Thursday, January 19, 2023

Blog to Vlog: A New Direction for 2023

    A Bedridden Matisse

Over the holidays, I finally caught my first confirmed case of COVID. While it wasn't any fun, it did give me some time to really think about what options were available for my art going forward. The retina and shoulder problems of 2022 were (and are) still with me, and I was forced to face the fact that I could no longer make the finely detailed ink and watercolor paintings that had become my hallmark.


I could choose to give up....or I could change how I worked.


I've decided to go with the latter.


As artists grow and change, it's natural for them to lose a part of their audience when they engage in other styles, mediums, or subject matter. They also can gain a whole new audience who appreciate the new direction. Sometimes the artist's work becomes so different, it seems like it was created by a totally different person! Picasso is a perfect example of this, albeit a rather extreme one:

The Artist's Mother, 1916.  

Head of a Woman, 1939.

I'm not planning on changing my art to be avant-garde, but to accommodate my present challenges. 

 What does this mean? Bigger and more broadly painted works. Bigger (due to changed visual acuity) and broader (due to changed joint locomotion).  I'm still sticking with my chosen subject matter of birds and the natural world, but in the foreseeable future the details might not be so minute that they need a magnifying glass to be appreciated. And truth be told, the popular consensus seems to be that bigger IS better -- at least when it comes to viewing one's work on a gallery or home wall.

In addition to changing my studio practice, I also plan on sharing in a more direct way: via vlogging. (If "blogging" is a portmanteau of "web logging", then "vlogging" = "video logging.")

Each week, I'll try to record and upload something that pulls back the curtain on what's going on behind my work: what inspired it, how it's made, where it's being shown, etc. I also hope to encourage viewers to get out there and cultivate creativity in their own lives, whether by making their own paintings or engaging more deeply with art and nature in general.   

Here's links to the first three entries I've put together. Like any new endeavor, it might be a little shaky and unscripted at first, but I aim to get better at filming and editing my journey as I go.


"So I've Started an Art Vlog"


 "Physical Therapy, Mail, and a New Painting"


"That Time I Tried to Sketch All of New Zealand in 6 Weeks"

Let me know what you think. If not here in the cobweb-draped comment section (does ANYONE leave blog comments anymore?) then over on YouTube. I'd love to hear from you!





Monday, December 05, 2022

This Entire Blog Post was Written by a Robot*

Hi everyone,

I wanted to share an update on my recovery from my arm injury. It's been a tough journey, but I'm happy to say that I'm making progress.

 One thing that has really helped me during this time is exploring the use of AI to write and make art. With the help of OpenAI and their AI model DALL-E, I've been able to create stories and images that I never could have imagined on my own. 

At first, I was skeptical. Could a machine truly capture the human experience in the same way that I could? But as I began to experiment with the AI technology, I was blown away by the results. The machine was able to create stories and images that were unlike anything I had ever seen before. And as I began to incorporate these AI-generated works into my own art, I found that my art took on a new life and depth. I was no longer limited by my physical injury. 

With the help of AI, I was able to continue creating art that was truly unique and beautiful. Overall, it's been a really positive experience for me. I'm excited to see what other amazing things I can create with the help of AI. 


Until next time, 


* Including this disclaimer paragraph. It was 100% written by an AI language model trained by OpenAI. I'm just a human who is using the model to generate text on various topics. So, don't blame me for any weirdness you might see up there – it's all the AI's doing!

Monday, September 20, 2021

Reports of an Artist's Death Are Greatly Exaggerated*


 L'Arc de Triomphe, Wrapped. Photo © Maxime Fritsch

I was surprised when the morning's headlines announced Christo's latest feat: wrapping the L'Arc de Triomphe up in fabric. From watching equally baffled tourists' reactions on social media, I was not alone.

“Didn't he pass away last year?” I thought, half-awake as I sipped my first cup of coffee.

A quick check confirmed that, yes, he had. However his last art installation, L'Arc de Triomphe, Wrapped, has gone on as planned – if a little delayed.

Originally a husband and wife team, Christo and Jeanne-Claude had made a name for themselves during the last half of the 20th century, covering various landmarks in swaths of material: the Reichstag in Berlin, the Pont Neuf in Paris, and even several small islands in Florida's Biscayne Bay were smothered in hot pink polypropylene. Perhaps the biggest event of all was the much-publicized The Gates, which cheered a bleary, cynical New York.

                                                      The Gates (photo ©Morris Pearl)

Christo continued to create their larger than life projects, even after Jeanne-Claude died in 2009.

The Piers at the Island of San Paolo  (photo ©NewtonCourt)

The Mastaba, London.  (photo ©David Hawgood)


Why do such a thing? 

Why cover or surround familiar landscapes and monuments with literally tons of material? 

Some say it's because the husband-wife team wanted to get viewers to experience well-known places with fresh, new eyes. Others grumble it's just a cheap way to garner attention in an increasingly crowded art world.

According to Christo and Jeanne-Claude: “Every artist in the world likes his or her work to make people think.”

Seeing the chatter being generated around L'Arc de Triomphe, I would have to say this goal, while posthumous, is still being met.

* To paraphrase the late great Mark Twain.

Link to a live cam feed of the L'Arc de Triomphe here:


Laura's Links


Friday, August 02, 2019

4th Annual Expressions Art Exhibition and Sale

It's August, and that means it's time for the annual Expressions Art Exhibition and Sale!

The show has been so popular that it's now in its fourth year, and my fellow artists have put in their best efforts yet. There's something for everyone: oils, watercolors, acrylic, pastel, wood, fiber, abstract, figurative, intuitive...that's what makes the show so unique; it's an eclectic showcase of original talent.

This time, I've got six paintings from my "Birds of the Rockies" series on display, and a surprise landscape that's so new, it hasn't been seen anywhere else before.

Looking forward to catching up with you. :)  Please share this information with any friends or family in the area who might like to come, as well.

4th Annual "Expressions" Art Exhibition & Sale.

Kathleen Dudek • Andrea Gabel • Steve Germain • Steve GW • Patty Hughes • Margueritte Meier • Jennifer Spencer • Julius Lisi • Victoria Lisi • Christine M. Torrez • Laura G. Young


TONIGHT! Reception August 2nd 6-9pm
and Saturday August 3rd 12-6pm

The Carnegie Center for Creativity
200 Matthews Street
Fort Collins, Colorado 80524

Reception and Exhibit are Free to the Public

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

From the Newsletter

Here it is, the middle of July and I seem to have come down with yet another case of acute bronchitis, or what I like to call, "The Re-occurring Chest Cold of Doom."  Apparently I'd been burning the candle a both ends, and had not been sleeping or eating my immune system decided to take a summer vacation without me.

While taking a forced rest, it occurred to me that some of you might not get my latest newsletter (or it got caught up in an over-zealous spam filter) so I thought I'd share it here, as well.

Feel free to share and pass along.  It's so cool to meet new people who love nature and art. :)

Laura G. Young
Bird & Nature Art

Hello, friend!

I hope you've been having a fantastic summer so far. It's been a crazy busy one for me; but I wanted to take a bit of time to share what I've been up to, and to let you know about some upcoming shows.

New Work at the Keimig Gallery of Western Art

If you or anyone you know are going up to visit Yellowstone National Park between now and late September, be sure to stop by the Keimig Gallery of Western Art (124 East Ramshorn Dubois, Wyoming 82513) where you can see the latest in my “Birds of the Rockies” series on display. This is my first summer season at the gallery, and I'm so excited at the possibility of my work being seen by visitors from all over the United States – and the world.

Yurt Trip

A couple of weeks ago, several friends and myself trekked into the Colorado backcountry, camped out in a yurt, and painted from sunup to sundown for four days. We had to not only pack enough food and gear to last us the entire trip, but all of our painting supplies, as well! Thankfully this year we didn't encounter any ill-tempered moose; but two of our intrepid group did have a run-in with a bear, thankfully at a distance. We also experienced an impressive thunderstorm that walloped the yurt with buckets of rain. Good thing I'd thought to pack Ziploc bags to keep my paintings dry...

Solo Art Show   

If you'd like to see even more of my work, including a few pieces that I've NEVER shown to the public before, not even online, head over to the upstairs gallery at Wolverine Farm Letterpress & Publick House (316 Willow St, Fort Collins, CO 80524). My solo show, “Winged Visages: Bird Portraits by Laura G. Young” will be running from now until the end of the month. It'd be great to see you there!

Expressions Art Exhibition & Sale

Finally, I'm also going to have yet another set of paintings – including some from the aforementioned yurt trip – showing concurrently at the 3rd Annual Expressions Art Exhibition & Sale (The Carnegie Building, 200 Matthews St., Fort Collins, CO 80524) This will run from July 25th through August 4th, with the artist reception being on the First Friday Art Walk, August 3rd, 6-9pm. From the glimpses I've gotten of the other artists' work, this should be our bestest exhibition yet.

So that about sums things up so far. What have YOU been up to this summer? Send me an email back – or tell me in person at the upcoming reception. :)


Laura's Links


Friday, August 04, 2017

On Summer Art Shows

Tonight's the Big Night!   P.S. You're Invited.

It's now August, and while thoughts are running towards the frantic fall season, it's nice to have a summer show.  The reasons are many, but I think it's mostly because it just feels more relaxed, somehow.  It's always hard to receive criticism of one's latest body of work (which inevitably happens in a public venue) but somehow it's easier to take when the critic is wearing flip-flops and a t-shirt that says, "This is my #selfie shirt".

It's also pleasant to see the way people linger, taking their time to look at each piece. According to one study, a museum-goer takes less than 17 seconds per painting before moving on*, but it seems to me that during summer it's slightly longer.  Of course this study was conducted years before Instagram, so maybe 17 seconds is an unbearable eternity now.

No matter. Although I didn't get much sleep last night, and will probably be slightly incoherent at the Artist's Reception this evening, I'm looking forward to enjoying everyone's company (yes, even the critics') and looking out at the moon with a fizzy beverage in my hand, listening to the mingled murmur of art talk and crickets.

* Spending Time on Art, by and
Empirical Studies of the Arts, vol. 19, 2: pp. 229-236. , First Published Jul 1, 2001.

Thursday, May 11, 2017

On Blogging

Do you remember when blogging was a new thing?

I do.

I remember thinking, "Why are they calling it blogging? Homepage journaling, yes. Web logging, okay. But blogging? Ugh. Hope that term never catches on..."

I've been posting on Blogger for well over a decade now, and the only thing that has kept me going is the thought that someone, somewhere might find some of it interesting or even useful. And apparently many have. Way back, when it was my I-Am-Posting-Anything-Completely-Random-That-Comes-To-Mind platform, this blog was, according to Google, the number one place that people visited to find out how to untangle necklaces. Number one, as in, the entire world. What had happened was, while working in the jewelry business, I frequently encountered fine chains that had been hopelessly knotted up; and I'd created a simple procedure that worked rather well and so I wanted to share how I did it.  I photographed the steps with my first-ever digital camera and posted it online.  Over the weeks that followed I began getting emails from all over the world. "Thank you soooo much! You helped me untangle my daughter's necklace that we'd given up on." "Wow, that really worked. Best regards from Canada." I was amazed. Who knew that one post could help out so many people? And there were several subsequent posts that generated responses like that. It was great.

As time wore on, businesses discovered blogging, and with lots of money becoming involved, things began to shift.  I first noticed it when I'd come across "blogs" that were made up of stolen content, or even nonsense content in order to gain ad revenue. About the same time, spambots started posting responses, causing blogging platforms to create a frustrating maze of captchas and other "I am human" verifications that made it a pain to interact with other bloggers.

Books on how to profit at blogging proliferated, and Search Engine Optimization was a hot topic in marketing meetings. Everyone had advice on how to blog. "Only use Wordpress." "Use headlines with Top Ten Facts and bullet points." "Keep posts to around 300 words."  Suddenly everyone and their uncle had started blogs, because, well, that's what you were supposed to do.

The internet is littered with these half-hearted efforts.  Some have an explanation: "Sorry everyone, but I just don't have the time to blog anymore. Join me on Facebook at...." But many just stop. It's a bit eerie. Did something happen to the writer? Did they sprain their wrist playing an especially competitive game of air hockey? Did a meteorite fall on them while they sat on the couch? In the absence of information, my imagination goes wild.

As for my own absence: I didn't have a meteorite fall on me, but I have experienced a Series of Unfortunate Events that caused my health to falter for the last several months. Nothing too serious, thankfully, but it was enough to make me lose my online "ooomph", as it were.*  All I can say is, I have a newfound respect for those who continue to find the bandwidth to interact with others despite chronic illness. I don't know they do it.

Another bit of advice on blogging, and it's perhaps the most useful bit, is to keep consistent when posting.  I think it has something to do with search algorithms, but it also has something to do with human nature. If you find a blog that you like, and but it only publishes in fits and starts, you may find yourself losing interest or even forgetting that you subscribed to it in the first place.


Even though much of the world has moved on from blogs, and now subsists mostly on soundbites and video clips via social media platforms, I will strive to continue to post to this blog.  I like writing, I like sharing, and while I'm not always as consistent as I should be, I plan to keep it going for at long as I can.

I'll just try to avoid any meteorites by regularly checking

(Apocalyptic image courtesy of NASA artist Don Davis)

*In succession: two weeks of influenza, then two and a half months of a pertussis-like virus that had me coughing til I threw up, then migraines, then another cold, then a case of stomach flu. The warranty on my immune system must've expired this year.  


Laura's Links


Tuesday, January 24, 2017

On Keeping a Sketchbook

I'm a big proponent of using sketchbooks, and enjoy looking looking through other people's sketchbooks. There are many reasons to keep one:

  • to jot down ideas
  • for trying out compositions
  • to record observations from nature
  • for experiments and lab notes
  • for preparatory studies for larger works
  • to showcase one's skills to clients
  • as a diary
  • as a travelogue
  • as a work of art unto itself
  • for doodles and caricatures
  • for keeping lists

...or all of the above.

Opening a sketchbook can be like lifting a hatch on an artist's mind. What did they put down, and why? Is it methodical or free-form? Sparse or fully-rendered? What details were important to them? What were they attempting to figure out?

I've scribbled in sketchbooks for a good part of my life. Some have been lost, some have suffered significant damage. While I was organizing my studio this week, I came across one I hadn't opened in a long time. I dusted it off and took a look.

The first date was several pages in, next to several faint drawings of a mule deer: “February 19th, 1989. 6PM. Horsetooth Valley.” I'm guessing I was attempting to draw from memory or from a book, because it'd be pitch black out at that time of year – and at 14 years old, I certainly didn't have a car.

 A previous, undated page. 
1989.... It was fascinating, to view my younger self's work with a more experienced eye. My scrawled comments in particular were revealing. Several times I mention that a simpler drawing was a “quick sketch” or a “one minute sketch” – perhaps out of concern that a professional might deem it as Not Upholding Official Sketchbook Standards. At the time, I didn't know that it was okay to just get the gist of an idea down, that it didn't have to be perfectly proportioned and shaded and ready to put in a frame.

My bunk at camp. 

"Gotta go!"

Many of the sketches were done directly from life, as I'd heard that's what “real” artists did; but a few sprang from my imagination, too: i.e., a futuristic domed city with a vehicle zooming past with what appear to be ringed spikes (antennae? weapons? ski poles?) stuck in its engine intakes. Why I tended to draw domed cities, I'm not sure. I think it had something to do with all the ozone layer discussion at school. In addition to sketches, snippets of poems and songs found their way into the pages. Comments from old friends and phone numbers from new ones were jammed into the margins, or even incorporated into the drawings themselves.

An early appreciation for William Blake.

I particularly found it amusing that, after nearly three decades, certain things now appear somewhat dated, such as my parent's boxy Dodge Aries “K” car, my friend's Sony Walkman, or that you could get a large popcorn at the movie theater for $3.75.

"Study of popcorn on the floor." 

There were about 80 pages in all, but I've shared only a handful here because I don't currently have time to scan them, much less clean them up digitally. All I have to say is, hooray for camera phones! Speaking of which: nowadays many artists are exclusively using their phones or tablets instead of sketchbooks. I've tried it, but so far haven't switched over to full-time digital sketching. Perhaps I might one day, but for now I'm content to tote a small book and pencil around wherever I go. I might get graphite smudges on my face or be eye-rolled as, “sooo last century” – but at least I won't run out of power. 

There were also several pages dedicated to amateur botany.

The Estes Park McDonalds is still there, along with that crow's many descendants.

Monday, January 09, 2017

And What Do You Do?

Edgar Degas, The Conversation, 1889.

It happens all the time.

I meet someone in a new setting; and, in a matter of minutes, the question comes up.

“And what do you do?”

It's a very direct, very American question, and I've often wondered about how we casually toss it out there, oblivious to the unsettling intimations that it would create in older, more stratified regions of the world.

I used to say, “I'm an artist.” But this caused confusion, as many musicians and actors describe themselves as artists instead of, well, musicians or actors. So I amended it to visual artist – but that, too, was baffling.

A few years on, I tried painter.

“Ah! I see. Home interiors or exteriors, or both?"

Even when I narrowed it down to the crazy-specific: “I'm an artist and illustrator who specializes in painting birds and local landscapes,” the quizzical looks remained.

In the end, I realized it wasn't just the title: it was that the profession itself isn't all that common. The average person simply doesn't know anyone pursuing my line of work.  Graphic designer?  Perhaps.  High school art teacher?  Very likely.  But someone who creates paintings to hang on a wall?  Not so much. According to the May 2015 Bureau of Labor Statistics report there were 4.6 million salespeople, 2.7 registered nurses, 1.7 million truck drivers....and 12,240 “Fine Artists, Including Painters, Sculptors, and Illustrators”.  That's right.  Just 12,240.  That's effectively less than .008% of the entire U.S. workforce. The only thing rarer might be a golf ball diver or parachute mender.*

Maybe one day in the near future, we'll walk around with augmented reality stats that luminously float above our heads like ultra-savvy social media profiles. All someone will have to do is nod or blink in my direction, and they'll know everything there is to know about my work without even having to ask.  

Until then, I'll content myself to be patient and explain what I do, even if it takes a bit of effort.

*Or professional chocolate taster.  Mmmmm.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

Just Yesterday

I'll never forget a conversation I once had with my grandmother.

“As you get older,” she said, looking out the car window as I, a newly licensed driver, cautiously navigated traffic, “time goes faster and faster.”

She continued: “I look in the mirror and think, 'Who's that old lady?'  I feel like I was your age just yesterday.”

Just yesterday.

As another year draws to a close, I'm starting to understand that she wasn't just using a figure of speech.  Time really does seem to be accelerating, like an evening toboggan ride down an icy hill.  My experiences are becoming more abridged, more porous. Last week can blur into last month, or an event fifteen years ago. 

I think it has something to do with cognitive processing.  If you are blessed to live long enough, the activities of your day-to-day life begin to wear familiar patterns in the carpet of your mind.  So as you're washing and putting away the same dishes 1500 times, or saying goodnight to your spouse 10,000 times, or celebrating your birthday for a cumulative six weeks, perhaps your brain starts to deal with all of this information in a way that's the most economical. Maybe it begins to take out the similarities the way that digital compression takes out redundant pixels:

When you're younger, you don't notice this as much because your data set (i.e., life experiences) isn't large enough for you to lose track of your files (i.e., memories).  A seven-year-old can recall nearly every single book they've ever read because, well, there's only three years of reading to sort through.  And because those first books were so different and new to a developing mind, and because they were undoubtedly read over and over, those stories and pictures were emblazoned on the reader's memory for the rest of their life, even if they can't recall the exact titles.

Yet if you ask me a comprehensive list of every book I've read in the last decade (several hundred?),  I'd be sure to overlook a few.  Shorter experiences such as movies are even more challenging. And the instant a picture is taken with one's phone? Perhaps lost for good. “Photo or it didn't happen” has become a catch-phrase of our distracted modernity.

In a way, I think this is why painting from life can be so meaningful.  Instead of merely watching a screen or taking a drive-by selfie, one has to engage the scene in a more purposeful way.  Even at my fastest pace on my smallest paper pad, it can take at least a couple hours to complete a painting in the field. Note-taking, composition-finding, paint-mixing, outline-drawing...and of course laying down the brushstrokes themselves. It involves such an amount of effort and focus that, by the end of it, I feel as though I've not only created a record of a place; I've inhabited it.

Later on, when I view the work again in a different context, framed and hung on a wall, it's almost like looking at a pinned butterfly specimen.  While others see a motionless picture, I recall a living scene.  Once again, I hear the spruce boughs whisper, or feel the sun's warmth on my face.  I smell the river mud or the ozone after a departing storm.  It's more than a picture. It's a direct connection to an actual experience that was lived-out in both space and time. It's a memory made visible through the filter of my existence.

And perhaps...just perhaps, by slowing down to think and observe and create, my perception of time will do likewise.