Falling in Love with Sepia

I spent last week immersed in an art workshop, soaking up new ideas and approaches. Stan Kurth has a relaxed, thoughtful way of teaching—one that suited me perfectly. If you’re looking for a step-by-step, highly structured class, his approach might not be for you. But if you’re interested in exploring new paths into abstract painting—as I was—his workshop can open the door to a more intuitive, non-representational way of creating.

One of Stan’s approaches to beginning a painting is to scribble small shapes using your non-dominant hand. The intent, as I came to understand it, is to interrupt control—to bypass habit and allow less conscious mark-making to take over. Since I was there to experiment, I followed along, even though the process initially felt uncertain.

From there, we moved into color. I limited my palette to the three primaries—yellow, blue, and red—as a way of keeping the focus on interaction rather than selection. Applying the paint directly from the tubes was another departure from my usual method. It introduced a level of immediacy and saturation that I don’t typically work with. Because the original marks were made with a water-soluble pen, the lines partially dissolved into the paint, creating a subtle integration between drawing and color rather than a strict separation of the two.

The final layer involved white gouache, which shifted the process again—this time toward editing and definition. As I applied it, I began to notice a pattern in my decisions. Even within a framework designed to encourage spontaneity, my shapes consistently resolved into geometric forms rather than organic ones. That realization was useful. It suggested that, regardless of the tools or approach, certain visual preferences remain persistent. Recognizing that tendency gives me something concrete to either lean into or consciously challenge in future work.

Here is my first piece, Traffic Lights. From this painting I learned that not only am I partial to geometric shapes, I also like the number three.

Here is a piece where I tried to break away from geometric to more organic shapes, Fire on the River.

Stan then introduced another challenge: to paint from reality using only memory—no photo references allowed. The goal, as I understood it, was to rely less on visual accuracy and more on internalized experience—what stays with you after the moment has passed.

By coincidence, a memory had just resurfaced on Facebook: a photo of my granddaughter and me in an art gallery. Rather than revisit the image, I used that moment as my source. What emerged wasn’t a precise reconstruction, but a filtered version—shaped by what I remembered, what I overlooked, and what felt most significant. Inside the Cathedral.

Or What Stan saw-Truck

And then came Sepia, that reddish-brown tone often associated with old photographs. It carries a warm, earthy, muted quality that naturally evokes nostalgia. Working with it felt like stepping into a different emotional register, one that was quieter and more reflective than the brighter primaries I had been using. Below are the paintings in sequence as I explored how best to use it.

Sepia Squares

Walk Away

Advidity

“Advidity” is defined as extreme eagerness, enthusiasm, or keenness. It feels like the right word for my current response to this color. There’s something about sepia that I keep returning to—it’s subtle, but deeply expressive. I find myself wanting to spend more time with it, as if it has become a kind of quiet companion in my work.

To end today's post, here is the painting I finished after returning home. The initial idea came from a walk up our driveway, where I saw our large wooden sculpture set against the trees beyond, all surrounded by the fresh greens of early spring at their base. That simple visual impression gradually evolved in the studio, shifting and reshaping itself over time into something more internal. Somewhere along the way, it became Dearly Beloved.