Depth Perception VI
Origin Story
Ella’s Point
Bamboozled
Afternoon Commitments
Hitting the High Notes
Dust and Ashes
Depth Perception #5
Depth Perception #4
Depth Perception #3
Depth Perception #2
Depth Perception #1
Twenty Twenty Two
Gravitational Truce
Nobody Home
The Coast Road
Kansas City Star
This was a lot of fun to paint, and waaaay out of my comfort zone. If you know my work, you know what I mean. I’m a lot more comfortable painting rocks and trees inaccurately than I am doing the same injustices to the human form, but there they were, pouring themselves into their music for us only a few feet away. What could I do? I did my best. And this is where it landed.
It’s especially meaningful to me as I’ve painted at live events while dozens, possibly hundreds of musicians have played nearby, but never a group of musicians I’ve known as long as these guys. Usually I just paint whatever I feel like, flowing water, waves, etc, but today I felt like painting these guys while they did their thing. Our friendships go back over 25 years, long before, they played music together, before they formed Huckleberry Flint and proceeded to sell out shows. Long before two of them got the wild idea to figure out how to make chocolate from scratch and winning awards and selling chocolate all over the world as Dick Taylor Craft Chocolates. They even hired my oldest daughter and now she always smells like chocolate, and if we shake her hard enough, little bits of chocolate fall out of the hems in her shirt, and we laugh and make cookies. So yeah, this wasn’t just a painting of a band, this painting is a snapshot in time of friendships that have been forged over a lifetime.
The President
Two things happened recently.
First, I spent a week exploring and painting along one of mainland California’s most remote and mysterious coastlines. Missile launch silos. American flags. Chain of command and all that. But this painting isn’t about that trip at all except for one detail. One morning on the beach, miles from the nearest pavement of any sort, I came across some paw prints on the beach. I’d heard of mountain lions on this coast, and somehow I always pictured those cats, well, up in the mountains. The thought of one of these majestic beasts with sand stuck between its toes got my imagination working.
Second, I was asked to come paint live at a fundraiser for a friend who’s running for elected office here in Humboldt. He’s commissioned artwork from me in the past and I ate an unwholesome amount of snacks at his Superbowl party one year without even watching the game. I have no way to know whether he’s the perfect fit for the job he’s seeking, but I do know that over the years he’s been a supporter of artists like myself, so while that means I am certainly biased, it also means he’s been a meaningful part of this community’s culture long before seeking public office.
I’m not a fan of political gamery at any level and try to steer clear at all costs. But then again, I’ve never had a collector or personal friend ask me to come and paint at their political fund-raiser before, so I didn’t give it much thought and next thing you know I have to figure out what to paint at a fancy politics party.
How do I get myself into these situations?
And then I remembered the mountain lion that prowled through my thoughts on that beach a few weeks earlier. It just felt right. Those cats are apex critters if there ever were, and truthfully politics is a game of apex aspirations. But what good is apex power without honest self-reflection? It’s no good at all, that’s what. Disastrous even. So our mountain lion stands over a tidepool, its silhouette reflecting in the clear waters below, revealing a vibrant ecosystem beneath the surface.
I know that sounds a little corny, but that’s what I thought about while painting this one.
And my hope for my friend and everyone else that seeks public office, is just what this painting portrays. That it’s not about just how to win and score points and use the power you seek to shape the world as you want it, but to also honestly reflect on your role in your community, our community. I can only hope that those who seek power will also take the time to look within and find the clarity to see all of us staring back in your reflection.
Recent Fractures
Standing on the edge
Where everything brittle must eventually break
Where every painting is a tempting of fate
I do think about these things
But not deeply, and not with too much weight
Because I try to tread lightly on the edge of fate
But recent fractures
Can’t be ignored nor can I the consequences understate
Should I be a fool with the my easel and miscalculate
And become a statistic for the local papers to state
All for the homage to beauty that I’d hoped to create
If the ground would only have held for one more day
So with caution I step, and I work, and I pray
Because more than anything I would surely hate
To subjugate
My wife and my kids
To suffer from my foolishly befallen fate
Who Are You?
Let’s meet for tacos. I drag an art pal along and we meet up with a lawyer friend who has collected both of our works. The tacos are delicious but they are giant burgers and these beers are absolutely perfect. Another lawyer pal of the first lawyer shows up and another round ensues. We leave the funny tacos and head out to paint this spot for the collector friend. We drive a convoluted route through a college campus to a packed parking lot and wander off past the college kids all over the sandstone bluffs in search of this view. Once we find it, we scratch an X and we return to the lot and offload my paint pack with our latecomer lawyer pal and drive all the way back around to the non-college lot and walk back across the sandstone bluffs back to our X marks the spot and wonder where our latecomer lawyer with the pack is at. Phone calls are made. I’m confused, but that is typical. I just work here, nobody tells me anything. And I never question lawyers. Especially lawyers with bags full of ice cold beers. Finally the gear arrives with our friend in tow and I set to work on this painting over the banter of surf tales going back generations and harmonica tunes going back even further. These guys have seen some things here. Not all of it friendly. But some of it magically beautiful too. The sun sets and we wander back to the cars and set off in search of burgers and beers. I ride with the lawyers and we head over to a bar and grill near the pier, where parking does not exist at this hour except for lawyers who’ve seen some things and know that they can park in the customer only surf shop lot after hours right behind the restaurant row and walk straight into the bar like they own the place and since I don’t question lawyers in bars I follow right behind as we walk through dishwasher steam clouds and down a narrow hallway dodging piles of dirty dishes with long legs when a sweaty faced kid appears from a doorway and stops in his tracks before being steamrolled by the three musketeers marching through his kitchen uninvited and says as we pass by,
“Who ARE you guys?”
And I don’t even know, and I’m not gonna start asking questions now. And the burgers were delicious but they were pizzas and the beers were once again absolutely perfect.
Higher Learning
If I had learned a little more
I’d have known what not to do
I’d have stood my ground
And refused to paint
The whole entire view
But here we are after the fact
Showing every reef and where they lie
Splayed out across this canvas
From a vantage point
Halfway up the sky
A smarter arter would have simply
Painted only one piece of this coast
But thankfully
I missed that class
And I’m not as smart as most
Silver and Gold
Silver and gold I may not have
But what I have I give to you
I’ve got the golden sun
On a morning bright enough to
Cast out shadows
From the depths of hell
I’ve got the silver sea
On a morning calm enough to
Cast a sweet spell
Up to the heights of heaven
Take ’em
They’re yours
Not Exactly No
It was bright green
And there wasn’t very much of it
Still dripping with saltwater
Across her goosebumped flesh
I knew she was an artist
Because as I fought to keep my focus
Safely on the twin circles
Of her eyes
I could see they were dark
And curious
She saw me setting up on this cliff
As she dipped under a wave
Too cool off down below
So she came up the path
And straight for me
It was a short conversation
There wasn’t very much of it
She wanted to see the painting
I had barely even started
The painting was at an awkward point
That made two of us
And I couldn’t say no
Not exactly
I just muttered something
Of a fumbled disclaimer
But she was unfazed
And just as she stepped closer
To see the barely sketched out canvas
My artist pals drove by
I don’t know what it looked like
But later they informed me
I’d be buying beer that night
Or they’d send the photo to my wife
—
* I thought this was pretty funny, but I don’t think I mentioned this to my wife yet, so if you’re reading this honey: I love you like crazy and I sure hope you know it.
Into the Sunset
Will this be your first?
That was my stupid question for them
I’m not very good at this
They were really quite beautiful together
A perfect couple
Watching the sunset
Clearly expecting
A green flash
I’d just finished this painting
And drinking 3 beers
That’s not the usual
During the course of a painting
But friends had joined me today
And it sometimes goes that way
Words of wisdom
Spoken by an old friend:
“Nothing is better than a two beer buzz”
Truth
It doesn’t get better
Only more difficult
To ask the right questions
This child would not be their first
Or their second
Or third
I don’t remember now
But it was maybe their ninth
Or thirteenth
Something that would make you wonder
If they were much, much older than they looked
So I asked if it was true
That it got easier after the third child
(You can’t ask that of too many folks these days)
They said absolutely
3 is the hardest
After that it gets easier and easier
As they start to raise each other
That’s how they could leave the other 8 or 12 behind
And relax into the sunset here tonight
The team was on top of it at home
Building themselves some dang quesadillas
I’d only had three kids
The most challenging number
Now verified
My folks had three
And I was the last of them
Same for my wife
And I can confirm
That we are two of the most difficult people
You’ll ever meet
Aside from my mom
Who was the first of two
And was also the pinnacle
Of difficulty
She recently walked off into the sunset
I said my goodbyes
Through salty tears
She told me to get off her cloud
So with my feet planted back on the ground
On the edge of this cliff
With the mother and father
Of a small nation beside me
And a setting sun before me
I don’t remember
If there was a green flash
But I knew
I had three kids at home
And three beers on the cliff
And that was enough for me
When the Ship Comes In
The ship has sailed
And with it your lover
Stolen away
So you live like a pirate now
Steering your terrestrial warship
Your vessel made of sand
Stealing only what you need
And in need of everything
And needing it today
Stealing whatever you can
Stealing one last glance
At the bigger picture
Before your world grows small
As you wait for the rising tide
To level it all
In a baptism of salt
And if a mighty king
Should later arrive
With plastic bucket and shovel
Barefoot and sunburned
With a grape stuck up his nose
And a panicked mother
Searching far and wide
For her lost prince
Who happily builds his castle
From the scattered shards
Of your broken body
Then
Just maybe then
You can live again
As the castle’s ghost
Belonging to the King
—
I was thinking of baptism when I wrote that poem. Mostly because of the person who suggested I paint this place, possibly for his dad. I’d never met him, or his dad. I didn’t know at the time that his dad had baptized hundreds or thousands of hippies here at this beach at the end of the 60’s when all those kids realized their sex and drugs and all-of-that wasn’t exactly creating a better culture after all, and so many of them turned to Jesus all at once.
But I did know of his dad. I knew him as a pretty well known southern California pastor, and also as the man who commissioned the Gospel of John series of perhaps the greatest paintings ever made by Rick Griffin, one of my favorite artists of all time. He even told me that he and his dad saw shades of Griffin’s work in my own. It meant the world to me to hear that from them. No doubt Griffin was an inspiration. And that’s an understatement.
Ah well then, I went to paint the scene anyway. Hot day, crawling with people. I found my perch and noticed lots of equipment on the beach (too much fuss for the painting so I left it out). A kid with green hair scampered down the dirt path on my right and asked what was going on down there. I told him I had no idea, I just work here, nobody tells me anything. When he returned 20 minutes later I asked him if he found out what was going on. He says they’re filming something called the Jesus Revolution. I look it up later and it turns out it’s a film about the guys’ dad, and all of his hippie baptizing from 50 years ago.
I have no idea what that must have been like, but sounds like it’ll be an interesting film.
What I do know for certain though, is that on this 85 degree day standing in the hot sun over this beach, I could have used a good refreshing baptism at least 3 or 4 times while painting here.