The Beautiful Mountain

Plein air artwork of Belmont Shores area of Long Beach looking toward the Palos Verdes Peninsula in LA county, California

After spending maybe too much time with the painting in my previous post, this was a reaction against that one’s slow and methodical recording of a very technical shoreline. I had to move fast with the setting sun as I tried to just focus on getting some sense of the crispness of color and light that saturated the scene for about 45 minutes.

The name of these shores translates to Beautiful Mountain. Every evening the sun sets behind that distant hill and on an evening like this it’s easy to see why the name was chosen.

As a steady stream of walkers, joggers, roller skaters and scooters buzzed on the path below, a similarly steady stream of characters passed on the path right behind me, some pushing shopping carts full of who-knows what, others pushing fancy baby strollers, and still others pushing nothing but wild ideas- all of them a reminder that this was indeed one of the more diverse and decidedly urban stretches of our coast that I had stopped to paint in recent memory.

A few conversations ensued as occasionally folks would stop to watch. One stands out in memory, a dread-locked fellow that walked past once, then again, then maybe once or twice more before stopping to chat. He’d seen better days, used to do some art himself before life happened to him. I have to say it was a relief to chat about art while painting with someone who didn’t want to know anything about whether the painting was for sale, how much, was this just a hobby, or a livelihood, what would I do for retirement, how could I be so dumb to pursue a risky life path like art, etc… Nope, none of that. He just enjoyed watching the colors move, reminisced about his past, simpler times, his mom, his grandma… but for now just enjoying the moment, watching a bearded painter at work in the sphere of his own world. I think we both left feeling a little better about humanity that day.

Life is hard, and getting a whole lot harder for a lot of us, but if we can slow down and really listen to one another I think we’ll always find that we’re all in this thing together. Life is a mountain we all must climb. And it is beautiful.

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Bird, As a Weapon

Plein air artwork of Belmont Shores in Long Beach on the Los Angeles county coast of Southern California
Written on March 26, 2020

This may look like social distancing in effect, but this was painted on a weekday last May. There were people, but they were moving and since plein air painting is in some ways like a hand-made photograph with a 3 hour exposure, the moving objects (people, cars, etc.) don’t always register.

I grew up near here. Technically in this city, though a few miles from this scene. It’s a very industrial coastline, and one I’ve mostly avoided throughout my adult life until this day. Folks come here from the hectic city to unwind on the beach, or eat at hip restaurants, or deal drugs, or mumble incoherent profanities at anyone within earshot. It’s decidedly urban, and at times urbane, at other times profane. It takes all kinds. Welcome to the beach.

I’d found this perch overlooking this beach bike/pedestrian path. Occasional walkers, joggers and bikers formed an infrequent stream of traffic on otherwise quiet day. But the real action came from the Birds. Not the ones in the air, but from the ones zipping along on this path, being ridden by folks of all feathers and stripes scooting from here to there. Those things were everywhere.

Right behind me, separated by a wall of plexiglass, were the well-to-do afficionados of a beach front craft brewery. I like beer. Standing in the humid sun, sweat beading down my face, lost in the minutae of industry in this painting. That thin plexiglass may as well have been a mile wide barrier of concrete and steel. I wish it had been. I tried not to look back at it, and all those cold beers being swished around. Mmmmm. Beers.

At one point there was a commotion on the nearby pier just out of frame and to the left. Cop cars came driving down the bike path. Dozens of them gathered from all directions. I still don’t know what happened out there. Later that day I saw a news report that a homeless woman was killed nearby, beaten by a scooter, quite possibly a Bird. We… people that is… we can be monsters.

I don’t have any moral to this story, it mostly just breaks my heart. But that is how the day went on this stretch of coast that I mostly only remember from childhood.

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The Deep South

Plein air painting from the border between California and Mexico looking toward San Diego skyline in southern California
Written on March 23, 2020

Looking north from about as far south as you can go on the California coast. The showers that threatened and taunted all morning finally passed, the sun burned the darkened watery grays right off the earth, evaporating in a humid mist rising, an all-hands invite to the impending mosquito feast. Had to paint fast because we were all hungry- me for a sandwich, them for my blood. The showers would move through the city in the distance and even the warm concrete there would be dry again soon, cleaner than before, but still teaming with all the distractions ever designed to suck our blood on a sunny afternoon in paradise.

This was from a year ago… but it’s still true today. These dark times will pass… What comes next is anybody’s guess. I do hope there’ll be less mosquitoes out trying drain us dry though.

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The Other Side

Plein air artwork the border fence between California and Mexico in San Diego county on the coast of southern California

Due to late season rains, the road here was closed so I had to walk in the last 2 miles to the spot. After tromping off in the wrong direction and ending up at the border about a mile from the coast under the watch of border patrol agents and confronted by a myriad of signs saying I wasn’t supposed to take a step further- the area between these two fences where I thought I might walk down to the beach was a definite no-go zone, I tip toed back to the van and tried again.

I noticed a lot of folks heading down the paths that made their way to the beach. The smart ones on bikes. Whole families. Abandoned scooters. Dead birds. Nasturtiums in bloom. Humid rain falling lightly at times. Mosquitoes that meant business. It was quite a scene down there in those wetlands of the Tijuana river- and it was even more curious at the border fence itself.

On the other side was a carnival of color. Ice cream trucks. Cotton candy. Kites flying. Flags waving. A swirling mix of humanity. On this side was gray. Border patrol SUV’s with armed agents keeping watch. An additional fence effectively creating a no-go zone buffer about 100 feet wide. Surveillance cameras. Concrete and weeds. No ice cream.

And no judgment. I’m sure Mexico’s southern border is a place full of its own contrasts.

In hindsight I should have probably painted the rainbows bleeding through the gaps in the fence, but as usual, I was distracted by the ocean’s movement. Another time, I hope.

And that no-go zone between the two fences? There was one exception to that rule. Right on the bluff overlooking these waves there was one small area where visitors from the U.S. side were allowed to walk right up to the actual border fence. Only 10 or so at a time were allowed in, and they were watched closely at all times by a dedicated border patrol guard.

Here is the one place that families and friends separated by our southern border’s geopolitics can see one another and speak – not by letters, not by phone, not by email, not by FaceTime – but truly speak face to face.

No matter which side you’re on, this place is all about the Other Side.

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Just the Basics

Plein air artwork of VW buses at San Onofre State Park in San Diego County on the Southern California Coast
Written on March 24, 2020

Back when I painted this one and called it “Just the Basics” it just made sense. What I meant by that expression then seems today almost extravagant. Surfers generally tend to have a simple mindset. It doesn’t take much to make a good life, no need to chase money in circles if the good things are already at hand. A few friends and a few waves, and it’s all good. Throw in some burritos and beer and we are kings and queens in our royal court.

Now that we’re all mostly confined to our homes, watching the world crumble, it seems this episode we’re experiencing now is going to be hard on us all. For some it will bring inconvenience, for others desperation, for still others it may well be life or death. No matter where we land, I don’t think anyone will be unaffected. The world will never be the same. Looking back at all the art I’ve made over the last year and haven’t gotten around to sharing yet, it all suddenly feels out of date. From a different era.

I know the lock-down stay-at-home thing won’t and can’t last forever, but who knows what life will be like on the other side of all this? The new normal. It’s anybody’s guess.

But with all my road trips cancelled for the time being, and with all the places and people I look forward to seeing on my usual travels suddenly off limits, I look forward to the return of simple times like the day this was painted. Hanging on the beach on a long afternoon with strangers and friends alike sharing waves, food, high-fives. Just the Basics. The glorious, luxurious, extravagant basics. One day…

Be safe out there!

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From the Shadows

Plein air painting of a dark morning on the La Jolla coast of San Diego in Southern California

I painted this one alongside my friend Norm Daniels on a wet, dark and gray day, that began with a lot of grumbling on my part. I didn’t leave the rain in Humboldt and drive all the way to San Diego for this…

Norm is a great artist and a great guy to hang out with under a shade palapa (good for rain shelter too) and paint a morning away. We ate donuts. We spoke with a Jewish couple who came down to baptize their new cooking pot in the ocean. Norm was also babtized in the ocean. Somehow this struck me as humorous and I blurted out that Norm and the pot were now brothers in the Lord… this was met with blank stares from all. Maybe it wasn’t that funny. Hindsight is 20/20.

I ended up really enjoying the painting after embracing the moodiness of the morning and working with it instead of wishing for something else. After painting, we had tacos and beers and I really couldn’t have asked for a better day, even though I grumbled a bit at the start of it. Out from the shadows, and into the light.

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Not Exactly a Picnic

Plein air painting from San Elijo State Park looking toward Cardiff Reef on the San Diego coast of California

Painted from the roof of my van. I put a platform up there just for this purpose. It’s great to return to places I’ve been before and see them from just a little higher up. To be honest though, I wasn’t all that into this scene at the start, even from my lofty perch. But when I am on the road, I am there to paint, so sometimes it’s just a matter of getting work done. Halfway through this one I really started to like where it was going. Funny how that works. Sometimes you can see a painting before even setting up the easel, other times you have to slog your way through the grays before something of interest emerges. It’s not always a picnic, sometimes it’s more like peeling potatoes in the galley. But either way the soup can be delicious if you’re hungry enough.

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Respect the Elders

Plein air artwork of concrete benches as PB point on the San Diego coast of southern California

In other times what appears to be an old road must have collapsed into the sea here, the slabs of concrete line the point and have been beaten and weathered into pieces, at times rounded smooth, at times broken and jagged. The locals here have gathered together some of these slabs and arranged them into a row of benches from which to sit and talk story, heckle visitors, drink beer, play music, or all-of-the-above. I’d seen this little scene earlier in the day and wanted to come back and paint it in the afternoon.

I’m pretty quiet about my whereabouts when I’m on a painting trip (it’s all too easy to get wonderfully distracted by even the best of friends sometimes), so I was thinking it was quite a coincidence that an artist friend of mine who lives in this area messaged me out of the blue on the morning I was heading out to paint here about what sort of plein air easel and setup I used. During lunch I told him it was primarily a self-built custom job, right before heading down to paint this scene, but never told him where I was or asked where he was that day.

When I arrived, I was a bit disappointed to see these makeshift benches in full operational glory by a small crew of locals. One had a guitar, there were coolers, they were clearly posted up for the time being. It would be awkward to approach a group like this and just start painting the spot where they sat, so I figured I’d have to have a conversation and see if they’d mind, fully prepared to come back another time if they weren’t into it. Not because they own the beach, but simply out of respect- after all, they were there before I arrived.

As I began to make my pitch to this crew, the one sitting closest to me looked up, and slowly pulled his sunglasses down to see me better, and I had to laugh as we both realized who the other one was. This was none other than my friend Paul Elder, who had just asked that morning about my easel.

A cold beer was produced, and a demonstration of my painting setup ensued as we chatted art and life nearly the entire time I painted this one. Not sure why I didn’t paint in any of the crew that were hanging out on the benches this particular afternoon- to tell the truth, I didn’t even think about it. We got to talking and somehow I just painted the painting I was thinking of back when those seats were empty. Only after I was done did I think maybe I missed an opportunity for a painting with a lot more… character.

Anyway, Paul is crazy good artist. You should look him up. He does all the art for Ballast Point beers.

Nothing but Respect for the Elders.

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Decommissioned

Plein air painting of the power plant in Carlsbad on the San Diego coast of southern California

With a long-term goal of painting as much of California’s coast as I possibly can, I end up all sorts of places. Sometimes it’s out on the edge of an offshore island marching off into the distance without a trail to follow, other times it’s being invited to visit some of the more exclusive and pristine stretches behind locked gates. And then there are times for more pedestrian locations like this working class stretch of coast punctuated by a landmark slated for destruction. It’s all part of the game.

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I Shall Be Free

Plein air painting from the Hollister Ranch on the Santa Barbara coast of Southern California

The third of three paintings from a quick trip last summer. The titles for the three are all chosen from Dylan tunes for various reasons. This one was chosen because the actual name of this creek comes up in the song. Also, as an artist I often do claim the right to freely edit a landscape if I choose. In this case I should have edited it further the first time around- when I got home and pulled it out I was shocked at the weird choices I’d made including trees to the left of the creek which effectively turned this idyllic beach scene into a fish-eye bubble of distorting confusion. Also the creek placement was technically pretty accurate but compositionally quite awkward. The painting just had all sorts of problems. But in keeping with my freedom, I just went ahead and fixed it all in the studio later. Open heart surgery to revive a plein-air painting from a near death experience. Thankfully, it now lives on to be enjoyed instead of relegated to the graveyard of painting mishaps. Artist as surgeon. Freedom and all. Why not?

And also a random poem I wrote later…

What do you see?⠀
A land taken by zeros?⠀
More zeros than you’ll ever know?⠀
By money changers⠀
That take all they want⠀
In exchange for their soul?⠀
If that’s all that you see⠀
You’ve only read headlines⠀
In the red letter press⠀
This isn’t your land⠀
This isn’t my land⠀
This is my father’s house⠀
⠀
Some small success⠀
Some chance at a dream⠀
A life built for two⠀
But what is life if not pain?⠀
A standalone shack⠀
In a narrow ravine⠀
All that’s left⠀
And it’s all that he needs⠀
But this isn’t his land⠀
And it sure isn’t ours⠀
This is my father’s house⠀
⠀
This land he travelled⠀
Paving the roads with his bike⠀
He’d led them all onward⠀
Riding further each day⠀
Riding for their lives⠀
Through sweat, tears, and smiles⠀
Roadside sandwich breaks⠀
He watched a wayward driver⠀
Drift out of her lane⠀
One from his flock⠀
Laid to rest that day⠀
It wasn’t her land⠀
And he wished it wasn’t his⠀
This is my father’s house⠀
⠀
A son that knows⠀
Too much about too many things⠀
Nothing to gain⠀
From his father’s love⠀
He’s moving fast⠀
And his dad moves too slow⠀
The son doesn’t see⠀
Just how much his father carries⠀
But one day he’ll know⠀
That his father’s failure ⠀
Was his greatest success⠀
And that he’s not the only one⠀
That was carried in those arms⠀
It’s not his land⠀
And it never will be⠀
This is my father’s house⠀
⠀
So get out of this house⠀
If you think you’re any better⠀
Get out if you think⠀
Your owed a damn thing⠀
Get out you bastards⠀
You never lived here⠀
You only came when invited⠀
To feast on his generosity⠀
There’s no gates of gold⠀
It’s worn down and rusty⠀
Broken and dirty⠀
But we’ve kept it clean⠀
It will never be your land⠀
It will always be his⠀
This is my father’s house⠀

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The Ceremonies of the Horsemen

Plein air artwork from the bluff over Bolito Poin on Hollister Ranch on the Santa Barbara coast of California

The second of three paintings from a quick trip to this slice of California paradise last summer (I posted the first a few weeks ago with no commentary). The titles for these three are all chosen from Dylan tunes for various reasons. In this case it’s a double-meaning referring to the occasional cattle roundup on this working ranch that sees horsemen (and women) leading herds of cattle down the narrow roads, like holiday parades but with more leather and fresh pastures instead of presents. Also, it’s a fine place that has been used for many a fine wedding ceremony over the years.

What you don’t see in this painting is the two figures painting away in the shade of the tree closest to the water in the middle of the painting. If one could zoom in to the scene in real life on this day one would see none other than Wade Koniakowsky and Jose Emroca Flores painting this iconic headland from one of it’s most easily recognized vantage points. Part of me really wanted to join them and crack jokes in the cool shade, but then I am always a sucker for an elevated point of view. And there is just something about standing out on a hill in the wind that makes me feel alive, so up that hill I marched. One and a half hours later I came down with this painting (that needed a bit of touch-up later but was more or less all there).

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Holy Ground

Plein air painting from a volcanic hill on Santa Rosa Island in the Channel Islands National Park in southern California

This is the view from the top of a hill that overlooks the entire crescent of this coast. Though there was no trail up here, and no clear signs of humanity in this refreshingly pristine landscape, I know I wasn’t the first to stand in this exact spot. The way the peak looms over the landscape beckoning the human spirit to ascend, it’s only natural that others have heeded that same call- both in our times and long before them. From the peak, you can feel a human presence. An old presence. A place where eyes kept watch. There is an ancient history here that doesn’t belong to our age, but to a people that did not believe they migrated here, but were rather created here (or at least just across the channel). Sure the volcanic rock where I stood is full of holes but there’s more to this title than that. Just a feeling really, but some places seem to carry a significance all their own. This is one of them. Holy ground indeed.

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An Unfamiliar Song

Plein air painting of East Point area of Santa Rosa island in the Channel Islands off the coast of Southern California

This was the endpoint of my longest hike on this trip, 11 miles total, and it took me past several miles of coast I’d hiked and painted on a previous trip. On that trip, I thought I’d gone about as far as I could reasonably go in a day’s work of hiking and painting. But this trip was a chance to smash that mental barrier. I’d been out here hiking and painting daily for 4 days straight, so while my feet hurt, my body and mind began to love the new “normal”- especially if it meant seeing another corner of California for the first time. This hike also required hiking with a heavy pair of waders strapped to my pack to cross an almost waist-deep creek that had washed out the trail entirely. That was a first. Huge thanks to the crew at the research station and Dr. Dan for having me along, and letting me enjoy this place so fully. I wouldn’t have had a dry bed, hot food, or these borrowed waders if it wasn’t for you guys. Cheers! The hassle of this creek-crossing was offset by the knowledge that past this point, it was now exceedingly unlikely that I’d see another human being.

The bunkhouse that was the home base for the trip was situated in a long crescent of shore where from nearly any point on the crescent you can see both ends bending out to sea in the far distance. This was after a mission to reach the farthest end of the crescent to the east. Once I got there and climbed the hill that overlooks it I decided instead to keep going further out along the ridge, traversing another mile or so through high grass with no trail across the tip of this headland and getting my first look around the corner and back up on this unfamiliar stretch of coast. Like a song you’ve not heard before but instantly love, I wish I could have heard more, but with the rain in the distance and facing a long hike back to the station, I thought it was about time to stop walking and start painting.

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Wish You Were Here

Plein air painting of two barns and the pier at Becher's Bay on Santa Rosa Island off the coast of Southern California

Those two old barns standing together in this distant outpost reminded me just how much I miss my best friend, my wife, when I’m out wandering around on the edge of the earth. I hope to bring her back here soon. One of the nice things about this region of California’s coastline is that this once private land now is now National Park land, so when you encounter a barbed wire fence standing between you and the view you desire, the only concern is getting around or over said fence, and not whether the owner and their dogs might find you. Also there are no snakes hiding in the grass, which is hard to believe, but true in these parts. Double win. Good things come in pairs.

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Island Time

Plein air painting of an Island Poppy and a cow skull on Santa Rosa island looking toward Santa Cruz Channel Islands

I sort of saw this one developing over a few days out here. First off, the evening light over the nearby island as the full moon rose was always a subtle delight. Secondly the poppies out here, only grow on these islands. Unlike the poppies of California that are very deep orange, or the poppies of Mexico that are bright yellow-orange, these island poppies are a two-toned mix of both. And thirdly while wandering down from a hill I came across a series of cow bones in the grass, finally crowned off with this skull. I made a mental note and came back for it on a clear evening. It’s not often such poetic elements come together in a line for a plein air painting, but with minimal editing, this is more or less what was there. Almost a Georgia O’Keefe inspiration in there, but mostly just a fun visual commentary on the passage of time.

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Moonshine

Plein air nocturne painting from the pier at Becher's Bay on Santa Rosa island off the coast of southern California

Painted on location from a pier on one of California’s offshore islands during a full moon back in April. We’d bodysurfed that right in shorepound on this very beach earlier in the afternoon. Super fun. I can’t imagine too many paintings have ever been painted at night on this pier though. Pretty cool eh? The moon changes everything. I’ve been drawn to some nocturnal paintings from a few of my favorite artists over the last few years and since getting out for a few myself I’ve discovered two things.

1. It’s a pain- it’s dark, colors are hard to see on the palette (and painting), a headlamp helps, but can be too bright, lots of straining to see, it gets a lot colder standing around at night.

2. It’s super fun.

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The Apex of Spring

Plein air painting from Santa Rosa Island's Lobo Canyon trail in Channel Islands National Park in Southern California

Visiting this hard to reach outpost of California’s coast during the Spring Equinox after a few wet months, I was hunting not just new corners and vistas, but had wildflowers on my mind as well. Elusive creatures, they can be, I didn’t see as many as I’d hoped. But I did spot this little patch on my way past this point earlier in the morning at the base of a canyon named after another hunter, an apex predator. It would do just fine. Toward the end of this painting the weather shifted. I packed this one up quickly in a heavy, darkening wind and retreated back into the canyon from which I had come. 

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Strata Various

Plein air painting from the coast of Santa Rosa Island in Channel islands National Park in southern California

This headland took some serious work to get to. All said, this ended up being the furthest point reached on an eleven mile round trip solo hike, which required several creek crossings up to my calves, washed out bridges, wet sloggy socks, and by the end of the day getting soaked to the bone in a late afternoon downpour. I might not have painted here at all, except after hiking all the way up and over to the other side of this island and venturing along the coast as far as I could this was the point where the trail came to an abrupt halt. I’d have gone further, but this headland was daunting and would have required a seriously steep and sketchy backcountry mission to navigate up and over, if it was even passable at all. It’s a beautiful place, but perhaps more than just the beauty inspired this painting, I felt I just had to paint the place simply because I was here and could go no further. I’d reached the edge of what I could do this day. A truly rare painting of a truly rare place- has it ever been painted in plein air? Certainly possible, but considering the effort required to reach this point, I’d be surprised.

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Prey For Rain

Plein air artwork from Santa Rosa Island's Lobo Canyon trail in Channel Islands National Park in Southern California

Deep in this prehistoric canyon, I was watching the weather shift quickly as I made my way back to the cabin. I was still a solid hour and a half of hiking from dry shelter and warm food. A spattering of occasional raindrops peppered the hike with questions of doubt. Will I make it back to the cabin without getting soaked? Will the two wet paintings in my box survive a good soaking if the skies unleash? Will my wet socks matter so much anymore if everything else gets wet too? How much rain did it take to wash all the little foot bridges out earlier this year? How fun would a flash flood in this little canyon be? How can I pass this little creekside scene without stopping to paint it? That was the only question that mattered in the moment, and I had no good answer. So I stopped right there and painted it. A brief window of blue sky had me feeling pretty good for about 20 minutes. Then the dark clouds returned. Then the canyon wind started howling. Then the drops started falling again. I was pretty close to wrapping it up anyway, so for the second time today, I scrambled out of there pretty quickly.

Post-script: Yes, I did get completely soaked. Yes, the two paintings and this fresh new one all survived the soaking when the skies finally unleashed. No, my wet socks no longer mattered to me one bit once everything else was dripping wet too. I still don’t know how much rain it would have taken to wash out all the footbridges, but it was probably a lot more than today’s rain. And no, I have no idea if it would be any fun at all to get stuck in this canyon in a flash flood situation. Depends on the outcome, I suppose. Any other questions? I think that’s all of em. Unless anyone was asking about the deals I’m offering offering on my site right now. For that answer you’ll just have to go and check for yourself. 

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Trifecta: Ticks, Wind, and Poison Oak

Plein air artwork from Santa Rosa Island in the Channel Islands National Park off the coast of Southern California

I didn’t have to hike far from the cabin for this one, I just wanted to peak a little around the corner of the beach straight out in front. There’s a small hill that blocks the view here, so I made it my mission to get on top of this hill and paint from there. The afternoon light here has always struck me as special. But just because it wasn’t far doesn’t mean it was easy. I had to tromp up a steep hill with all my gear, slow-dodging poison oak, paint in a howling wind, perched on a steep awkward grassy slope, constantly checking for ticks after picking up at least one while wading through the high grass to get here. A perfect trifecta, if you will. Ended up working a bit faster than usual, just to get out of there, but that lends the piece a nice urgent honesty and I’m glad for it in the end.

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