A trend is fleeting—yet often destined to be repeated. With my brush in hand, am I creating a trend or merely recreating one?
At this juncture, I retreat to what I call my Non-Trending Space (NTS)—a sanctuary of sorts. Like the knights of old who sought refuge with monks, I, too, seek a place of safety. But unlike them, I must trust myself enough not to reveal my whereabouts, even to myself. This space exists beyond my soulness, deeper than conscious thought. And like the monks who vowed secrecy, I too have sworn not to disclose the location of my retreat. But I can paint it.
Take, for example, my painting Catmint in the Culinary Gallery. While creating it, I entered my NTS to uncover how cats experience its influence. In that space, I sensed colors infused with the essence of their delight—an aqua-blue haze flecked with pink, enclosed in a greenish-yellow aura. For a fleeting moment, a hint of honey drifted past my nose.
When my visit to the NTS ended, I returned with only my painting—a silent witness to my brief refuge.
Find The Amazing Guide to Growing Catmint by Scott Marilyn on amazon.com
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Thank you for your support. Comments or questions are always welcome.
Peace and love. Russ Myers
What’s your mood today—down, out, indifferent, or rebellious? Often, personal feelings and moods don't matter to a painter when living by what I call the Infinity Vibration (IV). This state of being pulses through every one of my 30 trillion cells, connecting me to all the dynamic energies of human emotion and experience. It’s not unlike how an actor taps into their soul to embody a new role.
When I paint, I tap into this deep reservoir of IV from my cells and channel it into my work. This is how I create the essence of who I am. Both real and imagined experiences live within me, waiting to be expressed.
You can see an example of this in my painting Leaf in the Nature’s Artistry gallery, where I tapped into my IV to bring a universe of emotions to life through the lens of nature. As I travel to this inner space, I don’t just create—I feel the mood, and in doing so, I feel truly alive.
Thanks to Anatomy: Exploring the Human Body for help with this blog.
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
When is a painting finished?
This question deserves an honest answer. For me, it all comes down to the Last Brush Stroke (LBS)—the precise moment I know a painting is complete.
I can often feel my LBS slowly approaching, growing stronger as my theme nears completion. The composition, colors, and vision come into sharper focus. And then—suddenly—it happens! I stop immediately, as if a child has just dashed in front of my car to retrieve a runaway ball.
Take my painting Eastern Columbine in the Beneficial Plants II gallery, for example. The moment I exaggerated the stamens beyond their natural length, I knew it was time. LBS had waved the red flag, signaling the painting was complete.
The challenge, of course, is recognizing that moment and resisting the urge to keep going. Overworking a painting can dull its energy and obscure the spontaneity that makes it feel alive. Sometimes, stepping back and trusting the process is the hardest yet most crucial decision an artist can make.
Restraint is key in painting. Knowing when to stop is just as important as knowing how to begin. Each brushstroke should serve a purpose, and unnecessary additions can detract from the initial vision. By practicing discipline and awareness, an artist can preserve the integrity and vibrancy of their work.
So, when is a painting truly finished? Perhaps it's when the work itself whispers, Enough.
To learn more: How to Finish a Painting by Dayakar and Agunta
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
As a landscape photographer, I’ve found that creating meaningful images isn’t just about capturing beautiful scenery—it’s about being intentional with both place and time. By carefully selecting locations and timing my shots to coincide with dramatic lighting conditions, I can enhance the emotional impact of my photographs and tell deeper stories through the landscapes I capture.
Beyond technical precision, I strive to connect with the environment on a personal level. Before pressing the shutter, I take the time to observe the landscape, noting how elements like light, weather, and seasonal changes interact. This mindfulness allows me to infuse my images with a sense of place and atmosphere that resonates with viewers.
Composition also plays a vital role in storytelling. Using leading lines, framing, and balance, I guide the viewer's eye through the scene, creating a visual journey. Every element within the frame should contribute to the overall narrative, ensuring that the final image conveys not just what I saw, but what I felt in that moment.
Ultimately, meaningful landscape photography requires patience, awareness, and a willingness to immerse oneself in the environment. By approaching photography with intention and emotion, I can transform ordinary scenes into compelling visual stories that leave a lasting impression.
Check out: The Art of Landscape Photography- by Ross Hoddinott (Author), Mark Bauer (Author)
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Peace and love. Dan Myers
Light and darkness are separated by an infinite spectrum of shades. Light exists at one end of infinity, darkness at the other, and in between lies what I call the Illusion Factor (IF)—the ever-shifting gradient of perception.
This question invites a deeper exploration. At first glance, light and darkness seem to be polar opposites: light illuminates, reveals, and symbolizes hope and knowledge, while darkness obscures, conceals, and is often associated with mystery or the unknown. However, upon closer examination, the difference between them is not as clear-cut as it may appear.
In many ways, light and darkness are interdependent. Darkness defines the boundaries of light, and light gives form and contrast to darkness. Without darkness, light loses its context, and without light, darkness is meaningless. They coexist as two sides of the same coin, each necessary for the full expression of the other. This dynamic interplay creates the rich tapestry of perception we experience, both in our everyday lives and in the realm of art.
In my painting Butterflies, featured in the Slide Show Gallery, I depict butterflies as transparent figures suspended between light and darkness. Their transparency embodies the Illusion Factor—the subtle gradations that blur the distinction between these two extremes. By doing so, I challenge the conventional boundaries of perception.
Illusions, by definition, are distortions of visual perception, yet they are widely accepted as reality by most of humanity. Art, much like science, operates within these illusions we perceive as truth. Through the Illusion Factor technique, I reimagine the conventional realities of light, shadow, and the ambiguous in-between, blending them with my own artistic vision. The result is a fusion of multiple conceived realities into a single, dynamic visual experience.
The interplay between light and darkness is not merely a binary opposition but a continuum that forms the basis of our sensory and emotional experiences. The question "Is there a difference between light and darkness?" ultimately leads us to understand that while they represent distinct qualities, their existence is mutually reinforcing. Light accentuates darkness, and darkness enriches the brilliance of light, creating a balanced dialogue that is both complex and beautiful.
In this dialogue, the Illusion Factor becomes a metaphor for the fluid boundaries of reality. It suggests that our perceptions—what we take to be absolute—are, in fact, malleable and open to reinterpretation. Just as the butterflies in my painting shift between light and darkness, our understanding of the world is continuously evolving, informed by both what is seen and what remains unseen.
Special thanks to Todd Rose author of Collective Illusions.
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
For me, the unknown is not something mysterious, fearful, or a journey of the soul. Simply put, it's the loneliness of knowing I have no one but myself. The artist's path is often solitary, a journey inward where only the creator and the creation exist. It is a space where external validation fades, leaving only the dialogue between the artist and their work. However, I have an empty surface to paint on, which will become an image unique to me. No school, friend, or spiritual being comes to rescue me. I am alone.
So now, I turn to what I call Imagination's Empty Mirror (IEM) — the self of myself. Here, I feel comfortable and warm. I go behind the mirror, look through to the other side, and see myself looking at myself, looking at me—the self I truly am. Only I see this self.
Looking into a mirror is an act of confrontation and revelation. The surface reflects not just an image, but an inner world, a hidden truth waiting to be acknowledged. It is both a barrier and a portal, a place where the seen and unseen merge. As I stare into it, I see the shifting expressions of my own existence, the flickering emotions I often hide from the world. The mirror reveals not just what is visible, but what lingers beneath—the unspoken fears, the quiet hopes, the weight of solitude, and the depth of self-awareness.
The solitude of the artist is both a gift and a burden. It allows for deep introspection and complete immersion in the creative process, yet it can also feel isolating, as if one exists in a realm apart from the world. My painting, Multiflora Rose in the Dreamscape Gallery, is my IEM. It is colorful, alive, and floating disconnected in space. There, alone, I see my mirrored shadow side and embrace it, truly knowing me- who is me. This knowing can only be discovered when I see myself from the other side of the mirror, creating artworks. Only I can perceive it as I hold the thoughts performing the action of creating me.
Thanks to Dr. Carl Jung: The Undiscovered Self for deepening my self perspective.
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
My backgrounds are often intuitively painted first, naturally becoming the foundation for showcasing the main subject. However, they’re not always set in stone—backgrounds can be altered if they start to overpower the primary subject or create unintended visual tension.
One of the biggest challenges in painting is achieving harmony between elements. Sometimes, a background that initially feels right may later compete with or diminish the impact of the subject. Other times, colors that seemed balanced in the early stages may create disharmony as the painting progresses. When these conflicts arise, I rely on what I call the Painting Partnership Team (PPT).
A perfect example of this technique is my artwork Callery Pear, found in the Other Plants gallery. Originally, I painted the background a darker shade of aquamarine. However, I soon realized that it was overshadowing the delicate white flowers rather than enhancing them. This is where PPT came into play. By adjusting the aquamarine to a lighter shade, I was able to restore balance, allowing both elements to work together harmoniously rather than competing for attention.
The PPT technique helps me resolve conflicts by ensuring that multiple elements in a painting hold equal value, fostering unity rather than competition. Whether it’s color intensity, contrast, or compositional weight, I use this approach to fine-tune relationships within the artwork, transforming individual components into a cohesive and visually pleasing composition.
Every painting presents its own set of challenges, but learning to navigate these conflicts is what makes the process so rewarding. The key is to remain flexible, recognizing when an adjustment is needed to create a truly harmonious piece.
Thank you to: BH Staiger White! Light! Bright!
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
Sounds have always shaped the way I see the world. The hush of wind through leaves, the distant murmur of waves, the electric buzz of cicadas in summer heat. They don’t just enter the ear; they sink into the bones, becoming colors, shapes, movement.
This morning, that woodpecker’s drumming became my brushstrokes—quick, deliberate, unrelenting. I painted the tempo, the energy, the urgency of its call. The tree’s rough bark became texture, the spaces between taps turned into silence woven through the piece. And underneath it all, that restless feeling I know so well—Your Endless Restlessness, YER.
This is how sound becomes art. This is how rhythm shapes vision.
Can you hear the painting? Can you feel the beat?
I recommend: Your Creative Career: Anna Sabino
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
On a sunny, cloudless Sunday afternoon, while seeking inspiration for a painting in the wooded area behind my home, I heard a loud, piercing screech off to my left. Turning to look up, I saw a red-tailed hawk landing gracefully on a tree branch twenty-five feet directly in front of me.
In this spiritual moment, I stood motionless like a statue, holding my breath and hoping not to be discovered. It was too late—the hawk had already spotted me with its penetrating, sharp eyes. I felt its gaze locked onto me.
Although the hawk's natural colors were striking, I decided to paint this vision in a ghostly manner, with white and bluish feathers. I wanted to capture it in a princely pose, as if surveying its kingdom with authority. You can view my painting, Red-tailed Hawk, in the Birds, Bees, and Butterfly gallery.
Just then, the hawk's head turned, seeming to catch sight of something below. Staring at a nearby thicket, it tensed up, leaned forward, and, like a lightning bolt, swooped down, sailing with wings spread wide, claws at the ready. In an instant, it disappeared from sight as its screech echoed through the trees once more.
Many thanks to Hawks From Every Angle by Jerry Liguor for inspiration.
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
If only that were true. A path is typically multi-directional, offering at least two ways: coming and going. Every path has its share of curves, blind spots, and intersections with other paths. So, what now? It's time for Self Truth Analysis (STA).
Take a moment to view my painting, Irish Springtime, in the Dreamscape Gallery. This piece represents my STA dreamscape—it is a reflection of who I am. In essence, STA is a personal search for your unique sense of self.
For the creative artist, particularly the painter, STA is expressed through Color—with a capital C. This analysis is distilled into just three primary colors: red, yellow, and blue. Keeping it simple allows for greater clarity and depth.
Now, let’s step off the uncertain path. With our three colors in hand, we embark on the STA journey. This is where the excitement begins. As we engage in this process, the door to self-discovery creaks open, revealing a dreamscape crafted by you, for you—only you.
Using the three primary colors in painting allows for an endless range of possibilities. Red, yellow, and blue are the foundation of all other colors, offering infinite shades and tones when mixed. By blending these colors, artists can create everything from the warmest oranges to the deepest purples. Understanding how to manipulate these three hues provides a sense of control and creative freedom. With practice, a painter learns to use them to evoke emotion, establish harmony, and bring their vision to life on the canvas.
Thanks to Painting Dreams by E.R. Wexler for inspiration.
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
It is a demanding friend because, in its silence, there is neither comfort nor consolation. No voice of disagreement. No encouraging wisdom to impart. Is this the friend I need? Yes. For an artist, the brush becomes a confidant—a listener. And often, a listener turns out to be your closest friend.
Why? Because my secrets are locked inside its bristles and wooden handle, never to be revealed to the public. Besides, I have many brushes, many friends, in all shapes and sizes. My brushes ask nothing of me. Pick me up or not. Walk away and never return—it’s okay. Love me, neglect me, or refuse to paint with me. But nevertheless, I hear my brush whisper in the silence, "Dip me in aquamarine, and together, we will paint the depths of the ocean."
True friendship, like my brush, asks for nothing in return. It does not demand explanations, nor does it judge. It exists in the quiet moments, offering unwavering companionship without expectations. A real friend listens, not just with ears, but with an open heart, understanding the unspoken words between the lines.
I call this dialogue between my brush and myself Alone At Last (AAL). Only the artist understands the true feeling of aloneness, the isolation, and the brush’s silent yet profound friendship. But perhaps, in this solitude, one discovers the purest form of connection—a bond that transcends words, expectations, and time itself.
Thanks to Paint Brush Set for Acrylic Painting 20 PCS. (As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.)
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
I painted Huckleberry, as seen in the Fruits & Vegetables gallery, on a dare. I challenged myself to forgo all hues from my watercolor paper except blue. Well, perhaps a little green slipped in.
It was the last Friday in January, early afternoon. Rain beat against my door's large glass windows, and puddles formed along the walkway. The sky hung low and heavy, a somber gray stretching endlessly. Droplets clung to the windowpane, distorting the world outside into a dreamy blur. A rhythmic tapping echoed through the room, a steady percussion that complemented the melancholic mood. I felt a bit blue—but not the kind of blue that sinks you into sadness. Just blue enough to paint a shade that would lift me from my rainy-day mood.
No single shade of blue could quite capture my blueness. So, I began layering two shades to form the huckleberries. Still not blue enough. A third hue joined. Still not quite right. Then came what I call BB—Beyond Blue. A fourth blue. Cobalt blue? Too dark. Maybe a touch of white? Yes. Instantly, this combination of four blues snapped me out of my rainy-day blueness.
I often use this BB technique—layering colors—as a self-healing device, adaptable to all hues. For instance, BG stands for Beyond Green, and BY for Beyond Yellow. I find the Beyond approach necessary, not only in painting but in all things.
Thanks to their book Blue, the History of Color by Pastoureau & Cruise available on amazon.com
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
To a painter, the canvas or paper is blank. It is a vast, open space filled with endless possibilities and potential. Now what? Creatives always have an image poised at the end of their brush. The imagination sees the image just before the brush touches the surface, usually accompanied by a hint of color. Then comes the point of no return, sometimes called No Going Back (NGB).
A blank canvas can be intimidating, yet exhilarating. It is both an opportunity and a challenge, demanding vision and courage. There is no map, no compass, no global positioning system guiding us to our destination. Yet, we feel satisfied, knowing the design idea is feasible and confident in our ability to accomplish the mission. I had this very thought as I prepared to paint Potato for the Fruit and Vegetable gallery.
Mmmm, I could start by painting the potato with an earth tone—maybe an ovoid shape with a rough brown skin texture. But then I paused. Was I truly at the point of NGB? I reconsidered, retraced my steps, and discarded my original brown potato idea. Instead, I created a painting bursting with beautiful blooms and their life-sustaining green leaves.
In creativity, the point of no return is not always final. Sometimes, it's an invitation to reimagine and embrace a new vision.
With appreciation to author Kelly Scott 44 of the Best Potato Recipes for inspiration.
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Peace and love. Russ Myers
As far as a painter's artist style is concerned, it is the expression of a distinctive personality characteristic, unique to each artist. This identity, once discovered, solidifies an important relationship between the artist and their creative self. Establishing an artistic identity unleashes creative freedom, allowing for endless exploration.
An artist's distinctive personality is reflected in their brushstrokes, choice of color, and the themes they explore. This unique signature develops over time, influenced by personal experiences, emotions, and inspirations. It is what makes each artwork a direct reflection of the creator's inner world, allowing them to communicate beyond words and forge deep connections with their audience.
Artistic style is the fingerprint of an artist—the unique way they express emotions, ideas, and perspectives through their chosen medium. Whether in painting, sculpture, digital art, or even photography, an artist’s style is what sets them apart, making their work recognizable and deeply personal.
Take a look at my painting Asparagus Soldiers in the Dreamscape gallery. My modified abstract-realistic style enables me to explore fresh creative possibilities in design, color, and originality. My brother Dan contributed by giving this painting its title, which is also featured on our banner on our Facebook business page, myersbrothersart.com.
Special thanks to Facebook for Dummies, 8th edition. (As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.)
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Peace and love,
Russ Myers
Often, we hear of our third eye, the pineal gland. It is a small, pea-shaped gland located in the center of the brain, between the two hemispheres, in a groove where the two halves of the thalamus join. It plays a crucial role in regulating sleep-wake cycles by producing melatonin, a hormone influenced by exposure to light.
Some spiritual traditions believe the pineal gland is the gateway to higher consciousness and intuition. Once activated, it can cause a phase shift in our emotions, our sleep patterns and our perception of colors.
To painters, it is important to acknowledge colors, such as blue and its dynamic mood-altering qualities. Interior designers decorating bedrooms recognize blue’s ability to shift moods into a state of calmness, relaxation, and peacefulness. When we go outdoors and observe the blue sky, don’t we immediately feel better? We say, "I'll go outside, breathe some fresh air, look up, see the blue sky, and feel at peace."
Shades of blue are often used in home décor to create a serene and tranquil environment. Lighter shades, such as sky blue or pastel blue, can make a space feel airy and open, perfect for bedrooms and bathrooms. Pairing blue with neutral tones such as white or beige enhances its calming effect, while adding metallic accents like silver or gold introduces elegance and warmth.
View my painting Rocky Mountain Columbine in the Blue/Green Native gallery. I painted the sky blue along with blue flowers, creating a double blue effect that can produce a calm feeling for the observer.
For more information on this fascinating subject, I recommend Color Therapy Plain and Simple, by Nina Ashby, available on Amazon. (Full disclosure: I receive a small commission if you purchase this book from the above link.)
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Peace and love. Russ Myers