What I like about today, my new revised webite is live

Finally, wrong word, it's never finished, it's never perfect. 

Over the last few weeks, the site has been a challenge. The mobile version was nearly unusable, pages weren't lining up properly, and more than once I wondered if I'd ever get to the end of it.

Today, it finally feels right.

 The website without question has been a challenge to maintain over the years - not for the technically challenged. 

My favorite piece is a slider gallery at the bottom and just below a "Collectors Testimonial" section. Because, the gallery and website is now directed at art collectors and art lovers. Art lovers who don't know they can be one yet. 

Every morning at 5:30, another painting quietly arrives in someone's inbox. Not to sell them something, but to remind them that art has a place in everyday life.

Some smile, some delete it, some visit the gallery, and every once in a while, someone discovers a painting they can't stop thinking about.

 The paintings tell their story first. The collectors finish it.

 And today... I like that.

I guess I'm a Lucky artist.

One of the posts people were reading the other day was "Art & Presentation = Money." WOW! That one was right on target.

Over the years, Jenni and I had a lot of fun learning and experimenting at CAC. Those are fond memories, and I have absolutely no regrets.

Today is today.

I no longer have my very cool studio with the huge easel (blog post read today). Another artist has it now, as it should.

I traded it for an art gallery.

 

That gallery now has a new purpose. Yes, it needs to sell a very large collection of my work - and a few other artists' paintings - but perhaps it is also becoming my answer to a question that has been on my mind lately:

What happens to an artist's work after they are gone?

Dream Big Artworks was originally designed to explore that question. Over the past few weeks, I've begun to think the answer may not be found in artists at all, but in the collectors who choose to live with the work. They are the true guardians.

Perhaps, someday, the gallery evolves into something much more than a place to buy paintings. Maybe it becomes a place where past and present artists continue to be discovered, appreciated, and collected. Just because an artist is gone doesn't mean the work is no longer relevant.

Time will tell.

The real question today is different. Do I want to continue making art? Do I want to continue coaching?

I guess I am a lucky artist.

At eighty-five, I still have good choices ahead.

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Coming of AGE

LOL, I clicked on one of the blog posts that was being read and got hooked. It turned out to have been written around the same time as a painting I recently pulled from storage and hung in the gallery. I was researching it for an upcoming email.

 

 

Coming of Age 54 x 46 Oil on linen 

April 20,2018

 When it was painted, its title was Transitions. A few days ago, I renamed it Coming of Age. Only after rediscovering the old blog post did it occur to me that my journal blog may finally be coming of age as well, becoming what I had always hoped it would be: a place to remember and, perhaps someday, remind me of my own art history.

Seventeen years later, I find myself rediscovering not only old paintings, but the stories that gave birth to them.

Now hanging in Stony Point gallery LINK 

 

Over the past few weeks, something unexpected has happened.

 After years of quietly documenting my journey from interior designer to full-time artist at 67, this blog has taken on a life of its own. Monthly readership jumped from a few thousand views to more than 18,000 last month, with another 20,000 views in just the past two weeks.

Perhaps it began with my recent post about turning eighty-five. Whatever the reason, readers are discovering not just a single article, but an archive of 644 posts chronicling a remarkable chapter of my life—seventeen years of paintings, galleries, friendships, risks, failures, and victories along the way.

When I left my former career in 2009 to paint full time, I never imagined that the journey itself would become part of the artwork. Looking back, these pages tell the story of reinvention, perseverance, and the belief that it is never too late to begin again.

To everyone who has spent time reading, watching, and following along, thank you. Your interest and encouragement mean more than you know.

Chuck