Rolling In
Matt Beard
The Writing on the Wall
There’s a lot that went into making this painting that you wouldn’t know just by looking at it…
Trespassing, for starters. It wasn’t exactly private property, but the city here had this area blocked off and clearly out of bounds. Walking the perimeter, I observed a well-maintained fence- every hole patched up, no gaps to be found. Which brings us to the next unobvious thing worth noting…
The only access was by crawling around the edge of a steep cliff with a 4o-pound mobile studio packed on my back, fingers hanging on the last section of rusty fence where the cliff beneath had eroded away.
Then there was the dodging of various junkies doing who knows what in the bushes. Yikes.
Oh, and wedging into a cliffside crevice to hide from the 45 mph winds blowing that day…
And finally being told to leave by the police. It’s true. No tickets or anything, they only gave tickets to the kids spray-painting those slabs off in the distance. They made their rounds, evicting everyone from the property until I was the last one. Fortunately, I was finished by the time I’d received my marching orders.
Some days are like this, but see? You wouldn’t have known all that unless I wrote it down.
March of History
I’d been looking forward to painting this cove for a very long time. Surfing history runs deep here as this was one of the first locations in California to develop a dedicated surfing scene. Doc Ball was shooting water photographs here from atop a wooden surfboard back when they had to build their own water housings for their massive cameras before WWII. Needless to say, much of what we know as surfing culture was birthed on the beach and in the water of this cove.
I had a different view in mind, but the wind. Oh my. The wind.
Around that corner and all along the outer edge of the path it came howling up the hillside. I get tired of fighting the wind, just as you’ll likely get tired of hearing me complain about it. What can I say? It’s a constant reality when painting these coastal bluffs that pick up every
whisper and turn them into howls.
After a few trips up and down the path, I found a little pocket of gulch to wedge myself into among these dancing spring flowers, and made the most of it.
Keep the Loonies on the Path
Started this one a bit later in the afternoon than I typically would, after traversing the madness of the L.A. freeway complex, so I was part exhausted, part fired up to be out of the madness, and still in a rush to race the daylight.
Turned out to be a very enjoyable paint session, in spite of the occasional suspicious glares from the local crew driving by to check the surf. Maybe that was part of the fun, it’s all a part of the fabric of this place and I wouldn’t really want it any other way. Localism is wrong. And it’s the best thing ever. I don’t mind the dichotomy at all.
Somehow the ugly behavior of some of those who live here toward those who don’t has helped to preserve a beauty that would otherwise be lost. There are points both north and south of here that bear witness to this reality.
It’s unfortunate that it comes to this, but here we are, and it’s another beautiful evening in California.
All of the Above
The name of this spot is translated in the native Indian tribe’s dialect as “Above”, referring to their settlements location above the floodwaters of this creek. Given it’s proximity to the Metropolis in the distance, it’s definitely a place where one sees anything and everything at times. It was also very hard to find parking for what it’s worth…
Doom and Bloom
Sea of Gold
Back when I began doing a lot of plein air work over 15 years ago, this was an early destination one spring while I was living in Southern California for a short time. I would spend the subsequent years developing my approach and focusing my art on the coastline (basically after a realization that painting on the coast meant I would have to spend a lot of time on the coast- not rocket science but it still took me years to see the beauty of that simple truth). So it was quite satisfying to return to this site and catch the tail end of a great season for California wildflowers.
Harnessing Power
Chromatic Water Theory V: Theory and Practice
Chromatic Water Theory VII: Chunk
Much can be said of beautiful harmonies, but there is also a place in music for the discord, the feedback, the reverb, the chunks of rawness strewn about from a creative process that values expression above technical perfection. Even the ugly shorepound is beautiful to the bodysurfers. Oceanic mosh pits.
Every song has its roots in water.
This series was created live during the Redwood Coast Music Festival inside the Morris Graves Museum of Art. The overall concept of the series was to explore the connections between music and water, through a set of shared geometric structures.
Chromatic Water Theory VI: Platinum
I painted this one during a Johnny Cash tribute set at the Eureka Theater during the Redwood Coast Music Festival while the painting (and occasionally my big fat head was projected on to a 30 foot screen behind the band). Slightly awkward, but hopefully a fun visual to compliment the music.
Thinking of Johnny Cash and the music he produced, it got me thinking of vinyl records. Like a drop in a pool of still water, the rings emanating outward from that single point. (I know it’s a spiral really, but song by song with the little spaces between em, they’re circles alright?) Those albums played the world over, each one like a stone tossed into another pond, resonating with listeners from all walks of life, reveal the power of music to speak to our souls.
Thank you John. Thank you.
Every song has its roots in water.
This series was created live during the Redwood Coast Music Festival inside the Morris Graves Museum of Art. The overall concept of the series was to explore the connections between music and water, through a set of shared geometric structures.
Chromatic Water Theory IV: String Theory
Stringed instruments often contain a dizzying array of mathematical geometries; the length and/or thickness of strings, the placement of frets, the bodies themselves. All of it designed to produce the harmonic frequencies we hear as notes and chords arising from vibrating strings. But what is vibration, if not a wave? Reduce a wave, or for that matter the vibration of the string, to their mathematical bases and you have a simple sine wave, an oscillation between two points at a regular frequency.
Every song has its roots in water.
This series was created live during the Redwood Coast Music Festival inside the Morris Graves Museum of Art. The overall concept of the series was to explore the connections between music and water, through a set of shared geometric structures.
Chromatic Water Theory III: Strum
Sound upon sound, wave upon wave, a simple strum of a stringed instrument produces a series of notes that can combine to produce a harmonious chord. Sound is a wave after all, and every wave forms from smaller waves, ripples even, joining each other in a synergy of moving water, liquid chords in the key of H2O.
This painting is another reminder that every song has its roots in water.
This series was created live during the Redwood Coast Music Festival inside the Morris Graves Museum of Art. The overall concept of the series was to explore the connections between music and water, through a set of shared geometric structures.
Chromatic Water Theory II: Resonate
Many instruments have within their design a method of capturing, redirecting, focusing, and amplifying the otherwise not-quite-so-extraordinary sounds produced by whichever simple vibrating element they employ. When those vibrations bounce off chambers, refract around curving elements, they refract, combine, and grow to a beautiful pitch, much like a wave as it approaches shallow waters. Canyons, reefs, points and sandbars- these determine the acoustics of moving water. The geometries of curved wood, arcing metals, stretched skins- these form the underwater topographies of sound. It’s all in how you hear it.
Every song has its roots in water.
This series was created live during the Redwood Coast Music Festival inside the Morris Graves Museum of Art. The overall concept of the series was to explore the connections between music and water, through a set of shared geometric structures.
Chromatic Water Theory I: Percussion
Percussion, it’s the foundation of music. It’s been here all along, discernible all around and within us, from water’s rhythmic waves to our own heartbeats pumping our saltwater life force through our bodies. From the basic repetition emerges increasing complexities, and with a human intellect at the helm becomes the very structure upon which song is built.
Every song has its roots in water.
This series was created live during the Redwood Coast Music Festival inside the Morris Graves Museum of Art. The overall concept of the series was to explore the connections between music and water.
After a Long Dark Winter
Well, this winter wasn’t really all that much longer or darker than usual, but still, we hadn’t seen the sun for a few wet weeks here on the coast.
When it finally returned it felt as though the sun itself had awoken like a bear from hibernation, blinking, sniffing the air, and without hesitation leaving the darkness of its winter cave and setting out on its path across the sky in search of a long awaited meal with which to break its winter fast.
Last I recalled, everything was gray and wonderful, and the beauty of the muted earth was sufficient to keep my aesthetic appetite fully satisfied.
But then with the sun’s hungry growl, came the new green grass, so vibrant it nearly hurt to look at for long. I had to retreat into the shadows myself just to survive this painting. I was found mumbling incoherencies as I was finishing up. The only thing they could make out was something about needing a brighter green.
They snapped me out of it by waving a sandwich around, but it was a close call for a minute there.
-Entry on April 3, 2017
Watch Your Step
I had tried to paint from this spot recently but couldn’t because of the wind. Even with a better light wind forecast it was still a bit dicey out here at times. Wind funnel slot canyon on a north facing cliff in spring in Humboldt. Yep. Translation: windy, even on a calm day. Took a bit of extra thought during setup and breakdown as the drop is vertical just to the left of the frame and a long way straight down to the water. One bad gust whipping the wrong way and there’d be no retrieving anything that took flight. Nothing blew away, though so it’s all good.
Off in the Distance
We had some good sunny weather a few days ago, and I got it in my head to go up the coast and hike to the top of our local headland there and paint the view looking north. I had the exact vantage point in my mind with vertical rock faces framing one side of the painting but deep atmospheric distance plummeting away up the coast on the other. It would take some scrambling to get all my gear to the little zone with the view I wanted, but nothing too problematic. Well… except for the wind. I was just so excited to see a clear sky forecast after all the rain, that I ran out without thinking of that pesky wind factor. Needless to say, it was a no go. Howling north winds were slamming full force into the promontory I wanted to perch upon. I figured since I live around here, I can always come back on a calmer day and kept going around the leeward side of the head to see what views were on offer on this winter afternoon.
I’d thought of doing a studio piece from this perspective years ago, I even have a file full of images taken with a zoom lens to get this unusual angle of a very familiar zone. I never considered painting it in plein air as the entire frame of the composition is only about two finger widths at arms length due to the distance across Trinidad bay. Not a lot of visual information to work with, a rather flat atmosphere (again due to everything in the painting being a long distance away), and a really awkward compositional problem with no real foreground to work with made this one a bigger challenge than I had expected. I could have included some plants from the side of the trail I was on and peering over, but thought it would distract from this near aerial perspective, so instead I just hammed up the swell lines and foam trails in the water down there to give the eye a bit of enjoyment down there.
While I did have higher hopes for this one (I think I always do for all of them), I am pretty stoked to have come away with a different perspective of a familiar spot.
Natural Defenses
Last one from a recent trip to Orange County, and my first plein air from this historically significant plein air zone. I’m sure there are literally thousands of paintings out there from this vantage point, but until now none of them were mine. I haven’t been avoiding it intentionally, it’s just a nightmare to find parking most of the time. I’ll be back for more, it’s a pretty spectacular little nugget of California.
Also a first, I don’t recall painting a cactus before this either… Hundreds of paintings of the California coast and not one cactus? I know they’re not exactly everywhere, but still, that trips me out a bit. Fun forms to paint, looking forward to the next time they pop up in the foreground.
House of Romance, 1963: I Was Almost Never Born Here
You ready for some personal Beard family history here?
On a recent trip south, a talented photographer friend and I spent a rainy afternoon cruising around to some of his favorite vantage points along the south Orange County coast.
One of the stops was a historical site called Casa Romantica. I’d never heard of it, and being these places often come with staff that won’t let you tromp around in the bushes hunting for the perfect view, I usually avoid them. They were closed on the day we showed up, we even tried all the side gates to no avail. In my mind, I’m thinking I dodged a bullet and maybe I’d never bother with the place again. He stresses that the view from the place is really something though and I trust him, so I’m still in the game, but maybe just barely.
I mention all this to my dad the next day and he drops this on me: apparently he spent a lot of time there back before the city owned the historical site. He ate in the dining room, swam in the pool, walked the down the hill to the beach, kissed miss San Clemente in the dark down there when nobody could see, nearly married that girl who was the daughter of the man who owned the place. This was around 1963. They were quite serious, heading toward marriage, and then things just went sideways. That was that. But it was a close call for my DNA. Good move, Pops!
But wait there’s more. I mention this whole thing to my wife’s folks who lived in San Clemente for a time back in the mid/late 60’s… and the plot thickens. Apparently my father in law had just found Christ in the Jesus Movement of the late 60’s and a man who he viewed as a mentor told him one day he needed to get a job and took him up the hill to Casa Romantica, where he was promptly hired as a groundskeeper and spent a few years “working” while checking the surf all day, waiting for just the right moment to take his breaks.
Far out. Small world.
Oh and yeah, this wasn’t completely plein air. I was kicked out when they closed the grounds for the day at 2 pm. Who closes anything at 2 pm on a Saturday? Had to finish at home later.
Sorry dads, if I botched any details.
Rainy Day Melody
Another recent one from the Orange County coast. With all the weather and rain, I kept feeling like I was painting up north somewhere. Not the typical Socal Blues anyway…
While Lovely Rita Was Sleeping
Plein air capturing the early morning marine layer view of the Orange County coast. Couldn’t see much out there in all that wet gray, so I pulled up on the side of the Coast Highway, and set up inside the van to paint the one thing I could see all too well. Since I blocked two parking spots to get this parking meter lined up with my side door, I played it safe and fed both of those hungry monsters all the change I could scrounge up, which only bought me about a half hour. I wasn’t quite done so I spent another 15 or so in front of the expired meters, but thankfully with no sign of the meter maid. Where would I be without her? Right here apparently, in the dismal wet fog of an OC winter morning.
Eating donuts as Jimi Hendrix quotes Bob
Dylan from beyond the horizon through a
Scratchy cassette tape while Lovely Rita
Was counting quarters in her sleep.
Salt Haze
This was a rough one. The coast fog was super thick when I rolled up to paint here, but the sky was blue behind me on the hills looking inland and being only late morning when I was setting up, and with a nice forecast to look forward to, I’d reckoned things would likely clear up shortly. Got a few glimpses of shimmering soft light on the water in the early stages, then full gray out for the rest of the session. “All art is a lie” once again proves true. After packing up and driving literally about 1 mile I drove right out of this fog pocket and into the revelry of a clear blue sky. For the next few hours I painted a different spot and looking back up the coast I noticed my nemesis, this fog bank, never moved. Ah, such is life… And fog.
The Light Contagious
One of the best things about plein air painting all over the California coast is that it requires me to post up and really watch the waves for several hours. By the time I wrapped this one up at sunset, I knew I’d be back the next morning, and where I’d sit in the line up. With the recent rains, it was a gamble of contagion roulette out there with the creek mouth open and flowing to sea. Scored some fun waves, but lost the game of roulette, my throat’s been sore for 2 weeks now.
Still Life: Tower 22 and Red Single-Fin
Twenty-two rules
and too many ways to break them.
We didn’t know any better.
We thought they were only suggestions.