Twilight In Red - Daily Painting Auction

Twilight In Red, 5 x 10", oil on primed paper, mounted on board

This is an auction or an original oil painting, inspired by the dramatic landscape of northeast Scotland.

  • Low starting bid of $15
  • No reserve
  • 30 day money back guarantee, excluding shipping

Please feel free to ask any questions or leave a comment.

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The Art of Frederic Edwin Church

Frederic Edwin Church (1826-1900) was an American Romantic landscape painter.  Born in Hartford, Connecticut, Church was one of the leading figures of The Hudson River School.

Church’s father was wealthy and this allowed Frederic to pursue his interest in art from a very early age. In 1848, Church was elected as the youngest Associate of the National Academy of Design. The following year he was promoted to Academician and soon after, he sold his first major work to Hartford's Wadsworth Atheneum.

The Heart of the Andes (1859)

From the spring to autumn each year Church would travel, often by foot, sketching. He returned each winter to paint and to sell his work and in 1853 and 1857, he travelled in South America.

On his return, he painted The Heart of the Andes (1859), a monumental 5 by 10 feet. Church unveiled the painting to an astonished audience in New York City that same year. The work was an instant success.  Selling for $10,000, it was the highest price ever paid for a work by a living American artist at that time.  

Cotopaxi 1862

Although committed to the natural sciences, Church’s paintings had a spiritual focus. Church enjoyed a successful career throughout his lifetime, receiving great praise for his work and selling his paintings for high prices.
Autumn (1875)
Landscape in the Adirondacks (1878)

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From Tiny Acorns - Selling Small Works Can Lead to Commissions

Two weeks ago I sold ‘Last September’ and was very grateful to receive three commissions as a result.  I’d been chatting with friends at my other job about my latest art project, daily paintings and they were really interested.  ‘Bring them in’, they said.  So I did. 

Last September 2015 and Late December 2016 (mixed media)

One of the great things about small paintings is how portable they are.  I lightly wrapped them, didn’t even have to bubble, shoved them in a bag and got on the bus.  Ah the relief - no art handler, hiring a van or meticulously maneuvering an oversized painting into my undersized car.

It created a buzz in the office, small original art people could afford to buy.  I plonked them in the staff room and left them to it.  As it turned out, some wanted the same pieces, ‘I will make you another’, I said.  And I did - three in fact. 

One of my colleagues texted, ‘I want the one that’s ……,  Exactly the same please.’  It's really difficult, well impossible to create an exact copy so we agreed on similar, in the same spirit as.  It was a great challenge and I learned loads.  
Felleswoode, 2016 and Autumn Fable 2016 (mixed media)
Thanks guys for the commissions.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed creating them.

Visit Daily Paintworks to see more.  I also have an auction that's finishing today.

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The Artist's Shoes - Daily Painting Auction

The Artist's Shoes 8 x 10", oil on canvas
I showed this painting to my BFF and she loved it.  Laughing, she said, 'I've never seen a painting of shoes before, you can even see the shape of your feet.  Put it in the next auction.'  So here it is.

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By Any Other Name - Daily Painting

By Any Other Name, oil on canvas, 8x8"

This is a painting of a pink rose and a purple flower given to me in a gift. Flowers, roses in particular are quite challenging to paint having so many petals, but I really enjoyed it.

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Guyan Porter - THE NEW IMMORTALS - Exhibition Invitation - Friday 19th February 2016 - Brighton

Species - Guyan Porter - 2015
image - Copyright © 2015  - Guyan Porter
For the exhibition 'The New Immortals’ Guyan Porter will present two new pieces of work, Species and De Conditioning Chamber. 
Join us for the exhibition opening of on 

Friday, 19 February 2016, 6 – 8 pm. PHOENIX BRIGHTON
10 - 14 Waterloo Place, Brighton, BN2 9NB

"Systems of belief are central to the work of Guyan Porter, whose art takes place across a range of media in ways that respond to site and context. Species purports to be a complete Neanderthal skull, possibly the only complete Neanderthal skull in existence, presented as a relic of our nearest extinct human relative and the earliest known hominin species to engage in symbolic rites of passage. Of course the human skull is also itself an emblem of death or ‘memento mori’, employed by artists since classical antiquity to instil a heightened consciousness of time passing, mortality and the after-life. But how secure is our understanding of where we have come from, let alone where we might be going to next? Like its companion piece, Porter’s De Conditioning Chamber, with its challenging message, seems designed to make us question the basis of what we know and what we believe, using an experimental device housed within a specially designed architectural structure."

Sheila Macgregor - curator and consultant - January 2016

The New Immortals Judith Alder - 2015
image - Copyright © 2015 - Judith Alder

In an age when scientists can create, manipulate and sustain life to an extent once unimaginable, 'The New Immortals' explores our ongoing quest for immortality and offers ten artists' responses to this new paradigm.
'The New Immortals' is an exhibition and research project curated by Judith Alder, presenting new work by artists Judith Alder with Fleur Alston, Murray Ballard, Rachel Cohen, Cat Ingrams, Anna Macdonald, Guyan Porter, Duncan Poulton, Gabriella Sancisi and Angela Smith.
The exhibition runs from 20 Feb - 20 March, open Wed - Sun 11.00am - 5.00pm.

Along with the exhibition there will be series of associated activities. These include: 

  • Symposium: 'Exploring Immortality: Science, Art and Humanities in Conversation'. Presented in partnership with Brighton and Sussex Medical School, this symposium brings together artists, scientists and academics to explore the works and issues in The New Immortals and the value of art/science collaboration in communicating difficult concepts.

  • Five drop in sessions with artist/curator Judith Alder, which take place every Saturday.

  • 'Drawing the New Immortals,' a workshop with artist Angela Smith.

  • 'Going Out' exhibition viewing followed by talk by artist Anna Dumitriu.

  • 'The Prospect of Immortality' book launch with photographer Murray Ballard.

For full details, registration and updates please visit Phoenix Brighton

live forever - Guyan Porter - 2007
image - Copyright © 2007  - Guyan Porter

'The New Immortals' is a project by Judith Alder supported by Arts Council England, the Artists’ Benevolent Fund, Brighton and Sussex Medical School and Phoenix Brighton. Thank you to everyone who generously supported the Kickstarter campaign.

PHOENIX BRIGHTON    10 - 14 Waterloo Place, Brighton, BN2 9NB   Tel: 01273603700

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Art For All - DailyPaintworks

Affordable Original Art

I've joined (DPW), an online gallery that features original fine art and auctions from a group of talented artists.

DPW is a small family-run business that support and promote a huge community of artists. Owners, Carol, David and Sophie Marine also make buying art fun with a great site that's easy to navigate.

Landscape by Jane E Porter
First Snow 2015, mixed media on canvas board, 8 x 8 " SOLD
"When you buy a painting, the purchase is directly between you and the artist and, in almost all cases, it is through PayPal and so is completely safe." (DPW)

In addition, I offer a 30 day money back guarantee, excluding shipping.

Head on over and check it out.

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The Artist Within

The Rich Boy by Jane E Porter
As young children we were innocent, untarnished; our lives lay ahead of us, unknown and undetermined.  When we look back at our childhood, could we have imagined what we would become; a writer, musician, artist?  Could anyone have predicted what the future would hold for us?  Life and our destiny are continually evolving; as every new person we meet or opportunity presents itself, we have the power to alter our destination.  As adults we make decisions every day, as children most of our decisions were made for us.  We didn't get to decide where we were to live or which school we would attend.  We were told which God to believe in and trained to follow the family etiquette.  We were educated to determine right from wrong and versed in what’s good and what's not.  Our parents and teachers decided what we were good at and where we were lacking.  But at what point do we stop listening?  When do we stop accepting what they said?  When does the voice of the artist emerge?

Image:  The Rich Boy, Homage to F. Scott Fitzgerald by Jane E Porter

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Mother's Little Helper

Still Life by Jane E Porter
Mother's Little Helper 2015
'Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside; candles at four o'clock, warm hearthrugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies to the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without.'

Thomas de Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium Eater

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Edie Sedgwick - The Queen of The Factory

Portrait Painting by Jane E Porter
Edie Sedgwick, oil on board 110 x 120 cm

This is the last painting from the series, The Tortured Soul Creates Art.

Warhol's Woman Detail by Jane E Porter
Edie Sedgwick was an American actress, socialite, model and heiress, best known as one of Andy Warhol's superstars. Despite Edie’s prosperous upbringing, her childhood was plagued with trauma. Her brother Minty was an alcoholic by age 15, committing suicide in 1964, the day before his 26th birthday. Her brother Bobby, also suffering from mental health problems, was institutionalized after a nervous breakdown in early 1950 while attending Harvard. He crashed his motorcycle into a bus on New Year's Eve 1964 and died two weeks later.  Edie was also institutionalised at the age of 19 because of an ongoing eating disorder.

After turning 21 in 1964, Eddie left Cambridge for New York, moving into her invalid grandmother's 14-room Park Avenue apartment, spending her nights at top clubs and discotheques. In 1965, she met Andy Warhol.

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She Walks In Beauty

Thorns of The Snow, oil
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

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The Past and The Perished

The Past and The Perished, oil

Porphyria's Lover

The rain set early in to-night,
       The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
       And did its worst to vex the lake:
       I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
       She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
       Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
       Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
       And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
       And, last, she sat down by my side
       And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
       And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
       And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
       And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me — she
       Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
       From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
       And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
       Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
       For love of her, and all in vain:
       So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
       Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
       Made my heart swell, and still it grew
       While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
       Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
       In one long yellow string I wound
       Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
       I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
       I warily oped her lids: again
       Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
       About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
       I propped her head up as before,
       Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
       The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
       That all it scorned at once is fled,
       And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
       Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
       And all night long we have not stirred,
       And yet God has not said a word!

Robert Browning, 1836

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The Last Summer

The Last Summer (digital media)

It was late August, the hottest summer recorded since 1910. The children were still young, their effortless joy and laughter upstaging the blistering demands of the humidity. I watched as they played, chasing each other, rolling around with that, exhaustible enthusiasm, only children seem to possess. It wouldn’t be long now. They were growing dissatisfied with diluted explanations, quizzical faces revealing their scepticism. Truth always finds its way to the surface; the nagging heaviness in my heart, a persistent oppressor. This would be the last summer. God forgive me.

Jane E Porter 2015

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Centuries of Secrets

As the sun sets over the withering pavilion, faint from the brier’s entwine, the muffled hum of champagne-drenched laughter seeps its way through crumbling stone.  An uninvited breeze bears a sweet, pungent aroma, reminiscent of warm sugar caramelising on the stove.  From silent rooms, murmurs of hysteria chill the air, opposing the haze of a narcotic heaven.  Forbidden love affairs whisper through the hallways and seek shelter in the sullen mist that cloaks the grounds; a safe haven for their weakness.  The practice of the craft, white and black, ritual and ceremony, poetic and depraved, their memoirs etched into the fabric in which they were performed.  Births of those intended and those that were not, their lives and deaths, the shadows of their existence still creep through the halls of the upper east wing.

And in the darkest hours, the mortal cries of creative madness eagerly tap on the attic window.

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