'Tree Women' Painting Process

'Tree Women' Pastel on sanded paper. 2024. 15x19in. Carly Wanner-Hyde

Tonight, I really had to amp myself up to go down to the basement studio and make something. I did that thing where you very lovingly trick yourself to take the smallest, tiniest step towards what you want to do, as my brain had been revolting against my mind all day today in the painting realm. In this case, it was literally bringing one (1) piece of paper that had been sitting on my desk down into my studio. I knew I needed to do something with my hands, but the roadblock of beginning needed to be cleared first. And, as is usually the case, once I started, I could not stop. So, without further ado, the 'Tree Women' painting process.

I was blessed with the flow tonight, surrendering to it and playing without any real intention of the outcome being "correct" and, wow, I really needed that (side note, please take this as a sign/invitation to find some way to play in your own life, without competition, without judgment, just fun, silly, creative, heart-centering play).

So anyways, I finally got down into my studio, opened up my paint box ready to make, and found a huge, sweeping spread of mold had taken over the palette and sponge. Everything was beyond saving. This happens sometimes, as there was a wet sponge in an enclosed space at room temperature, so I peeled it away, balled it up, threw it in the trash, and made a mental note to go to the art store tomorrow to pick up a new one.

But thanks to my little mind trick on myself, I was already deep in the making mood and wasn't going to shake it if I didn't create something with my hands (cue 'eye twitch').

I've had some ideas swirling around in my head lately, and these thoughts have been especially busy when my hands are doing something else that doesn't require all of my brain power. Recently, that "something else" has been painting a mural over in Middletown, CT at this really cool bar called Conspiracy which you should totally check out if you're in the area. While the designing part of the mural takes a lot of mental stamina, the actual painting of it tends to be pretty spacey, at least in my brain. I mainly have to keep myself in check to make sure I'm safe and my ladder won't tip over, but the actual painting comes with ease. During this time, I've been listening to Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Please, do yourself the honor of listening to or reading her words.

From her website: "Drawing on her life as an indigenous scientist, a mother, and a woman, Kimmerer shows how other living beings—asters and goldenrod, strawberries and squash, salamanders, algae, and sweetgrass—offer us gifts and lessons, even if we’ve forgotten how to hear their voices. In a rich braid of reflections that range from the creation of Turtle Island to the forces that threaten its flourishing today, she circles toward a central argument: that the awakening of a wider ecological consciousness requires the acknowledgment and celebration of our reciprocal relationship with the rest of the living world. For only when we can hear the languages of other beings will we be capable of understanding the generosity of the earth, and learn to give our own gifts in return."

I have been thinking a lot recently about how we, as humans, weave into the greater tapestry of nature: how we can be part of it, rather than happening to it? How we can be still and listen more than we move and talk? How we can see the reflection of ourselves in the swaying of trees, in the smoothness of a pebble tumbled by the ocean, in the food and soil of the earth, in two tree swallows dancing above? How might we listen to the trees? This book has been medicine, nourishing this deep, unignorable energy that I have been feeling, and allowing it to vine into every crevice of my soul.

So I think these concepts have been enriching the humus of my mind and came through as I made a little list of the mediums I had available and the subjects that are calling me to reflect them. Here is the little list I made on the back of framing directions so that I could basically visually see my options rather than trying to hold them still in my mind's eye (yes that is the tiger I painted with the little human stripes!):

Then I put on Fatoumata Diawara on spotify (also highly recommend listening to her if you haven't), picked 'pastel' and 'tree people', which was how I was referring to a sketch I had done in my sketchbook a few months ago (I really would like to start putting exact dates down on the pages so I know when I made it; I think I did this back in May or June?). I really enjoy listening to music that is not in English when I draw or paint, as I can recognize the human voice and the essence of the story, but can't understand the words. It makes my brain run a really cool creative software that invites me to tell a story that could also be understood regardless of language. That whole 'show, don't tell' thing really comes back to haunt ya as an artist.

Earlier this summer, I couldn't get this idea of human shapes in the trees out of my mind. To be honest, I still cannot. Here is one of the first sketches I did:

I'll probably (eventually) paint this one, too.

A few sketches later, I came across Sydney Long, whose paintings are songs to the trees in my humble opinion (here's one to see what I mean). Seeing this work was like something had reached through a wormhole in space, grabbed my face, and turned it in a new direction. I don't know, maybe I had seen it a long time ago, embedded it in my subconscious, then forgot about it, but I kind of stumbled over myself when I came across his work (again?) and saw the echoes of his paintings and my sketches in each other. They certainly aren't copies (which is good for both of us!), but I do feel a continuation of the conversation of his work in my own.

So I had my subject, now I just needed the medium I was going to use. I decided to return to my pastel roots, and took out the chest of these soft, vibrant sticks that was gifted to me by the absolutely incredible Becky Harblin. My original love when I first began taking classes in high school, I have put down pastels recently to really learn painting in acrylic and oils. I truly love each medium for what it brings to the table, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss pastels dearly. I realized this as I was painting with them tonight - how fun it is to build their layers, see their vibrant color, watch what happens as I layer different colors over themselves, have the pigment all over my own fingers. I unfortunately only have the sketch and an almost/perhaps completely finished painting to show you at this point, but may use this as the blueprint for another painting on a larger surface.

Here is the sketch I used:

*complete with a little smudge of red clay on the left

You can see that I also toyed with a bird silhouette peeking around the tree on the left and a fish on the right. For this version at least, they did not make it, but I do envision this combination in future paintings for sure. I loved the idea of celebration and dance, of the tree's spirit vibrant in its own existence. I also loved the idea of these portals and doors, where we could imagine stepping through and feeling the joy and song of the forest. Those were the guiding energies of both the sketch and the painting itself.

Here is what arrived:

Pastel on sanded paper. 2024. 15x19in

I truly did not know what I was going to do as I began. First I sketched on the general shapes with a pencil, then I just put down a scratchy mess of dark blue and purple pastel. I layered in red/scarlet to see what would happen. I added that purple/light blue between the deep blue and orange to add contrast where they came into contact with each other. Then I took a royal blue pastel and began finding the outlines and boundaries of that shapes. It's funny how when my brain is warmed up and is familiar with the subject, it will literally show my eyes overlays of the shapes that don't yet exist - all I have to do is trace these mental overlays with my pastel and trust the process.

When I reached the top of the tree and finished laying in a net of blue squiggles, I knew I needed to develop it more. I do wish I had a photo to show you (and my future self) exactly how it appeared in that first stage, but imagine take a piece of chalk and making a bunch of squiggles to create form. If you look up "scumble shading" that's pretty much what it looked like. I had outlined the different forms that are now the fans, but had not yet developed them fully. You can actually see a few little remnants around the crown of the tree: those little blue squiggles that seem to poke out from behind the color. I felt like the canopy just needed something. I have another sketch on the same page of my book as the sketch of this piece of a bunch of figures holding big fans, and immediately decided to run with that idea. I took a light pink pastel and created the big squiggling lines that really pushed the "fan" motif. I'm pretty stoked about it.

If you're curious, the fan sketches will also become a painting in time!

This painting was a practice of surrender and release. Of not concerning myself with the outcome. Of judgment and forethought. Of trusting my intuition and following where I felt called. I'm so very glad that I did. I hope you find some time to play and get into the flow in your world sometime soon.

Be well,

Carly

p.s. if you're interested in purchasing the original or prints, please contact me!