Matt Beard

Vanishing Points

Plein air artwork overlooking Pacific Coast Highway near Point Mugo on the Ventura coast of southern California

There was a day back in July of 2018 that saw record breaking heat all over California’s coast. This was a few days after that when temperatures here cooled down to a chilly 96 degrees on the coast. Believe it or not, this was a relief from what it had been two days prior. This painting required a mile long uphill hike in this heat. It may have been ill-advised, but I drank a gallon of water and survived. The day before this I had come to the area to scope views and about a mile from here I drove up a little one lane road to a pullout with a commanding view. I passed a biker on the way up, (I know you’re thinking I’m exaggerating- how hot was it if there was a guy on a bike cruising up the hill, but what can I say? Bikers are nuts, you’ll see…) When I reach the top I got out to check things out and considered painting, but decided with no shade to be found it just wasn’t gonna happen in this heat. The biker finally reaches me up there, pauses for a minute and turns to go back down the hill before I’m ready. When I finally leave, I was surprised to come around a bend and see him walking his bike. I stop and check to see if he needs help, and we load his bike in the van and I bring him back down the hill where he can get cell reception and call a friend for a ride home. He wasn’t a novice that didn’t know how to patch a tire either, it’s just that those patch kits don’t really work on tires that completely MELT. OFF. THE. RIM. I told you bikers are nuts. At least this one was. But he somehow made it up that hill in the heat so he is the hero of this story and I’ll stop saying he’s nuts now. But he was. In the best way.

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The Great Escape

Plein air artwork of beachgoers escaping the heat at Carpenteria beach on the Santa Barbara coast of California

This was from a heat wave last July that saw temps in the 100’s at the water’s edge. If you could find parking, you could attempt to cool off in the water with your family and everyone else that lives in a hundred mile radius and who have no AC at home and who are flocking to the ocean to cool off, just like you. (We’re all one family anyway when you get down to it yeah?)

You guys know I don’t paint human figures much, and it certainly shows here. I couldn’t avoid them this time though. I didn’t make much effort to get em’ right. Mostly I was just interested in conveying the activity and atmosphere of a midday heat wave at sea level.

I don’t know that I’ve ever painted in trunks at the water’s edge before, but it sure was nice to paint for 10 minutes then run out and bodysurf a little shorepound, then paint for another ten minutes, then repeat the cycle maybe 5 or 10 times throughout the painting.

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Sarah’s Lemonade

Plein air artwork of Malibu Point and Pier on the Los Angeles county coastline of southern California

I scour the coast looking for views like this- familiar places from unfamiliar angles. They don’t always reveal themselves right away. This one took years of following hunches and calculating the risks of trespassing on these multi-million dollar properties (or in this case, nearly trespassing, but not quite) . If they can afford real estate here, they might have other homes elsewhere as well, so what are the odds of them even being home at all, right?

Besides, even if they were home, if you were found painting on or near their property, instead of calling the police they might just walk over and chat with you about art before inviting you in for a drink.

I have to admit I was hoping for a stronger drink after a long day painting in the heat, but a cold glass of lemonade is nothing to scoff at. Thank you, Sarah.

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Vaudevillian Cartoon

Plein air artwork of Leo Carillo State Park on the Malibu coast of los angeles county in southern California

Painted en plein air, summer of 2018
Temperature at 10am: 92 degrees and stupidly humid.

Vaudeville [vôd(ə)ˌvil] noun. a theatrical genre of variety entertainment, typically made up of a series of separate, unrelated acts grouped together on a common bill.

Act one: The rugged beauty of a pristine corner of California’s coast- and a truly magnificent little wave that lines up nicely beside a large rock.

Act two: Tourists peering out from beneath beach umbrellas while shouting at their kids and inadvertently feeding seagulls who are smart enough to know a distracted parent when they see one.

Act three: Perpetual novice surfers who eternally bob around the lineup, pushed along by the wind of their joyously clueless whims.

Act four: A testosterone-fueled circus act where the slightly more experienced surfers, having discovered the art of paddling into waves right beside a large rock, now firmly believe they must demonstrate their prowess by physically paddling into and over one another in the attempt to get closest to the rock and thereby prove their superiority, thereby botching 4 out of every 5 set waves.

Act five: Wait patiently stage-right for the circus act to miscalculate and let a good wave go. This is your cue.

Break a leg.

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The Unveiling

Plein air artwork from the Sonoma coast of Northern California

Painted on location while giving a somewhat distracted interview with a Bay area newspaper editor…

Donuts cooking on the dashboard
As I jumped out to meet the press
We discussed life and art and history
A dozen different ways to make a royal mess

We dodged the ticks and poison oak
And spoke as loud as we liked
Out of view from road and rangers
The park was closed, but in we hiked

I painted quick while he took notes
Scribbled on a yellow pad
Answers rolled in like a set of waves
The reef made of questions I never knew I had

We spoke of Griffin and his mastery
Long after we both met our maker
Griffin jumped in right away
But me, I’ll follow later 

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Broke Down Van Blues

Oil Painting plein air artwork from the Trinidad coast of Humboldt County in northern California

Seems like my van was in the shop for repairs more often than not last year. One particular stint was over two months long. After awhile it started getting me down. This was from a beautiful day last summer, but I remember having to stop and remind myself how wonderful it was to just be here- even though I kept finding things to grumble about- mostly the tiny size of our little honda fit. It’s actually an amazing little car, but rummaging around the open hatchback for gear that might be stashed behind a seat, or in the front passenger seat- every door open on the side of the road as I hunt for my brush roll, or my sunscreen, where’d I put that paint rag anyway? As amazing as this little car is , it is not my mobile studio.

On a lighter note, this was a rare foray into painting with oils, which I do from time to time, just to check in and see what it’s like to paint with a medium that isn’t looked down upon by many art-world types. It’s nice over here on this side of the great oil/acrylic divide. Not nice enough to keep me here, but it’s still fun to visit on occasion.

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One Last Chance

Plein air artwork near the last chance grade on highway 101 on the Del Norte Coast of northern California

Plein air painted last year from a portion of the California Coast that might fall into the sea at any moment if it hasn’t already…

I’ve wanted to paint this one for a long time. Not sure why it took so long, but it was fun to finally take the time to make it happen. It’s not a place I’ve spent a whole lot of time at, but I’ve driven past it dozens of times and made a few memories here and there. Every time I see this place I remember one of the first times I was here, over 20 years ago. I was maybe 21 years old, just a kid really. I wound up staying in the hostel tucked away just at the bottom of this hill. I arrived at the last light of day and was looking forward to getting up early and enjoying some of the small clean waves I saw out front before heading on to wherever I was going the next day. At first light I awoke and slowly, quietly, gathered my belongings and softly made my way to the door so as not to disturb the other travelers still soundly sleeping. Well, all but one. She was at the door before me, perplexed and fumbling with the handle. In hushed tones she explained to me the door was locked, with no way to unlock it without a key, which was not to be found. Really? Granted, we were probably just a little too groggy, young, and dumb to figure out the locking mechanism, but either way the effect was the same. Trapped. Together we strategized the finest plan ever put into action. Running out of options, it was likely our One Last Chance to break free. We did what we had to do. We climbed out the window. I know you were hoping for something more dramatic, but what can I say? That’s all there was to it. After a quick embrace, like captives about to go our separate ways after a daring jailbreak, we parted into the misty morning.

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Car Trouble

Plein air artwork from beside the road at Pebble Beach in crescent city on the del norte coast of northern California

I seem to remember several occasions over the last 20 years where my van wouldn’t start after a surf here. Probably because it was just an old Volkswagon and that’s kinda how they work. It was as good a place as any for the old van since the road makes a gentle descent to beach level just past the little carpark on the top of the bluff. It was never hard to get it pointed down the hill and pop the clutch to get it going. The day I painted this one, in my fancy big sprinter van, I noticed a foul smell just before arriving. I had hoped it was another car on the road, but it followed me a little longer than I’d liked. Just as I pulled up I saw the old Check Engine Light on the dash. Nuts. Ah well, let’s hope it’s nothing major. At any rate, nothing to do about it here anyway, may as well paint the place.

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California’s Dream

Plein air artwork from hollister ranch on the santa barabara coast of southern california

Occasionally the California Coast sleeps in during the May Gray/June Gloom and has this recurring dream.

She sees a distant marine layer and no other clouds in the bright clear sky. She sees the shade of an old and twisted eucalyptus. The tree itself- invasive, and beautiful, and loved- a rare combination indeed.

She sees the memories of her adolescence, the old rail, the lifeline that connected her various towns and settlements when she was just coming of age and didn’t know the difference between a scoundrel and a gentleman.

She sees the running barbed wire fence placed to keep the cattle in place, another reminder of her adolescence when shots fired from a rider on horseback could signal fear, or theft, or love, or life, or all of them at once.

She sees a couple of painters standing over this vista scribbling away at their canvas, while sipping cold beers as a herd of cattle is moved down the road behind them.

In a moment of lucidity, she wakes within her dream to wonder what it means. She asks a man who smiles beside an old faithful Toyota truck and offers her a beer as well. It is then she hears the answer coming from the open cab of the truck and spoken to the wind through the crackling voice of a young Bob Dylan.

-Entry on May 17, 2018

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From the Grave to the Cradle

Plein air artwork from the the hollister ranch with a view of cojo point and point conception on the santa barabara coast

A funny thing about life, that we don’t really ever consider the miracle of our birth until we’ve truly reckoned with the reality of your impending death. Standing here, two feet planted firmly on the path to the cemetery (let the reader understand), this is the first time I ever laid my eyes upon the moment of conception (again, let the ready understand).

When confronted with metaphor of this proportion there is no need of a horizon line- that usual separator of the known and unknown is no longer relevant when faced with this stark reality. There is nothing really to do now but just stand here and look back at our lives and face the rushing wind as it hollows out the spaces in our souls that turned to stone while we were busy dreaming of the points in between the Grave and the Cradle.

-Ok, that was cryptic. The point in the distance is the corner where the California coast makes a sharp right hook and is often considered the terminal of the line separating central and southern California… also the road we were on is named “Cementario”. Still a bit cryptic, but that should help make a bit of sense of the symbolism in those notes. 

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Almost Home

Plein air artwork of the railroad trestle on the Hollister Ranch on the santa barbara coast of southern california

Some islands are formed by water, some are formed by the long standing legacies of private property dating back generations to a time before “coastal access” was even a thing. Some of these have effectively become islands in their own way shielding their environs from the outside world and preserving these lands in a state of blissfully arrested development.

I haven’t spent much time on this particular stretch of coast, but the short windows I’ve been blessed with have been spectacular immersions into one of the most well-preserved portions of an older California still remaining on the mainland.

Some folks even call this place their home. This is the view they see coming home every time they leave and return.

I sometimes half-jokingly call the entire California Coast my home- and if the whole coast were a magnificent house on a hill, this would surely be the entryway to it’s Great Room, it’s focal point, where all of the architectural nuances used to great affect elsewhere culminate to a sublimely perfect crescendo of the Architect’s true genius. This is only the entry mind you, you’d have to explore around the corner to see the rest.

It’s not likely that I’ll ever live here in the normal sense, but still, when I consider this scene, I feel I am Almost Home.

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Cubic Yards

Plein air artwork from the beach near windansea on the la jolla coast of san diego in southern california

Plein air from a beautiful morning along the La Jolla coast from awhile back. I always enjoy the flowing weathered forms of the rocky shoreline here. In this case it was that cubic chunk of rock just catching the light that caught my eye so I ditched my usual mode of operation that typically involves a more pulled back overview of a place. Instead I just wanted to zero in on this foreground… well, and the little reef wave out front.

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Walking a Fine Line

Plein air artwork form Torrey Pines State Park at Razor point on the San Diego coast of southern california

My work takes me to remote locations way off the beaten paths, other times it sends me right into the most crowded shoulder to shoulder tourist zones you can find. The further out you go, the less rules there are telling you where you can and cannot go. For the protection of the habitat, for your own protection, for the protection of the sign-maker’s job- there’s always someone or something to protect the closer you get to town. I joke, but I do understand. We humans are indeed part of the natural landscape, but we are also a powerful force when we congregate in masse, and will often unwittingly destroy the beauty that first drew us to a place.

It had been too long since I’d visited this particular state park, and I thought I’d be spending this day painting in the solitude that I remembered here on one of Southern California’s last undeveloped stretches of coast. Instead, I was greeted by an endless stream of daytrippers much like myself making our way along the network of roped-in trails to a series of designated viewpoints too small to accommodate the volume of visitors jostling for the view.

Out of respect, I set up to paint just outside the railing, literally standing awkwardly on the poured concrete footing of the railing so as not to block anyone’s view, but also to avoid setting a bad example by walking out onto the sensitive terrain. I thought it was an excellent solution. Instead of gratitude, I found myself one sarcastic remark away from being rewarded with a $400 fine by a volunteer ranger. It took great effort to keep it zipped, but I managed.

By the end of the day, I’d walk a fine line on the razor’s edge of park rules and regulations, bluffing my way through 2 more interactions with park authorities (did you know it’s against park rules to eat chips and salsa in the parking lot? When I learned this I was very glad that I had kept the beer out of view) and would find myself eager to return to urban civilization where one can unwind and relax.

All this outdoors and nature stuff can get pretty stressful sometimes.

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Endangered Spaces

Plein air artwork from Torrey Pines State Park looking toward Black's Beach on the san diego coast of California

It had been a long time since I’d explored these trails. I don’t recall them being quite so constricting. I was hoping to find a little nook in the sandstone with a view and some shade. But it was not to be, you can’t step foot off of the clearly marked paths here, without risking fines. These cliffs erode at the slightest suggestion and the hardy coastal scrub can only handle so much trampling before giving way to bare dirt and accelerating the pace of erosion. I’ve seen this elsewhere like up in Monterey while researching some historical images that showed popular tourist destinations covered in soft grass with just an occasional rock or boulder scattered about- now they are nothing but rocks and boulders with a bit of iceplant here and there in the awkward places- still beautiful, and if you hadn’t known how much we’ve changed the landscape by admiring its beauty, you’d never even think of how it may have been.

The irony is the folks coming here to get away from the urban madness are doing so in a park with more restrictions than an average shopping mall. It seemed fitting then that this painting location featured a steady stream of teenage girls taking selfies, having me take their selfies, talking about their selfies, good grief… where is the food court already? Oh wait that’s right, no food allowed here. Really. It’s a rule I found out later. One group of girls sat on a nearby bench talking for almost an hour weaving a conversation of spanish and english and laughter. As this painting neared completion one of them became very excited, “Oh my gosh, this was sooooo amazing watching you. I’ve never seen anyone, you know, paint, like, what they see, you know? I don’t know, it just makes me feel soooo calm, you know?”

I do know, and it does make one feel calm, and I am very glad she noticed.

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Guns and Flowers

Plein air artwork from Camp Pendleton highway stop on the San Diego coast of southern California

A brief stopping point in the middle of one of California’s Coastal military bases. Access is difficult in these zones so my only option was to pant from a roadside viewpoint- just a quick row of parking spots for travelers to pull off the highway and snap a photo or two of the sunset, or themselves, or both. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to explore, just a narrow fenced in strip around the perimeter of the carpark. I contemplated painting the cars themselves and thought better of it as this place is really defined by the open space carved out for military purposes and not so much a civilian destination. Miles of rolling hills, many now alight with blooming mustard flowers of spring, have been left in a more or less natural state here, free from the certain development that would cover this prime coastal real estate with just so much of the same as everywhere else, and for this, I salute our armed forces. Speaking of the military, those helicopters are loud. The first 45 minutes were fairly quiet while painting, but then came the thundering skybirds in steady and rapid succession for the remainder of the session. I had the distinct sense they had noticed what appeared to be a very curious hobo lurking near the carpark with an odd array of equipment strewn about the ground around him. I’m never quite sure how my program looks to an outside observer, especially from the air. But either way, I could see them staring out as they circled periodically. I waved a few times, but never saw my gesture returned. It’s quite possible, and highly likely they were just doing their flight practice and training completely oblivious to me down below, but either way I was glad of their presence, as it gave me ample opportunity to observe their hovering forms in the sky and sneak one into this painting of an otherwise idyllic pre-development scene of coastal southern California.

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The Way it Was

Plein air artwork of El Moro headland at Crystal Cove State Park on the orange county coast of southern California

I was asked to paint this iconic Southern California cove the way it was before the highway and houses came along, without any signs of human presence. It would require some careful editing of the devoloped landscape.

Speaking of careful handling of the landscape, it would also require some careful stepping through a plant rehabilitation zone well off the main trails. I would ordinarily
avoid such questionable practices, but when the state park folks decide inexplicably to lace the entire hillside with trails and NONE of them lead to the rim of the bluffs that
overlook this whitesand beach and scenic headland I can only scratch my head in wonder.  Give the people a trail and they may well stay on it if you ask them too, but take away the trail and you’ll fight a losing battle with the masses intent on finding their own path to the view.

I try to be good, really, I do. It was quite a tip toe, avoiding stepping on any sign of life as I picked my way through the scrub and out onto the rim, finding a nice clearing between some high shrubs that would conceal me nicely from the eyes of all, especially the eyes of the rangers, and double especially the eyes of the ranger that I had just asked about which trails would lead to a good view of the headland.

She gave no good answer so I did what I had to do… not to make anything more or less of it, it’s just the way it was that day.

-Entry on May 4, 2018

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Drip Castles

I was scheduled to do some live art today at a local event here in Humboldt, a culinary event celebrating… well, Spam, of all things… but also with some live music so I figured I’d zone out, angle for some free beers (which were kindly provided) and figure something out as I went. Shortly before heading out the door, I learned of the passing of one of the greatest surfing artists of all time, Chris Lundy, after a long battle with brain cancer.

I never met the man, Chris Lundy, but I’ve been met by his art many times over the years. It’s an experience. It rushes up to meet you face to face with a spray of salt and mist. Electrifying, and dazzling, somewhat disorienting. Like a seriously complex jazz number made of water frozen in some off-beat time signature that only the great jazz minds can comprehend.

I’m on the outside of this jam session. A good old punk rock 4/4 guy standing in the back of the hall, admiring the real magicians who can play along to this strange melody- artists like my friend Spencer Reynolds, who seems to have studied the genius of Chris Lundy’s songs and internalized their syncopated rhythms. He’s one of the only artists I know of, who could jump into a Lundy performance and play along, adding to the song in his own way, without distracting from it all.

It’s appropriate then that as I painted this piece thinking of Chris Lundy, praying comfort for his family and friends in their time of loss, that this personal meditation on his visual music contains distinct undertones of the work of my friend Spencer Reynolds. Not that this painting of a wave cracking on a white sand beach in a slightly different dimension does either of their work justice, its just a sort of personal homage to two amazing artists, one of them gone from us too soon. The other is only in Oregon.

Look them both up if you aren’t familiar. You won’t regret it.

http://www.chrislundy.com/
https://artandsurf.com/ 

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