Life in Balance

“Sorry, Mom” – by Diana Madaras

My life is busy. I run the galleries, develop new art products, meet customers, attend events, and paint. I yearn for quiet and tranquility and a chance to create without interruption; to shut out the noise of my busy world.

“Life in Balance” is just what the doctor ordered, and as I recover from a broken right hand (an artist’s worst nightmare), nothing could be better than a trip to Miraval. Today, for the first time since the accident 32 days ago, I was able to write. I will start painting again this weekend with my right hand.

After the accident, I longed to spend time in my new painting studio at home, so I’ve been painting with my left hand. I thought I would feel frustrated when I couldn’t make the strokes I wanted, but I found the experience to be peaceful and healing, and the paintings that resulted were emotional and satisfying. I was surprised I could do it!

I just finished the second left-handed painting titled, “Sorry, Mom.” Tango looks as if he’s been crying. He was the one who pulled me down in the street when I broke my hand in four places. I know that he is very sorry! I didn’t intend for Tango to seem so sad in the painting. Maybe I am crying through him as I cope with this injury.

When I was asked to join the “Artist in Residence” program at Miraval, I jumped at the opportunity. I will stay at the luxury retreat three times during the next six months and teach several workshops while I am there. It’s an opportunity to recharge and nourish, and then hopefully return more centered and balanced. Sounds like heaven!

My first trip to Miraval in 2000 was just as wonderful as my tenth trip this past May when my girlfriend and I spent the night there for her 60th birthday. On every trip, I’ve come away with new inspiration and insight, and I cannot wait to see what new revelations lie ahead. I am also excited to meet the workshop participants as we share this special journey together.

I will teach two workshops at Miraval and have included a description below. Miraval has been kind enough to give the Gallery an all inclusive one night stay for some lucky customer who enters the contest. Note: If you win, you can come to Miraval any time during the year—it doesn’t have to be during one of the workshop dates. Hope to see you soon and thanks to all of you for sending good wishes and cheer!

Miraval Workshops:

1. Masterpiece Made Easy
You will have the opportunity to create a masterpiece painting while experiencing the joy of immersion in the creative process. Begin with a Diana Madaras 12×16 canvas reproduction and paint on top of it or “enhance” the existing painting. Diana will lead you step by step to enhance the color and depth of the canvas, and you can then add your own creative twist. Sign it and take it home- your own masterpiece to treasure forever.

2. Creating a Mandala
Create your own “Mandala” or carved block through the use of symbols carved within a circle that are meaningful to you. Experience the joy of this ancient art using a soft linoleum block that makes carving easy. Diana Madaras will help guide you in choosing symbols and creating your own personal stamp. After the carving is complete, paint is applied to the block and then pressed onto paper to make a finished piece of art. A mat around the piece gives it a finished professional look to take home and display.

Madaras Workshop Dates: 2012/2013
November 16, 17, 18
January 9, 10, 11
March 6, 7, 8

“Partner in Crime” – by Diana Madaras

Right in my Own Backyard

“Sabino in Spring” by Diana Madaras

I travel for painting inspiration—to get away from the daily routine and see the world in a fresh and creative way. It gives me a chance to take a breath and search for exciting new subjects to paint.

Some of my adventures have taken me to exotic, faraway places such as Greece for a month-long painting workshop and Africa for a safari which culminated in a charity show for animals and AIDS orphans.  My most recent adventure, however, took me on a short drive to a special place only 10 minutes from my home. I was commissioned to create a painting for a Tucson Lifestyle Home and Garden contest. The contest winner, Debbie Ensign, had a choice of either a desert scene or a painting of her home. Debbie chose Sabino Canyon in spring.

The first chance I had to visit Sabino Canyon was Easter Sunday. It turns out Easter is the park’s busiest day of the entire year! So while it would not be the serene trip into nature I had envisioned, I could wait no longer.  The wild flowers bloomed early this year and soon spring would morph into a cloudless, unrelenting summer.

Amidst the crowd and chaos of visitors and picnickers, my husband, Miro, and I were fortunate to get seats on the first tram at 9 a.m. As we rode to the top of the canyon, the sun peeked over the tips of the scrubby ridges and cast long shadows on the river rock nestled in the gently flowing stream below.

We stepped off the tram at stop #7 and walked down the hill, stopping frequently to take hundreds of photos of the stunning scenery.

As we hiked down to the water, I marveled at the chalky, white boulders with their beautiful gray veins like stripes on a zebra. The massive rocks cast brilliant reflections in the quiet, brackish pools. I had forgotten how the cottonwood  leaves shimmer like green bangles on a dancer’s dress when the wind lifts their branches. I had forgotten the majesty of the craggy mountains cascading to the canyon floor in crisscross patterns. I’d forgotten this desert oasis is only 10 minutes from my home.

My trip that Sunday filled me up. I have now finished Sabino in Spring for Debbie and I plan to paint two or three more scenes from the canyon over the summer. With every brush stroke, I can relive that morning. I will remember this Easter as my favorite, spent right here in Tucson in Sabino Canyon. Right here in my own backyard.

Feeling Uncomfortable

"Brisbane Sheep" by Diana Madaras

I like to push the envelope. I like to try new techniques, tackle different subject matter and experiment with a new color. It keeps me fresh and interested and excited about painting. So once a year, I take a workshop with an artist I admire.

This year, I chose to study with an Australian painter named Colley Whisson. Colley came to teach at the Tucson Art Academy during his 6 week workshop tour across the U.S.

I have studied with 12 different artists over the past 20 years and each has his/her own way of teaching, but Colley’s was the most regimented. We worked from a photo of one of his paintings. We watched him demonstrate steps 1-5, then scurried to our easels and repeated steps 1-5. Not my favorite way to study, but I’d committed for four days and was determined to be open and learn as much as possible.

The classroom was arranged in a long, narrow storefront in Plaza Palomino with seven easels lined up in a straight row facing seven other easels. After one hour in the classroom, I began to feel ill from the oil paint fumes that engulfed the little room. I was painting with acrylics because the toxicity of oil paint bothers me, but all the other students were using oils. I moved my easel next to the front door which I then left open for the next four days of the workshop. Occasionally, I stepped outside to breathe fresh air, but still went home each night with a headache.

During the workshop, we alternately watched Colley paint, then diligently labored at our easels from 9am to 5pm. We worked on a new painting each day following Colley’s lead, attempting his technique and feeling very uncomfortable not painting in our usual styles. I reminded myself to stay open and just learn as much as possible. The first two nights I left the workshop feeling very frustrated. I was unhappy with my paintings and tossed and turned all night. I thought about the lessons of the day—get the values right; light vs. dark; warm vs. cold; the closer the subject, the warmer the color; the darkest dark against the lightest light in the focal area. I know all this, but Colley’s words were a great reminder. He pushed me to get more contrast in my focal area and to make some of my edges sharper, harder and more defined.

On the third day, I had a break through. I finally “got it” and was able to replicate the technique he’d been trying to teach. Hallelujah! I was finally satisfied with my day’s work. Day 4, I felt frustrated again. C’est la vie. I took away lots to ponder, and overall, the experience was a good one.

The day after the workshop, I went back to work on a painting that was almost finished. How can I make it better? Stronger? More dramatic? I used Colley’s principles of value and edge and after a couple of hours, Eureka! “Little Buddies” came to life.

"Little Buddies" before

"Little Buddies" after

And so, I welcome the discomfort that comes with studying each year. The feelings of frustration (and sometimes despair) have happened every time I’ve taken a workshop! It’s part of the growth process and enables me to move forward with my painting. I know to “push through” and trust there will be a pay off at the end. I know I will take away something that will help me become a better artist.

Why I Paint

"Poppy Love" will be donated to the American Cancer Society’s fund-raiser in April, 2012

Is painting in my genes? Maybe. When a German relative learned I was a painter, she sent me a book about Reinhard Sebastian Zimmerman; 1815-1893, a well-known German artist whose work still hangs in the prestigious Munich Gallery.  It turns out he’s my great great-grandfather. Wow!

I remember as a little girl feeling a stirring – something swirling in my gut that yearned for expression. Like most kids, my brother, sister and I staged theatre in the basement and I also played the violin.  Mostly I wrote short stories and poems. I won a national poetry contest when I was 9 years old and continued writing, always.

I took my first art class in high school and loved it. I threw myself into the drawing and painting exercises with verve and intensity. Painting was much more fun than writing! Writing lives in a different part of my body deep, deep within. When I write, I go “inside”. When I paint, I explode outwardly with joy and song.

I didn’t fully appreciate the joy of painting until a life-altering month-long trip to Greece in 1993 when I had the freedom to paint 24-7. There in the romantic, balmy Greek islands, I stepped through a portal into a world I hadn’t noticed before – color, shapes, shadow, value – a whole new way of seeing. Painting began to feed and satisfy that stirring in my gut and when everything came together and I produced the first painting I really liked, I felt euphoric. Every night, I would prop up the paintings all around my hotel room so when I opened my eyes in the morning, they surrounded me. Did I really create these? I felt intoxicated with my new-found connection to the universe.

"Greek Table"- painted in Mykonos in 1993

Three years after returning from Greece, I sold my marketing company to paint full time.

In 1999, we opened Madaras Gallery on Broadway, then a second location on Skyline in 2004. I feel so lucky and blessed to be able to do what I love as my profession. When we opened the Gallery, we included charity as part of our mission and today have raised more than $200,000 for our Art for Animals Foundation. We also donate art to more than 100 charities a year.  If I can do what I love and people and animals benefit, what better?

Twenty years later, I am still just as excited to paint as I was the first day I sat in the café in the Plaka in Athens and painted a sidewalk scene. I still approach the easel with the same verve and intensity, and I still feel euphoria when I am satisfied with my work. And so – I paint.

What It’s Really Like to Paint

I am “holed up” at the White Stallion Ranch.  Even though it’s located a mere half hour from Tucson, I’m far enough away to have the luxury to paint without interruption. No phones here, no TV–just 300 acres of breath-taking Sonoran desert, 124 horses and a bunch of little brown and white cows. “Holing up” has become a semi-annual ritual for me-an opportunity to get away from the demands of everyday life and devote day and night to painting. It’s a way to find a rhythm and flow.

"White Stallion Ranch" —12x16 watercolor

It’s not all a smooth journey, however—highs, lows, long stretches of solitude, self doubt, euphoria, reflection, frustration, triumph, immense satisfaction. When I make these sojourns, knowing I want to return with exciting and intriguing paintings for the Gallery, it puts a lot of pressure on the creative muscle.  I know I will experience the whole gambit of emotion during a painting retreat, so I know now not to panic when a painting doesn’t go so well.  I’ve also come to know this cycle is part of the growth process for most artists.  When I have a painting I’m not satisfied with, I feel like I’ve lost precious time and feel extreme frustration.  In the past, this little voice would plunge me into the depths of despair, but I have since learned that if I keep on painting, I will work through it. Having an unsuccessful painting motivates me to work harder. Getting a good painting motivates me to paint more.  No matter what, I just keep painting.

"Casita at White Stallion Ranch"--9x12 watercolor

The joy of a painting retreat is having the luxury to create 24-7.  When I’m in the zone, I may wake at 5 am, paint until breakfast, workout, then paint right through until midnight with brief stops for food and a short nap.  When I close my eyes at night, I swim in pools of ultramarine blue and permanent green #1, dance through fields of alizarin crimson and quinacridone gold, and have bizarre and fantastic dreams like last night when Jackson Browne came to my house for a visit.

I’ve “holed up” in some of the nicest places including Steamboat Springs, Colorado, Santa Fe and Taos, and many hideouts in Arizona from Patagonia to Sedona.  The location needs to be within driving distance so I can haul all my gear in the Suburban.  But of the all the places I’ve gone, the White Stallion Ranch is the most perfect. The staff makes you feel like family and the setting is an artist’s dream. They serve three glorious meals a day so there is no shopping, cooking, or housekeeping. At the end of the day, after living in my own head for so many hours, I can sit at the long banquet table and converse with the other guests.  I met one gal from LA yesterday who stays at White Stallion Ranch 12 days every single month!

Diana and Rubito

Once in a while, I’ve even taken time for a horseback ride.  On Saturday, we jumped on the horses early in the morning and rode out to a little picnic site in the desert where the ranch hands cooked us scrambled eggs and pancakes. What better?

I have only two more days here and much work to do.  I’d stay a month if I could.

A Tearful “Splash” at Christmas

On Saturday morning, I cried three times before noon.

One week earlier, I’d received an email from a financial planner named Doug telling me that one of my paintings had just sold in his firm’s art show. The woman who had purchased Splash – a painting of three horses crossing a stream – wanted it delivered to her home.  Doug suggested I deliver it myself as he thought I would enjoy meeting her.

My husband, Miro, loaded the large painting into the Suburban and we headed for the heart of the Tucson Mountains. A slim, pretty woman named Kirby greeted us at her front door with a little black pug scurrying at her feet.

“Why are her toes spread out like that?” I asked.

“She’s blind,” Kirby said. “Both of her eyes were removed because her glaucoma was so bad. Blind dogs spread their toes so they feel more surface area.” Kirby told us she rescued pugs with severe medical conditions and I knew right away I would like this big-hearted woman.

As we stepped into her formal living room, I noticed a helmet and boots on a glass top table, and army medals framed on the wall.  A portrait of a man rested on the floor, propped up against the white piano bench. Kirby’s eyes filled with tears.  “My husband was a helicopter pilot. Did Doug tell you he was killed in a crash in January?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, as tears suddenly streamed from my eyes, as well.  I could feel her extreme sadness as she spoke.  “Loren survived Vietnam,” she said, “and flew wildfire missions every summer.  Then he was killed by a microburst on a routine landing just a few miles from here.  I never worried about him when he flew. He was the best pilot.”  The tears came again.

After a few deep breaths, we turned our attention to the painting.  “It’s even more beautiful then I remember,” she smiled.  I told her that Splash had hung in my home for a very long time. “I get attached to some of my paintings,” I said.  “This was one I couldn’t part with right away.

Splash

We learned we both grew up riding horses and we both felt a special connection to them.  The painting somehow conveyed that reverence.

“I’m not sure where to hang it.”  Kirby pointed to a few possible spots in the living room. “But I spend most of my time in here,” she said as she threw open doors to the family room.

The perfect spot for the painting was over the fireplace, but was the painting too large?  We took down the wood-framed mirror that hung there and Splash fit perfectly.  The nail already embedded in the brick was just the right height.  The painting looked magnificent in its new home.  Kirby was very pleased.

“My husband would have wanted me to have this,” she said. “This painting called to me every time I saw it at Doug’s office.”

As Miro worked to rehang the displaced mirror in the living room, Kirby told me about the 13 boxes of papers she’d found after Loren died.

“I was just going to toss them,” she said, “but when I found some money in an envelope in the first box, I had to go through everything.”

Eventually, she found a paycheck from 2008 that Loren had never cashed. The company he’d worked for graciously agreed to reissue the check and the amount almost exactly covered the cost of the painting!  “If Loren knew I loved the painting, it would have been under the tree on Christmas morning.”

Both our eyes welled up again.

As we headed for the front door, Kirby looked down at Loren’s portrait propped up against the piano bench. “I don’t know where I’m going to hang this.  I carry it with me from room to room trying to find just the right spot.”

I picked up the painting and positioned it on a wall adjacent to the piano.  The moment I’d walked into the house and saw the portrait on the floor, I knew where it should hang.  “What about here?” I asked.

She nodded her head slowly, then with more conviction. “Yes. It does work there!  Let’s go ahead and hang it.”

“It now has a place of honor near his medals and citations,” I said, and Kirby agreed.

Miro and I walked towards the Suburban and were both very quiet.  We’d spent an hour with someone who touched us deeply. I will never look at Splash again without thinking of Kirby and Loren, and I am thankful to be part of her life in a small, happy way.  I am grateful for my hour with Kirby, and for Splash, the painting that brought us together.

Kirby and Loren