of a painting, I can count on spending 60 – 200 hours on a medium sized piece, and 400 or more on a larger piece. Ten years ago, that would have translated into a week or two of straight 10 plus hour days. Nowadays, eh, my mind wanders, and I need to stretch out the old bones, so I’m happy with eight or nine hours with a brush in my hand.

Q: Your work conveys a strong sense of place. Is your studio a sacred space, meaning that you’re selective as to whom you welcome?
A: Absolutely. This is especially true during the winter months when I enter a deep creative hibernation. I yank hard on the drawbridge and Pat, my partner and seasonal gatekeeper settles into her comfy chair with Finnegan, our ferocious Bernese Mountain dog. Together we aim to carve out a swath of days uninterrupted by nettlesome humans and their germs. I’ve adopted my friend Peter’s philosophy, “with fewer days left on this planet, I’m getting very picky about who I have fifteen minutes for.” Crusty old woman persona aside, my brushes will happily rest for a few spectacular humans, for whom my door is always open.

Q: What would a visitor first notice about the space?
A: One more teacup and I may trip over the hoarder line.

My first studio here along the Little Conewago Creek was a 12 x 18 foot garage room built twenty feet up in the air to avoid the flood plain. When I outgrew that, we bought the place next door and turned the bungalow into the current studio, which has all the luxuries of running water and electricity, and I opened up the attic to allow space for my easel to extend to its full 12-foot height. The old garage and original studio is now the “prop room.”

The open loft space is a wow factor for a first-time visitor, but it’s the “stuff” that's the true eye candy. Old cameras, maritime detritus, feathers, tools. People who have a passing acquaintance with my work have said walking into my studio is like walking into one of my paintings. This makes me smile.

All day long, wherever I am, there is a constant flood of visual stimulation. Okay, that’s true for everyone, but as an artist, the hardest part of my job is editing that stream.

Q: Which printed books are you currently reading, or do you like to have around?
A: In the early days of the Pandemic, when the first waves of panic and fear were swirling, I was searching for something to read that could take me somewhere safe...and who doesn’t love the safety of a good murder mystery. I long ago promised myself that someday I would read, in order, the entire collection of Cynthia Riggs’ Vineyard Mysteries, so I set about finding the few which I had purchased over the years and searching the internet to fill in the ranks. Now there is a tall stack of the complete collection on a table in my studio. Most of my reading these days is done while I paint as I listen to Audiobooks. But it is a special sort of comfort now to pick up one of her books and head out to the sky chair with a cup of tea and settle in for a good dose of old familiars as her characters roam the island I love so.

Heather has recently launched a YouTube channel of videos that bring to life her whimsical Painter’s Notes from her blog. Take a moment to listen and view. Wherever you are, it will make you nostalgic for the Vineyard, or that special place that your heart calls ‘home.’

“I created the videos so my friends can get up close and personal with my paintings. I’ve had some help along the way…thanks from my tech gurus David, Barbarella and Paul…and a whole lot of patience as I came home later and later each night (thank you Pat) but for the most part, climbing this learning curve has been fun.”