The Sedona show

I’ve already blogged about my positive experiences with Carré d’artistes fine art galleries. Here is another reason why I like to work with them. After returning home from Sedona this came in the mail.


I lovely note signed by wonderful people. And two brushes. A thoughtful follow up.

 Painting isn’t an effort, it is a pleasure and I am lucky to call myself a professional painter. Lucky also to work with Carré d’artistes. They know how to make their artists feel desirable. 

I managed to take in the sights and photograph the Bell Rock vortex. Hiking wasn’t on my agenda. But I did meditate and saw the magic. There are lots of faces on that rock.

The show had a good turnout despite the outrageous heat. It was 49 degrees in Phoenix, and 37 in Sedona. 

I made the trip to Flagstaff and found my father’s tomb. Afternoon wandering around the cemetery for over an hour and being dive bombed by crows I asked for a sign.  This was the sign. It was on top of the tomb. No idea who put it there.


Thank you to all of you who contributed to The Indiegogo campaign. And thank you Cate Stetson for the wonderful meals.

40 more paintings for Sedona

Paintings of the American South West by Angie Brooksby
Paintings of the American South West by Angie Brooksby

To date this year I’ve painted 333 oil paintings. That’s more that twice I did last year. One of my favorites is the on the bottom left in this photo.

When I lived and worked in Florence, Italy I painted like this. Like a possessed fiend.  It feels great to work so much and know that people want my artworks.

These are going to Carré d’Artistes Sedona gallery. I hope they get there for black Friday.

 

 

 

Small oil paintings of Sedona

After a glorious week of R&R in Tuscany, I came back to the atelier charged. 15 more  small paintings completed. Three to go before I can send off another 40 to the Carre d’artistes Sedona gallery.

Sedona Desert

Evening Light- 36x36cm – oil on canvas – Brooksby

The first of the Sedona paintings.

I remember crossing the desert when the roads were dirt. Red dust rose in our station wagon’s wake. We kids played in the back of the station wagon. No seat belts. Every time we stopped I touched a cactus. They looked soft. I never learned.