image: Detail from “The Bridge” by Michele Bledsoe
There was a period of time
where my paintings were on display every month..
but now I feel myself pulled in a different direction.
I still participate in exhibits occasionally
but my focus has been more on
what good can I do through sharing my talents
rather than how much money can I make
by selling them.
Though service I’ve found that
the opportunities are endless..
and the results make you rich beyond measure.
“Forever” by Michele Bledsoe
My art has never been so far from home before..
It’s a small painting,
but this little snail
has managed to travel a great distance.
My husband and I are honored to have our work on display in Moscow, Russia..
EXHIBITIONS – Russian Stuckism: Registered in Moscow and Moscow Region
We do not speak Russian,
but our paintings do..
Art is a universal language.
Scene from inside the gallery at the Russian Stuckism: Registered in Moscow and Moscow Region Exhibition.
Another scene from inside the gallery: “Forever” by Michele Bledsoe, and “Diver” by Richard Bledsoe
Hanging “The Edge of Reason” by Michele Bledsoe for SPINELESS: The Invertebrate Art Show
I have had a cold for the past couple of days.
The first time I’ve been sick in years.
There is a roll of toilet paper
next to my easel
so I can blow my nose
in between brush strokes.
The desire to paint is irresistible..
and art is good medicine.
“Exquisite Corpse” by Michele Bledsoe
.
Regardless of who or what ends up on my canvas
everything is a self-portrait.
Everything.
Sometimes, it is not so obvious..
other times, it is.
Art goes much deeper than the surface of our skin..
and sometimes the face you find there
is not a face at all.
Michele Bledsoe’s paintings at a recent exhibit.
–
Inside an art museum, when you look at the people around you, you can always tell who the artists are.
They are the ones trying to push their faces up against the artwork. Balancing gracefully over velvet ropes to lean in as close as possible to the art. They examine every inch of a painting.. every brushstroke. The tiniest detail cannot escape their inquisitive, hungry eyes..
At least until security tells them they need to take a few steps back.
Maybe it’s just me.
At the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., as I was leaning in to examine The Human Condition (La condition humaine) by surrealist painter, Rene Magritte… I noticed something astounding.
Near a corner of this amazing work of art, there was a brush hair stuck in the paint.
A brush hair stuck in the paint!
Sometimes, that happens to me, too.
Suddenly, I realized that even Rene Magritte was not above experiencing the same little moments of imperfection during the artistic process that I experience. He was not some unearthly creature performing feats of flawless skill and mastery over his materials…
He was simply another artist
passionate and imperfect
just like me.
Art has nothing to do with perfection..
Art is all about being human.
Richard Bledsoe talks about art, Remodernism.. and the beauty and weirdness of life.
“Dear Franklin…” by Michele Bledsoe
When I was invited to participate in the upcoming exhibit, BOOKED: Contemporary Literary Art, I got a really late start on my painting. The exhibit is a group show which embraces the art of the story teller, and pays tribute to beloved authors whose works have moved us, inspired us, and enriched our lives.
The problem was – I couldn’t make up my mind.
I love to read, and have so many favorite books. The deadline was approaching, but I just couldn’t decide which one to choose.
It occurred to me that I was thinking too much.
So I stopped using my head and painted with my heart.
“We Need to Talk About Kevin” by Lionel Shriver is a brutal book. Horrific, yet beautifully written. It took me by surprise.. and left me wandering around stunned for days after I finished it.
This is where my art wanted to take me..
and when I let go
it stopped being the painting I thought I should do
and became the painting I was meant to do.
Big difference.
“Under the Pillow” by Michele Bledsoe
Years ago, I had a studio space above the art gallery that was representing my work. It was a large, open space occupied by several other artists. I was fascinated by all the little environments these artists created for themselves – tables littered with weird objects, drapery, stacks of art books and reference materials. The walls surrounding each area were plastered with photographs, photocopies and rough sketches of works in progress.
When I was alone, I would secretly wander around from space to space, examining everyone’s work and the little worlds they had created for themselves.
One evening, one of the other artists approached me. Apparently, he too enjoyed looking at everyone’s stuff. He was curious why my work area was completely empty. Nothing but an easel and a chair facing a blank white wall.
Everything I need exists within the vast universe of my imagination. My work area is a place without limits or boundaries.
It only looks empty on the outside.
