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My studio is part of a gallery/studio set up (High Road Gallery in Worthington, OH).  All 13 artists had a project requiring their participation.  My small contribution was this 7" circular image painted in acrylic.  

My seemingly rare summertime moments of relaxation often turn to watching clouds do their "thing"---dancing across the sky, forming various "animals" as they twist and turn.

Blessed to have a world-class zoo close by, it is not too difficult to get some grandkids to join us for an outing there.  The obligatory $5 feed-the-giraffes stop provides a basis for snapping shots of the iconic beasts.  My lovely wife finds them attractive.  I find her attractive.  A win-win motivation for a love-bank contribution to my sweetheart: a trio of the long-necked giants to take home with her.

Preparing for a big anniversary celebration, my wife and I scurried to scan family photos and slides.  Lots of interesting images “stirred to the top” during our search.  One was this long forgotten Grand Canyon ecktachrome shot.  I was intrigued by the violet cast to the background areas and into the shadows.  This scene almost demanded to be shared, and LARGE.  The awe I experienced looking into this inconceivably enormous monument led to ruminating on the complexity of the Creation.  I find it a difficult challenge even beginning to comprehend the immensity of our universe or the very fact that our planet is so extremely finely-tuned to support life.  Someone deserves an abundance of thanks.

“Washed Clean" / 12" x 16" / Oil on canvas panel over an old painting (2 for the price of one!) / $945

Watching an old movie with my sweet wife and doing her nails for her (brownie points), I was attracted to a scene and its setting.  Out pops the iPhone for a quick shot of the screen.  In the studio, some rearranging, some invention and some liberties taken birthed this image. Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyhow, the lovely wife loves it.

—Jim Glover

"Village Green" / 20" x 16" / Oil on linen panel / SOLD

I am honored to be included in an exhibit called "Experience Worthington: Art Walk" with a number of other artists!  This painting was commissioned as eye-candy for a rebuild of a prominent Worthington establishment.  It was all done with palette knife as a ploy to get more "impressionistic."

 The selected images were printed onto 5' x 6' banners and will be hung on buildings in the "Square," also known as the Village Green, home to the Worthington Farmer's Market and this historic Presbyterian Church.  My studio is just a block away in an over 200-year-old brick building, the High Road Gallery.

—Jim Glover

Ever notice the ceaseless "hum" of urban (or suburban) life?  I live in a suburb, but even in the wee hours, there is still residual noise.  Just a mile or so from the Interstate, there is always some motor vehicle activity.  Nearby restaurants and gas stations, apartment buildings not far away are a continual source of sound, however small.  I bail on that experience whenever I'm given a chance.

Outside of town, and especially in some of our less populated regions, quiet can get so loud, my ears ring.  North Central Ohio has pockets of Amish communities, totally void of power lines and the associated hum.  This was one such day.  Rural calm permeated the air as I paused on my painting outing.  The curious cows were more interested in the green goodness of the pasture than in the gawking, photo-snapping "city guy."  But city guy was soaking up the atmosphere, the humidity, the peace and quiet that are hard to come by even in the suburbs of a big metropolis.  Later, in the studio, those "vibes" would ignite a passionate paint interpretation of that warm afternoon filled with the sound of munching bovines.  In the midst of the urban hum.

What a surprise it was to receive an email inquiring about a "vintage" painting for sale on eBay.  It was a gouache portrait of a pair of Cedar Waxwings from the year I graduated from high school and started college!

Certainly no prodigy, I got bitten by the painting bug shortly after being bitten by the birdwatching bug.  My Dad was a commercial artist back in the day when pen and ink drawings of everything were done for advertising purposes.   Black and white photos were retouched by hand with an airbrush or a set of gray gouache paints and paintbrush.  Absolutely NO CGI was available!  By watching him work, I got the gist of how the painting process went.  So after my birding initiation, I asked to borrow some of his paints and a brush.

My initial tunnel-vision fascination with birding and painting remained strong throughout high school, sparing me some of the social upheaval of the late 60s and its accompanying drugs, alcohol and the like.  As a senior, the father of the first girl I ever dated recognized my abilities and paid me a whopping $10 for some of my bird paintings, affording me cash to take his daughter out for a movie and pizza.  Only years later did I realize that he basically paid me to entertain and feed his kid while he was gaining some valuable coverage for blemishes on his walls.  Hey, at least I was selling some pieces, Vincent.  

I headed off to Kent State University in the Fall of '67 with dreams of becoming a wildlife (or bird, actually) artist.  Was I off base.  A hotbed of political dissent and anarchical thought, the philosophy had definitely infiltrated the College of Art.  As a freshman art major, assigned projects I created were usually greeted with scorn.  "That's not art!  There's no passion in it!!" was what I heard.  Once my assignment was tossed into a corner by the professor saying I wasn't "getting it.  That's just illustration."  Wasn't that what I wanted to do?  My Spring Quarter major art course was presented with the class assignment for the whole quarter on day one:  Build a self-destructing project.  My Dad about had a cow when he heard about it!  Some excellent art professors from the old Cleveland Art Institute had come to Kent decades earlier.  But the winds of change driven by a Modernist vanguard were pushing them out.  Portraying the Beautiful was the old.  Ugliness and Rebellion were the new.  (I was indeed fortunate to be taught by two real masters of their craft for a couple of courses.  Beyond that, and for my purposes, my eventual flight from art to a zoology major was more than justified.) 

That next summer, old-school Dad did a cartoon (his real love in art) for the Ohio Department of Natural Resources.  Dropping it off and small-talking with someone there, the conversation got around to did he know anyone who drew animals and wildlife, as they needed some illustrations done on a freelance basis.  At Dad's urging, I "happened in" with a small portfolio of my birds.  I was hired on the spot as a summer intern.  I interned with ODNR each summer until I finished at Kent State then was promoted to full-time nature artist and stayed for over 30 years.  Which brings me to the point of the story.

Just like the famous Impressionists, Expressionists, Tonalists and all the others -ists, the value of my work has skyrocketed.  Even though, like Mark Twain, the rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated, this gem from 1967 has quintupled its original price within my own lifetime.  As I stated above, move over Van Gogh, Monet, Warhol, Pollock---there's a new kid on the block!

Enforced time at home this last year gave me the reluctant opportunity to examine decades' worth of accumulated reference material.  Tens of thousands of slides were purged and the survivors scanned, photo prints, huge piles of magazines and clippings were sorted through with the remaining pile only about the size of a hay bale.  How many hundreds of hours had it taken me to gather this stuff for my "morgue" of data that I was sure would come in handy someday?  How many expensive rolls of processed film?  

As a former wildlife artist who spent over thirty years working for the Department of Natural Resources before the days of digital imagery, I could never have enough reference photos.  I scalped any and every publication to assure I had detailed photographic information on the tarsus of a Horned Lark or the eye color of a Rainbow Trout, and certainly, the wing venation of Green Darner dragonflies!  The accumulated overkill filled four file cabinet and numerous Rubbermaid bins and paper boxes in my bedroom studio, my basement studio annex, my studio studio, and nooks and crannies elsewhere around house and garage.

I painted very little during 2020, frustrated and depressed.  My teaching gigs shut down, so one class turned into a plein air outing each week into the first week of November.  At one and the same time,  growing weary of COVID fatigue, I weakened my resolve and met with some men from church for breakfast.  Instead of distancing us, the restaurant seated us at a 4-top table, literally rubbing shoulders.  I decided to just drink coffee so my face would remain covered between sips.  The next day one of the guys spiked a fever, realizing he had been exposed to the virus.  Three days later I began to experience many of the classic symptoms of the virus.  I was pretty sick, but not as bad as many.  Ten days in, I ended up in the hospital for nearly 24 hours, but only in observation, not the ICU.  I was spared the scary respiratory aspect, although my doctor told me I was given Remdesivir and steroids in the hospital and had pneumonia.  I recovered fairly quickly from the symptoms, but the fatigue lingered for months.  

I had taken on some commissioned paintings to be cranked out for Christmas.  Many days I got up feeling okay, saying this is the day I get after these.  The mere effort to gather my materials and paints, set up the easel and try to remember "where I was" on each piece would call out for a nap, sometimes hours long.  It got to the point where I didn't even want to paint.  The deadline (oops, bad pun!) was met, but I was beat.  We were able to see some of our kids and grandkids, but Christmas was a quiet affair instead of a houseful.  

Surfacing in the information tsunami were some vivid memories preserved.  The resultant stumble down memory lane has been a joy.  My wife has done the same reducing of our family photos.  I've relived many enjoyable adventures, watched the kids grow up again.  I've fallen deeper in love with my precious spouse.  Everyone at our church started January reading Abundant Simplicity by Jan Johnson. Simplifying life to allow more time for God was her emphasis.  It got me started thinking (and praying) about my over-abundance of not only reference materials, but art stuff.  Knowing I'll never use the arsenal of supplies, equipment, paper, brushes, I've begun passing it on to the next generation.  Not that I'm calling it quits by any means, but trying to be a good steward of what God has allotted me has brought me joy in sharing, in giving rather than receiving.  I've enjoyed giving about 100 art books to the local high school for use by students as reference material or for the instruction contained within, knowing how much I would have appreciated that guidance and resources at their age.  I've also begun giving away some of my hundreds of tubes of watercolor, gouache, acrylic, casein and oil paints since I've become mostly a dual-primary painter, and don't really need 13 tubes of pre-mixed greens!

The bittersweet nature of giving or throwing away has been good for my soul, reminding me of my mortality and the old saying, "You can't take it with you."   I'd struggled to "come up for air" while stuck at home, but over time, I've gotten back at the end of a brush but might spend a couple of hours "fixing" a painting only to wipe it off in frustration.  It was like I'd forgotten how to paint.  

One benefit has been the resurfacing of some great inspirational images to trigger new ideas for painting.  

This scene (based on a true story!) from a painting trip came alive in the imagination and culminated an intense week of "spring training" painting, trying to remember my "swing" that had been badly lost during 2020.

This week I feel encouraged to take some more practice swings!

--Jim Glover

Sucker-punched by the setting sun, I viciously (kinda) pulled to the side of the road to capture this end-of-day image.  Forever for me, it seems, the gratitude for another day lived combines with the realization that this day will never be again to make sunsets emotional heart-grabbers.  So for today, "Thanks, God," and farewell, solar light and heat source that "just happens" to be placed carefully close enough yet far enough away to make life here on Earth possible!

This painting is on a piece of hardboard that I used for a while as a  handy spot to smear old or mixed paint as I cleaned off my palette.  Over time, a fair amount of texture was built up.  I would intentionally put dabs of used paint on low spots and try to smooth out the surface a little.  When contemplating a composition that would best express this scene, I happened to glance at my "paint repository" behind the easel and it appeared likely a marriage might be possible.  Ergo, this piece has an abundance of texture that "sparkles" as the viewer moves and the light hits it.  Although not something I do often, I find child-like fun in occasional experimentation.  What do you think?