Archive | 2017

“Sometimes You Don’t” $442

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 16″ x 12″
Year: 2017

Price: $442
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Notes:

Sometimes you’re a Spanish explorer looking for Monterey bay on an overland journey from San Diego over 200 years ago with 63 soldiers and more than a hundred mules.

Sometimes you’re driving around in a large van painting the California Coast on your way to a music festival a few hours north of Monterey Bay.

Sometimes you miss Monterey bay due to fog and end up way off target above Santa Cruz.

Sometimes you end up on a several hour goose chase driving around on the unnamed farm roads above Santa Cruz hoping to paint the view of the vast Pacific from a field of artichokes despite a howling wind.

Sometimes your soldiers are sick and need some rest so you stop at a beach with a windsheltered bluff and a clean flowing creek.

Sometimes you give up on the artichokes in the howling wind end up at a beach with a windsheltered bluff and a clean flowing creek.

Sometimes everyone in the camp gets diarrhea.

Well… sometimes you don’t.

And sometimes after everyone recovers you continue on and become the first Europeans to discover San Francisco bay instead.

And sometimes you paint a little painting like this instead.

“And They Will Ask” $670

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $670
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Notes:

No roads in, no roads out.

Washed out 40 years ago.

Just this narrow footpath remains.

Yet they live here.

And walk this path daily.

Packing life in and out on their backs.

Even the children know who belongs and who doesn’t

And they will ask.

If you give a wrong answer, I’m not sure what they will do.

Don’t give a wrong answer.

It’s a certain kind of heaven here.

But there is a certain kind of hell around the corner.

Complete with fast food and poison.

 

You’d keep them out too if you could.

“Ones and Zeroes” $495

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $495
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Notes:

It was only a lifetime ago, that we stood here and watched, scanning the horizon for very real threats. It was a different time, when triangles and protractors could save the world, and ones and zeroes just belonged to the hobo’s walking the rails.

It was only yesterday we stood and watched, scanning the horizon for lightning, long out of range and out of season. Everything’s different now. No need to reminisce. Anything we need, we can pay for with ones and zeroes.

So close we could almost feel the blast. A flash of light. A child screams. But there is nobody left to put up a fight. Just some ones and zeroes.

We never saw it coming because we sold the watchtower, and carved the earth from it’s foundation. It still stands, hovering and weightless above the earth and sea. Inaccessible for all but the names of the fallen, written on the walls with triangles, but traded for ones and zeroes.

I shelter in the book of names, their colors shade my vision. The falling mist and threats of passing showers cannot hinder me now. I am hidden by ones and zeroes.

“More Than Wind”

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Notes:

I had just finished a piece from the other side of this hill looking up the coast to the north. As I painted that one, what started as a windless day quickly changed. The whitecaps had enveloped every piece of water in sight, inside the kelp, around the headlands, pretty much game over for painting outdoors. But before leaving I wanted to see the view from the other parts of the hill and when I looked out over this side, I saw this painting. Right then, right there. The warm iceplant in the foreground, the cool windcapped sea, the distant fog bank, all of it.  

I knew I wanted to paint it, but fighting a stubborn cold, and after wrestling the last one to completion in the wind, I was rather beat. What to do? Come back another day? But there was plenty of daylight still left. The surf wouldn’t be good anywhere. But still, nothing in me wanted to push on at the moment. I headed back down the hill to the van to consider my options.

Now I’m not too good at religion, but still I often talk to God and believe God speaks to us as well. Call me nuts. It’s all good. You may be right. I asked God what I should do, unsure if it was a good idea to push myself back up the hill and keep working. Don’t worry, the answer wasn’t an audible voice, but distinct all the same, it was a thought not my own. “You are man, you are made of mountain.”   Okay…

Now whatever you make of that, it had the effect of getting me all fired up and back up the hill I went with a fresh canvas. 3 times it blew off the easel. Once, it hit me in the face (a first). It never held still. I had to hold the easel with one hand while painting with the other. I yelled, fought, and wrestled. It takes more than wind to level a mountain.

“Passing Shadows” $432

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 16″ x 12″
Year: 2017

Price: $432
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Notes:

Passing clouds cast shadows of doubt across the rolling hills. Would it rain? Would it hold out? Would the wind come up and blow it all away? The short trail up was full of the oddest switchbacks you’ll ever see. Paved path 50 yards to the left, then 50 yards to the right, to gain a mere 10 feet with each run of the gauntlet. A bench with a view at every right turn. 5 or 6 of them, one above the other stacked up the hillside- ornaments for the Mother of All Switchbacks paved in all her bituminous glory. Hikers, joggers, headphones blaring, baby strollers zipping this way that way, a choreography of life unfolding up and down this hill. Metaphor on metaphor coming on strong, hitching rides on the passing shadows. Halfway up the hill, maybe on the third bench she sat. Unstable. Speaking to the unhearing ears, drowned out by fitness podcasts, she trailed off her sentences with laughter, but void of joy as each one passed. I too had to pass her by, my back burdened with gear and blank canvas, nothing to offer at this time but a piece of my silent heart. She is somebody’s daughter. She locked eyes as I approached. “In five years this could be you…” and she awaited my response as she reverted to her unsettling laughter. “I hear you” was my unthinking reply, and my mind continued “could be me in 5 days” as my own heart laughed at the thought of just how close we all walk that line even on a good day. I hope the shadows pass her by.

“The Beach” $460

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 10″
Year: 2017

Price: $460
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Notes:

Sleep on couches, sleep in cars, whatever it takes to get by. Duck dive. Paddle. Duck dive. Paddle. Duck dive. Paddle.

Get a job. Better yet, start your own thing. Duck dive. Paddle harder. Duck dive. What? Duck dive again.

Lose a job, laid off by the boss that’s half your age. Whatever. Keep getting by. Paddle like mad. Duck dive. Paddle harder. Duck dive. Underwater backflip. Neat. Two quick strokes. Duck dive.

Get a place of your own. An old house with an even older landlord. No english spoken. Maybe dutch, or german. Simple life, walk to the beach. Paddle a bit further. Just outside the inner bar now. Check the shore, mind the drift.

Back to work. Side jobs keep coming. Who needs a real job? Head down. Keep busy. Race for the horizon between sets, maybe sneak through unscathed.

Landlord dies. What’s next?  Dark wall looms on the outer bar. Scratch like hell at the leaden water.

Nephew inherits place. He’s got plans. You’re not part of them. Not gonna make it. Forget the duck dive. Straight up dive for deepwater.

Back to the car and couches. Fewer couches now. Seems everyone else has been caught inside too. Car it is. Whatever it takes to get by. Swim in. Recover board on The Beach.

Not broken.

 

*sidenote: to this day I have never ridden a wave here, only paddled around in vein

“All that Remains” $410

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 10″
Year: 2017

Price: $410
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Notes:

Cerebral flapjacks cooking on the whiskey bar
Artificial roller coaster couldn’t beat the bumper car
Creepers in the bushes don’t look now it aint no good
Sterilize, sanitize, scrub it kook, give em all your food

Paint the cave, take a bath, what about the money
Stick parade, children laugh, hide them from the sun
Drink the water, drink the brine, eat the fish and honey
Leave a tip, exit quick, once the eatin’s done

Sun and wind, electric eels, drying on a line
The pizza burned the house down and blamed it on the wine
Our feet are wet with old concrete the romans laid to last through time
We checked the clock the time ran out but they said they didn’t mind

How about the old ones, still soaking in the past?
The love they made, the things they said, none of which would last
They wrote their names upon the walls like flowers through the cracks
They killed the sky, they drowned the moon, they wrote them loud and fast

Look around, make no sound, what is it we have gained?
This is it, nothing more, this is all that still remains

“Unorthodox” $565

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $565
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Notes:

Sunday morning.

Somewhere under a cathedral ceiling the choir is singing an old song.

Out here under the open sky the choir sings the oldest song.

Somewhere under a cathedral ceiling, a “contemporary worship team” is singing a new song.

Out here under the open sky, the choir sings the newest song.

The angels sing softly on the wind, they roar like thunder on the water.

They’ve sung from the beginning.

Unceasing.

They’re still singing now.

They’ll sing until the end. Maybe even longer.

I worship out here with color, because I usually sing out of key.

When I am finished, I will go sing badly in the cathedral. I enjoy those songs too. Or perhaps I won’t sing at all, but still I will hum along.

But I will go at night, because the morning is full of light.

“Eat the Rich” $620

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $620
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Notes:

Buy it all. Claim it. It’s all yours. Then what?  Put up a fence. A bunch of little signs telling us to stay out of the places we’ve always gone?  Lock the gate? Threaten us with arrest? Threaten us with violence? Have fun with that. We know who belongs here and nobody paid our admission. It was given freely at birth. And at our parent’s birth. Generations back to the founding of the earth. Do what you will to keep us out of what you think you now own. We don’t want what is yours anyway. We want nothing to do with you and your financial plans. We barely see you at all. We’ll go about our day from dawn to dusk, we will wear you down. Even if you buy a victory from the sellers of legal trinkets at the courthouse market, you’ll still lose. We know who you are, and we know who we are. That is all the permission we need. Stop one, two, a hundred of us. You haven’t scratched the surface. You’ll think you’ve won at night, but in the morning we’ll still be there on the beach you think you own building a fire on which to roast your unguarded joy. You forgot to keep it in your sight when you chose to guard your possessions instead. Without any effort at all, we’ll toss it on the fire, kept hot and burning with your arrogance. We’ll slowly devour it and wash it down with whiskey and coffee. And even then, you are welcome to join us. After all, it’s not our beach.

 

“Don’t Eat Us” $559

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $559
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Notes:

Pristine beach. But after the first impression of paradise subsides, one is greated by the scattering of utter filth left behind by those who were here before. Oh, I know it’s not me or you, it’s Them of course.

Sure, this painting makes it look rather nice, and no doubt if you make it down to this beach and wander far enough from the access points, you’ll find a truly beautiful remote beach, but along the way you’ll have to close your eyes to some hard truths about your fellow humans.

It’s just trash, I know in the big picture many would say that’s a small thing. It’s not nuclear war, it’s not systemic genocide, it’s not violent oppression. Its not even close to that. It’s just people, broken and flawed as we all are, looking to get away from the stress of their hollow lives, in need of release, getting back to nature, howling at the moon, reveling in friendships, in love, in a beautiful reckless abandon.

But the Beast that is Us devours everything.

Forgive Them, They know not what They do.

Forgive Us, as we forgive Them.

Amen.

“Juxtaposition” $630

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $630
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Notes:

What’s in a name?

Just a few days earlier I’d surfed a spot hundreds of miles north, that goes by the same name as this one. Unknown to me at the time, a memorial was being held for a local surfer who’d recently passed away while surfing there.

The morning I woke up to make the 6 hour drive south with this destination on my mind to kick off this road trip, I was jarred by the news of another man’s passing. One I had just met for the first time a few weeks prior on my last road trip. I had known of him for years though, and I was keenly aware of all he had done for artists all over the world. He had launched careers, lifted up the struggling, showcased what others overlooked. I just wanted to shake his hand and say hello and it was an honor to do so, and now there would never be a follow up to that encounter.

Life is final like that.

And it’s precarious while it lasts. Like an urban wilderness. It’s there, giving of itself to any who will appreciate it, but it’s often trampled, misused, overlooked, and in a blink of an eye the bulldozer’s come and finish it. A juxtaposition of love and indifference.

Damn the bulldozers. Slow down and enjoy what matters while it lasts.

And if you ever have the chance to name a surf spot, please call it Life.

“Stick a Fork in It” $475

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 10″
Year: 2017

Price: $475
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Notes:

I’ve been on the road for a week and a half. I’ve slept in my van in grocery store parking lots, picking ticks off my face that must have crawled out of my painting gear as I slept. I’ve wrestled the sun and cursed at the wind. My back is tired, my feet ache, my lips are chapped, and the distinct itch of poison oak is catching up with me from a week of exposure. I’m heading home tomorrow, but today I am here.

The sun had grown tired of my grumbling and refused to join me for this last effort. The waters will not be illuminated today. The air is full of mist. My mind is full of other places I’d like to be. Home, mostly. But today I am here.

One last round with mother nature. It’s not a victory song, it’s funeral march, as Leonard Cohen would say, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.

I long to see this coast in another light, on another day, and perhaps I will in the not too distant future. But today I am here, and I cannot deny this moment. There is joy in the muted earth, joy in the slow passage of time, joy in the rumble of ocean below.

But I also cannot deny the joy of completion. Stick a fork in it. I’m done.

“More or Less” $540

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $540
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Notes:

I saw an old man reciting poetry to the seagulls here. They waited on his every word, looking for any morsel of wisdom they could read between his lines. Or potato chips, those would work too. One seagull perched on my van. He wanted to know what I was doing in there. I was painting the scene he calls home. He didn’t like my painting because it didn’t include all the people and towels, umbrellas and bikinis, but mostly the paper sacks resting in open backpacks near the skinny awkward kids. Those contained the best poetry in this literary ave’s opinion. Poetry written in love by lonely mothers giving their lives for their young and wrapping their words in plastic and tin foil to keep them fresh in their child’s time of need. Yes, the finest verses ever written, penned from kitchen counters, awaiting their day to be read aloud for the young to hear. My winged friend above asks for silence. The recital is about to begin.

Not sure where that came from, but on a sidenote, I did include a bit of my childhood in this one, the yellow VW bus my folks got in 1976 when I was just a year old. In fact this whole area is permeated for me by memories of exploration as a teenager here in that old van. My grandparents moved just over the hill behind the coast here in those years and I would borrow the van and head out in all directions to see what waves I could find. I’d often end up right here after being too chicken to surf anywhere else alone at that age. I’d probably eat a sandwich wrapped in plastic and foil afterwards.

Fastforward to now, and here I am eating a sandwich and some chips out of the back end of the big white sprinter van (also in this painting), while talking to seagulls about life. Full circle, more or less…

“Mourning and Remembrance” $437

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 16″ x 12″
Year: 2017

Price: $437
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Notes:

By day they theorize, philosophize, and lay their eyes on this predicament from old lawn chairs behind a makeshift barrier of plastic tape. By night they await the higher tide under the spotlight, searching for answers, but generating none. Once a proud vessel, named for nobility, now on the rocks, without the gin, or perhaps because of it if the wind spoke truly. Each morning brings a new revelation, coffee and binoculars the potent ingredients of this daily visionquest. She is a solar eclipse, her shining brightness now darkened by the lesser light. Shucked like an oyster, removed from her shell of open water, she now sits waiting for the ocean to swallow her hull.

The heiress watches on, a mix of rage and longing, as she carves an homage of color to the one she once knew. All the while they watched this maiden work and no one said a word.  It is no different with you or I. While our voyages may end differently, still every voyage must end and we can only hope there is a daughter by our side to mourn and remember us when our day arrives.

True story.

The boat that got stuck on the rocks here was still stuck on the day of the solar eclipse, and over a meal of oysters with an artist friend in the area I learned the boat used to belong to her grandfather and was originally named after her brother. I told her I wanted to paint it, and convinced her to come with me the next day and we stood on the bluff and painted while the captains came and went. I could have just told you this plainly right off the bat, but the whole thing was too poetic to introduce like that.

Apologies if what I wrote was no good.

I’m just a painter.

 

“A Matter of Convenience” $419

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 10″
Year: 2017

Price: $419
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Notes:

Chumash land: just the way it always was…

Spanish imperialism: all of your earths is ours now

Mission San Miguel: we graze our cattle on all your lands now

Mexican land grant: all of your ground is Mr. Pico’s now

George Hearst: I found gold, I buy your dirt from Pico.

Willam Randalph Hearst: Thanks dad, I like big castles

California state parks: Thanks king Hearst, we like beaches.

That’s my nutshell of the entire human history of this piece of coast dating back as far as we can know. Well, that and the Portuguese whaling community that made use of this convenient bay and the deepwater beyond to manhandle 370 whales into lifeless economic commodities in just 10 years. Bay of blood?

All told, it’s a very sheltered beach on a rugged windswept and swell-pounded coastline. A convenient place to build a wharf for offloading materials to build, oh say… a castle, or something like that.

Now there’s still a wharf there today. And ghosts from other eras still linger beside the towering Eucalpytus. History has unfolded at a different pace here than most places on the coast, and it’s tangible.

“The Sea Before Dark”

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 12″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Notes:

A focal point for those just passing through. After miles of inland panoramas the road opens up to a view of the ocean here. But only for a moment or two. Then it’s back to the cows and the farms and the country music.

It’s hard not to stop once in awhile. It’s just so easy. And when traversing the entire state north to south in a hurry, it’s often the last chance for a quick dip in the sea before dark.

Also, this place scared the jeebies out of me when I was about 13 and paddled out in front of these cliffs thinking it looked small and fun. Visions of coast guard helicopter rescue attempts thwarted by the setting sun drifted faster than the sweeping current through my panicked mind as I realized the error of my judgment.

It’s a lesson all ocean going people learn the hard way, and not just once, but usually on multiple occasions before it really sinks in. Looking down at waves is very different than looking up at them.

“Leave No Trace: Side A” $583

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: (diptych) Side A: 12″ x 12″  Side B: 12″ x 12″
Year: 2017

Price: Side A and B together- $583
Side B (right) only- $439
*all prices subject to change and availability, CONTACT us for more info.
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Notes:

Arrival: Late Afternoon. Look west, hike to bottom of trail. View from top was better. Plus creepy creepers lurking in the reeds everywhere down here. Trash strewn. Beautiful place, but yuck. Back to top. Look east, hike toward cove on that side of this headland. Trash strewn. Starting to feel guilty. Might head back to the van and dump some beer cans and toilet paper around at random to blend in better with all the creepers crawling all over this place. Continue on, decide not to add my own trash. Arrive at fork. Turn right, holy mackaroly, that’s a neat cave. Spend some time enjoying this marvel of nature. And graffiti. Because that’s what I feel like doing when I see a place this beautiful. Quick! Write my name on something, pronto! I Still prefer the view from the top though. Head back up the trail. Am I being followed? Creeper country picnic down here. Scope view from top. Neat granite rock formation in foreground. Like an  arcing wave. Covered in graffiti, of course, because names need to be written here. Go back to van, retrieve supplies return to paint. College girls smoking weed and giggling. No thanks, but thank you for offering. They leave and another couple shows up and picks up where the girls left off. But they don’t offer me any. I don’t hold it against them. One more group of kids show up, and climb over directly in front of where I’m painting. But they leave because it smells like piss down there. Because after writing your name on a rock, you usually need to pee on something… like the rock you just wrote your name on. The day gets late. A cute young couple expecting their first child shows up with a photographer to take pretty sunset photos. Probably going to crop out the beer bottles and graffiti. Not me. They are part of the story. When I am done I drink a beer of my own while the sun finally sets. I ponder smashing the bottle and pissing on it before I leave, but instead I take it with me and leave no trace. I guess I don’t belong here.

“Leave No Trace: Side B” $439

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: (diptych) Side A: 12″ x 12″  Side B: 12″ x 12″
Year: 2017

Price: Side A and B together- $583
Side B (right) only- $439
*all prices subject to change and availability, CONTACT us for more info.
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Notes:

Arrival: Late Afternoon. Look west, hike to bottom of trail. View from top was better. Plus creepy creepers lurking in the reeds everywhere down here. Trash strewn. Beautiful place, but yuck. Back to top. Look east, hike toward cove on that side of this headland. Trash strewn. Starting to feel guilty. Might head back to the van and dump some beer cans and toilet paper around at random to blend in better with all the creepers crawling all over this place. Continue on, decide not to add my own trash. Arrive at fork. Turn right, holy mackaroly, that’s a neat cave. Spend some time enjoying this marvel of nature. And graffiti. Because that’s what I feel like doing when I see a place this beautiful. Quick! Write my name on something, pronto! I Still prefer the view from the top though. Head back up the trail. Am I being followed? Creeper country picnic down here. Scope view from top. Neat granite rock formation in foreground. Like an  arcing wave. Covered in graffiti, of course, because names need to be written here. Go back to van, retrieve supplies return to paint. College girls smoking weed and giggling. No thanks, but thank you for offering. They leave and another couple shows up and picks up where the girls left off. But they don’t offer me any. I don’t hold it against them. One more group of kids show up, and climb over directly in front of where I’m painting. But they leave because it smells like piss down there. Because after writing your name on a rock, you usually need to pee on something… like the rock you just wrote your name on. The day gets late. A cute young couple expecting their first child shows up with a photographer to take pretty sunset photos. Probably going to crop out the beer bottles and graffiti. Not me. They are part of the story. When I am done I drink a beer of my own while the sun finally sets. I ponder smashing the bottle and pissing on it before I leave, but instead I take it with me and leave no trace. I guess I don’t belong here.

 

“Machine Work”

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 10″
Year: 2017

Notes:

A bit of Old California here. Not too many places are left like this along the coast. An old industrial building, built back when even those were made to be beautiful and long before the man/nature dichotomy narrative had reached it’s current crescendo and even man’s industry was a thing to be celebrated as a wonder of nature itself, placed right above a small fishing pier on a pristine stretch of coast. It’s a wonder to me that it’s survived all these years and not been replaced by an upscale restaurant, or hotel, or both.

I don’t know of the history of its survival, if it’s current existence has been won in a series of hard fought battles from preservation minded locals against outside monetary interests, or it’s just been simply overlooked in it’s quiet corner of the coast, but I hope it doesn’t just sit here as a reminder of a past, I hope it thrives in all it’s grease and glory for generations to come.

Oh and I was approached by the police while painting this one. I was in the back of the van, doors open to the view. They pulled up slowly, just enough to see in the back and watched for a minute or two.  They never got out, never said a word, and slowly backed up and left. I guess I wasn’t the one they were looking for that day. I know that wasn’t much of a story for you either, but I always get a kick out of the events that unfold when painting out and about in public. I’ve never had a police officer approach me while painting in my home studio.

“Economy of Scale” $627

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 20″ x 16″
Year: 2017

Price: $627
*all prices subject to change and availability, CONTACT us for more info.
click here for full cost breakdown

Notes:

Geology trips me out. They always say that the large rock formation at the mouth of this bay is some sort of plug in a volcano. Okay…  well I guess that’s pretty convenient. Maybe that’s why they are so strict about not letting climbers set foot on the thing- don’t want to risk any climbers setting bolts on a weak spot and causing the whole thing to blow. No good when that happens.

But yeah, I wanted to get a good view of this landmark so I scouted a nice short trail up a nearby peak and made my way to the top. Upon arrival, I spun two things. First was a full 360 or two, taking in the panoramic view from the top. Pretty epic, but lacking foreground interest up there. So the second thing I spun was a 180 back down the trail to a large granite boulder I’d passed on the way up.

I thought there was a certain visual poetry in painting this boulder in the foreground, with a distant view of a downright massive rock formation that would make this boulder appear but a pebble if they were to sit side by side. An interesting economy of scale, to misuse a phrase.

If that one is some sort of volcano plug, maybe this one is plugging up an epic hot tub. I’ll have to file a complaint with the geology department. Hiking around with a studio on one’s back, one needs all the hot tubs one can find. Preferably without giant rocks on them.

“Most Wanted”

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 16″ x 20″
Year: 2017

Notes:

I’d been wanting to paint this stretch of coast for years. It’s not a place I’ve visited much, but even driving by as a kid learning to surf years ago, this area called to me. The deepwater reefs and powerful surf was out of my league and for the most part probably still is, but the angle of the coast looking nearly due east to the place of the rising moon (no moon at this time, it was around the time of the solar eclipse, so if you’re a moon person, you know that happens around a new moon, but you should see this place when the full moon rises… oh my, but I digress). As much as I am drawn to this area, it seems the police are drawn to me here as well. I’m a slow cautious driver and don’t get pulled over much, but I was pulled over right here, maybe 8 or 10 years ago, driving an old GMC van. Pretty sure my muffler fell off just prior to being pulled over, but that’s not what the officer said I was pulled over for. He said my license plate light bulb was out… I think he just wanted to take a look in the van and scope it out all the contraband. He started by asking for my driver’s license. I handed it to him and in the photo on the license I was actually clean shaven, and he looks at my big old bushy beard and back at the photo and says “I don’t see a beard on here” to which I say “no, no it’s on there officer” and proceed to point to my last name. (These days I’d have likely been pulled out of the car and pinned down for reaching out the window like that, but like I said it was awhile back.) He laughed and changed his hole tone after that and let me go. Didn’t even write a fix-it ticket.  Fast forward to this day, and while painting up on this hill, a police car pulls up just at the base of the hill and I see the officer in the patrol car watching me up here. I knew it was fine to be here, but it stirred some fun memories. Then, I kid you not, even as I packed it all back down to the van, another officer pulls up and watches me load my gear back in the van. Not sure what that’s all about. Matt Beard. Fugitive van driving art guy.

“Maybe Another Time” $362

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 16″ x 12″
Year: 2017

Price: $362
*all prices subject to change and availability, CONTACT us for more info.
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Notes:

I have hazy memories of this place. Possibly dreams even. In those recollections the surf looks fun, but not good. Ragged, gray, a bit crowded. I’m hesitant. I never get in the water. It sure sounds like dreams I have, but the odd part is I don’t remember actually being here before. It just struck a chord as I drove by. I know this place. And all of it’s details. It’s odd. Could have been a trip with my brother when I was young, maybe just a quick surf check. But it sure feels like an awkward dream when I recall it now.  

Anyhow, this day looked completely different. Summer carefree day, blue skies, warm air, no crowd, but alas no waves. Once in awhile a line would stand up and threaten to break. In the white shimmering glare it looked tempting and I kept thinking I’d maybe paddle out on the log after painting this and see if they were rideable or not. But I never did. Good sense got the better of me and it really was more wishful thinking than anything else.

Maybe another time.

“Hole in the Fence” $487

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 16″ x 12″
Year: 2017

Price: $487
*all prices subject to change and availability, CONTACT us for more info.
click here for full cost breakdown

Notes:

Under the barbed wire, across a bluff top meadow, promising lines appeared bending around the nearshore reefs. In a still moment, it was a vision of perfection, but taken in the 4th dimension of time, it was nothing more than a broken promise. At least today. Broken lines, appearing, shifting, disappearing, reappearing at random across the reefs.

Except that one section, time and time again, it would suck out and rifle off a short makeable line before chaotically disembarking itself on the scattery dry rocks inside. I still don’t think it was truly rideable except perhaps with the right company and a certain state of mind, maybe not drunk on wine, but perhaps a bit intoxicated with old fashioned fun. And a beat up board. Maybe a helmet.

But whether the waves ever shape up or not, something happens here, as the worn path under the barbed wire fence testifies. Sometimes hunting for waves is high tech, satellite imagery and swell forecasting. Other times it’s a bit more primitive, scanning the ground for broken twigs and tracks not well covered, tracking an elusive prey. The hole in the fence certainly falls under the latter category. Though it could just be good fishing grounds. I’ve got a lot of mental notes on places like this up and down the coast.

It doesn’t matter too much to me if the clues lead to good waves or not though, it’s the process that I’ve come to love. This holy fence led to a 2 hour surf check in the early morning standing alone on a remote piece of coastline while studying the color and spacial relationships of the land and sea with paint.

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