Below is a promotional video I made showing my new works on the walls at Madrona Wine Merchants in Seattle. If you can't watch the video in your e-mail or blog viewer, click here.

Location:
Madrona Wine Merchants
1127 34th Avenue
Seattle, Washington

Exhibit duration:
September and October 2017

Opening reception:
3 p.m. to 5 p.m. Sunday, Sept. 3

Most works are for sale. Because I'm an emerging artist, my prices are still low.

Original art brings something to a home or office that reproductions can't: original art is human and it's personal, because it's made by hand. It brings warmth and distinction. People of all levels of familiarity and comfort with art tend to be motivated by the same impulse: "I like that—I really like that."

To purchase a painting, please e-mail me at amandateicher@gmail.com. Paintings can be picked up after the exhibit closes in late October.

This painting has a lot of significance for me. The drapery represents inner activity, and the objects represent outward reality.

First the statue: Progress often involves a shedding process, which explains why a crow (which symbolizes death) would have a place in this composition. Certain paths are no longer desirable.

Now the crow's feathers on the right: They have a shape and a function. If you were to pick them up, they would keep their shape, and we know how feathers function as part of a bird. The feathers are part of the visible world. They're like clues. Notice that one of the feathers is lit with a cool light, and one is lit with a warm light. That's a reference to the unconscious (warm color, larger size) working with consciousness (cool color, smaller size).

Now the drapery: If you move it, it won't keep its shape. It’s also much larger and more colorful than the objects. The warm shadow areas on the sides represent the unconscious churning that is hidden by a calm exterior. The calm exterior is driven by the conscious mind; a linear, methodical thought process—reason. Reason is represented by the areas of the drapery that are lit with cool light. The intersection of that area of brightest, coolest light and the crow's beak represents the intersection between inner development and outward results. It's a tiny area of the composition, but it's the focal point.

So ... if you undertake any creative process, the visible part (represented by the objects) is only the result of lengthy, convoluted inner activity, most of which cannot be controlled or directed.

Why, then, did I title the painting “The Slow Pace of Decay,” and not “The Slow Pace of Development”? Because outward decay often accompanies inner development, and after all, the subject of this painting is the crow.

A heavy Italian frame works on this painting for one reason: drama. The painting and the frame both feature a lot of black, and the metallic ornamentation compliments the smooth textures in the painting.

Let me explain: If the painting were heavily ornamented—lots of spiky details, for example—the frame should be simple. If the objects in the painting are smooth and simple—as they are here—the frame should have some ornamentation, which gives the whole piece glamor and finish. In this case, it’s that metallic ornamentation that says “fine art.” It’s like jewelry for a painting.

A few weeks ago I started a cute little painting of a pair of teacups and a teabag. I can't explain why I'm drawn to white ceramic objects and teabags, but these kinds of things make it into my setups every now and then.

As I worked, I copied the objects faithfully, and I invented the background color. I'd been longing to paint with soft lavender and its complement, soft gold. I shared my progress with my Facebook friends, and I asked for help giving the painting a title.

At this stage, I took the little painting to Ruston, Washington, an hour away, to be critiqued by my mentor, master painter Melissa Weinman. She pointed out a number of technical problems in the painting, but called it "a little gem" nonetheless. She has a big heart and a sharp mind.

Back in the studio, I had the pleasure of fiddling with the painting until I was happy with it. The final stages of a painting are always fun. I took the still-slightly-wet painting to my favorite frame place, Jayeness Moulding, a wholesale outlet where I have an account. My little dog, Dudley, accompanied me, like usual. The lady in the shop stuffed him full of cookies and love, and offered me a discount on a beautiful moulding, lavender mother-of-pearl, that looked great with the painting. Was it Dudley, or was it the fact that I had put so much effort into this little painting? I'll never know. She had been saving that moulding for herself, but she let me have it.

Feeling happy and grateful, I drove home with my beautiful frame and a few others I couldn't resist from the shop. A week later, I varnished the painting and photographed it. I fitted the painting into its frame, using techniques I learned from a persnickety framer a few years ago, and to which I adhere.

After posting the photo to Facebook, I was surprised and delighted to receive a message from a fellow artist: she wanted the painting. She had offered ideas for a title. We arranged for her to pick it up a week later.

After signing the papers and paying me, she agreed to photograph the painting in its new home. When I got the photo, I felt strangely fulfilled: this little thing that I'd put so much love and work into was now enlivening someone's home. That's a privilege.

I believe other artists will agree: it feels great to see your work in someone's home, a part of their daily life.

Six weeks ago I found an old baseball glove in a beat-up cardboard box that also held some old nails and duct tape. I knew the glove had sentimental value for my husband. He had received it when he was a child, and had played baseball with it for years. I reached for my phone. 
"You know that old baseball glove?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe it would make a good painting."
"Yeah." 
"It would be a challenge, but your birthday is coming up, and maybe I could do it."
"Sure."
I couldn't blame him for his lack of enthusiasm. It's not easy to get excited about a painting that doesn't exist yet. 

I worked on it for a while, and toward the end of the painting process, Tom started getting excited. He said it was very cool. We agreed that I would include the old Yankee Stadium with its facade in the background, because that's where he attended baseball games while he was growing up. He turned [censored] years old a few days ago, and the painting is now done. Happy birthday, Tommy. 

I decided last month to learn to paint using the Indirect Method. This method comes from 15th-, 16th-, and 17th-century Flanders, so it's also called the Flemish method. After ordering an instructional video (read my review of the video) and watching it several times, I've completed a still-life painting. I tried my best to follow the steps outlined in the video, as shown in the slideshow. I'll continue to learn this method with more complicated paintings, but it's a good first effort, I think. 

UPDATE: I sold this painting to an art collector in Shoreline, Washington, who owns two of my earlier paintings. (May 16, 2014)