Bluegrass & Dunegrass
Marine Layers
I enjoyed this moody midday painting. Sometimes I go to a place hunting bluebirds and sunshine. In this case all I found was clouds and crows. For real. A friend that lives nearby showed up midway through the painting with some amazing deli sandwiches which we shared by his van up on the road. Halfway through we looked down to my easel and a crow had landed on my palette and was just standing there staring at the painting- which contained no shiny objects, or food- so nothing came of it. But it’s those small moments that remind you that this isn’t your home studio. Well except the time the neighbor’s chicken wandered in, that was kind of similar. But mostly birds don’t generally get too involved in my art world. After the crow took his turn, I returned to finish this one beneath the marine layer that kept threatening retreat, but never quite mustered it. I’d left the sky pretty raw, just my typical underpaint of thin washes, as I waited for the sky to figure itself out. By the time I realized these clouds were here to stay, those faded dripping clouds that were painted with zero intention actually seemed perfect for the piece, so I left them as they were. I know this is all pretty uninteresting for a backstory. I blame the bird. He had every opportunity to make something happen but he didn’t do anything at all. No crowfeet in the palette, no beak scratches on the painting. Nothing. It just stood there until it was done and left. Apologies.
Tide Falling
One of the most iconic waterfalls in all of California and one of only two year-round falls in the whole state that land on the beach. This one used to land in the water, but a landslide deposited so much sediment up the coast that the gradual drift of currents built this beach where none previously existed.
I’ve heard stories of repeated rescues of tourists who get the wild idea to climb down to the beach here get stuck on the cliff face halfway down and have to get lifted, dragged, or otherwise hauled out. I was cognizant of that as I edged around some fencing to a private perch of my own so as to paint this scene without interfering with anybody’s view.
During my short time there I saw repeated groups of tourists go half-stomping/half-sliding through the brush and poison oak down the hill in search of some better view to photograph (or more than likely just a better backdrop for their selfie). I often thought to say something about the oak, but then figured the deed was already done, why ruin their moment?
My first plan was to charge the trail up the hill behind this cove and seek a more elevated overview of the coast, but a low cloud cover prevented visibility and even threatened to descend while the overcast daylight was fading fast. I had to work a little more frantic than usual to make this one happen, but I’m glad I stopped and made the effort. Even on a gray day, the color of that water stops you in your tracks.
Some Things Money Just Can’t Buy
Like most surfers who’ve visited the area, I’ve collected some great memories of this place over the years. I’d wondered about painting this rock outcropping overlooking the beach for a long time. The last time I tromped around it there was quite a few years back and there was no trail that I can recall, just a lot of bushwhacking though blackberry bramble and poison oak. Now there’s a trail that goes right up to it and I’ve got mixed feelings about that, but that’s a whole other story…
When I was nearing completion on this one a group of 4 guys, maybe just out of college, walk up and see me painting. They all have their phones out to take photos of the scene, taking turns walking up and shooting from right beside me, as if I was in the only designated photo-taking area. I thought it was odd, but people can be odd so I didn’t think much about it. But then they turn to leave and one of them walks back over to chat. He seemed friendly, and I thought it would be a typical out-in-the-field conversation- (How long you been painting? Is this your hobby? Do you sell these? Etc) But no. He explains that he went to design school himself and seeing me paint reminds him of a cartoon his professor showed his class in which a photographer walked up to a painter at work and held up his camera, aiming it in the direction of the artist’s subject (at the same time this kid held his cell phone up and pointed its camera at the scene I was painting) and pressed “click” (at which point he took a photo) and turned to the painter and said “Done.” As he said the word “done” with a smug satisfaction he turned and walked away in a mic drop sorta way.
I hope his design school didn’t put him in too much debt because clearly he still has a lot of learning left ahead of him. I’m hoping the best for him though. When the light bulb finally goes off he’ll probably end up becoming a serious art collector, or maybe even an artist himself. I hope he reads this and I can meet him again on the flipside of that equation. We can laugh about that cartoon together over cold beers. I’ll buy.
If These Walls Could Speak
This is a busy place. Especially after spending a week painting in virtual solitude on one of our offshore islands. Back to humanity. Parking lots. Attitudes. Spandex bikers. Beach joggers. Warring 12 year olds. Addicts teetering on the razor’s edge of their future. Social media selfie hounds. Freeway traffic. All of this and a perfectly foiled right point. Some call her the queen, but few are those who truly respect her crown. Her benevolent rule is oft mistaken for an invitation to take, take, and take some more.
I failed to convey all the day’s action in this painting. Instead I was drawn to this little driftwood shack (itself a satellite shack from a much larger and heavily used complex of impromptu structures) and the contrast it provided to the exclusive beachfront homes that line this fabled shore.
Solid walls of plaster. Crumbling walls of driftwood. Holy walls of water.
The things these walls have seen. All of them. The stories could fill volumes.
They won’t be told here.
The walls themselves are the only story I saw today.
Oh and the squirrel that nabbed my trail mix from my bag…gone. And the very oddly placed cooler full of Coronas that was set next to the driver door of my van when I returned. Was that intentional? No other cars in the lot. I figured if they were left accidentally, someone might return for them and be bummed to find them gone so I left them where they lie. Well, I may or may not have borrowed one, but still… a nice gesture if it was meant to be one. Thank you, if you meant it… or even if you didn’t.
Time Waits for No Man… And Neither Does the Boat
I’ve heard it said that “time waits for no man”, well… neither does the boat.
It was a pretty rushed scramble taking on this scene just before the boat was to depart for home. I was half-tempted to “miss the boat” just to stay a bit longer, but thought better of it.
When I started this painting of the entire scene before me, I may have bit off a bit more than I could chew in such a short time and wasn’t able to quite finish this one on location, but a bit of studio work at home from memory and I think it conveys the place pretty well.
They say visiting these shores is like going back in time, to an older California… well, there you have it.
The North Shore
After two days of painting one stretch of coast in this off-the-beaten-path outpost of California, I was eager to see a different part of it before leaving later this day. It would require a 2.2 mile hike, while “carrying a ton*” art supplies up and over the low hills without a soul in sight to bring me to a completely different shoreline, facing nearly due north- an unusual arrangement on California’s coast.
The only unwonderful thing about painting this was knowing I had to get it done fast and hurry back without time to explore or else risk missing the boat. I’ve missed the boat on a lot of opportunities in life, and wasn’t eager to discover what it would be like to miss the actual boat itself. Still a great time to see this shore with my own eyes before leaving.
*Not all that heavy really, maybe 25 or 35 pounds max, but the geographical wordplay is intended for those who know…
Moonlit Echoes
5th painting completed today… well sorta today. Technically I only did four during the daylight hours but then snuck this one in the late hours of night beneath a bright full moon.
The moonlight falling on the crushed gravel paths makes walking these trails at night a beautiful experience. The reflective white surface of the path glowed in comparison to the grass on either side. The old buildings here are relics from the previous era of sheep and cattle ranching- of which the cumulative effects on the islands native species and coastal topographies are still being studied today.
In the daytime it gets apparent pretty quickly that these old buildings are no longer used, but in the quiet of night it’s somehow easier to imagine them resting from the noisy activity of a long day’s work, only to rise at first light and go about it all over again. Each clanking chain blown in the wind creates another echo from a not so distant past.
In reality though, the sun has set for good on these operations. These moonlit echoes are a reminder that each day has its own dawn and its own dusk, but the moon comes and goes as it pleases.
Torrey Pine Sentinel
When most folks hear the words “Torrey Pines” they think as much about a rare variety of pine tree as they do a very specific location in San Diego- the state park named for the tree and often touted as the only place in the world where these trees grow.
But don’t worry, I’m not naming locations here, this is nowhere near San Diego, and just happens to be the only other place on earth where these pines are found.
I had hoped to march further up the hill and get a more expansive view of this grove, but sometimes when I see a painting before me, it’s hard to pass up. Especially if the day is getting late and I still have a 3 mile hike ahead of me. In this case I was battling a sense of urgency and perhaps over rushed this one. I had been out on the hills in the late afternoon the day before and really enjoyed the way the sun set behind them but still illuminated the flat alluvial plains that sweep out and form this long crescent bay. I went after it a bit prematurely, anticipating the changing light shift to come, but it wouldn’t happen for another hour or so after I was done with my shift standing watch beside this old Torrey Pine sentinel.
Some plein air paintings are created by reacting to the moment, but sometimes they are a reaction to a memory as well. That was this one.
Beside Clear Waters
This irresistible cove is overlooked by a rare Torrey Pine. I find myself today among the only Torrey Pine trees that exist outside of San Diego. The hillside behind me contains a dense grove.
I was drawn to this one, standing alone beside these clear waters. It seemed to me a bit of a fragile metaphor for an artist’s life. There’s safety in the herd, the job, the career, the retirement funds, and all that.
The art life is often about stepping away from the pack just a bit. Safety and comfort are traded for meaning and beauty. Like this tree by the ocean, the artist remains exposed to the battering winds that life brings. The salty air may even stunt our growth and cause our beards to whither, but out here we are alive.
Until we aren’t. Same as everybody else.
Whatever. Stop painting. Go swimming!
Our Farther
I usually grumble about my heavy pack whenever I have to hike more than a mile. This turned out to be a six mile round trip to make this painting happen. But I could not complain about the heavy pack this time. My hiking companions on this morning sunrise walk were a couple of scientist fellows intent on monitoring frogs on the far side of this island, which somehow required them to carry a massive metal post and post-driver. (I’m no scientist, so don’t ask me). I guess we all have our crosses to bear, but theirs was definitely heavier today. And they were traveling twice as far. I was able to paint two paintings and make it back to our cabin with time for a dip in the ocean and another quick painting before dinner. We didn’t see them back until several hours after dark.
Along the way this morning, I kept seeing plenty of places I’d have loved to stop and paint, but something kept driving me farther along the path.
I think it was simply the desire to go farther itself. There’s something about spending yourself to get out there off the beaten paths and be alone on the face of a wild earth that gets in your blood.
The scientists and I approach this place from completely different angles, but we have a lot of common ground as well, it’s just a bit farther out.
We Must Keep Our Eyes Open
We must keep our eyes open. First two syllables: We-muh. Wordplay for the name of the tribe that lived here for thousands of years before they were scooped up and sent away to make room for sheep and cattle and now a national park.
The opportunity to come visit this place was part of a program through CSUCI that brings students here to study this unique natural environment. This trip was designed with an emphasis on “seeing the landscape”. Being that’s my bread and butter, I reckon that’s the reason my friend Dr. Reineman invited me to tag along.
The fact that I was here with a bunch of science students really hit home when there was audible excitement and giddy applause for the announcement of an “ethnobotany” hike. I was pretty fascinated too, but I must confess I only lasted about 20 minutes on the educational hike and then my need to see a broader view of the landscape won out and they sent me on my way.
What a joy to set up an easel and paint on this hill, where not too many feet travel, and even fewer easels get dragged up and put to use.
Life is hard to predict, so keeping my eyes open, I know this opportunity may not come again. How thankful I am to be here today.
The Gambler’s Fallacy
One of California’s prized state parks. I arrived early, knowing the park fills up to capacity nearly every day with a line of cars waiting to enter. I’d made it on time, but my van was too long. Denied.
I had a long way to drive that day, and a boat to catch tomorrow that I could not, and would not, miss. But I’m here now, the sun is out, and there’s parking on the road. The longer hike in would swallow at least an hour, and the painting itself would likely take another three. I might be driving straight to the docks to catch the boat instead of to the house I’d hoped to get a decent night’s rest in. I gambled it and hoped for the best.
A frantic fast-paced hike across the entire length of the park, heading straight for a zone I thought would be ideal, but when I arrived, I found that due to heavy foot traffic, every piece of trail in this park is roped off with steel cables and the rangers mean business. Might not be a big deal for a photo-snapper to hop over and quickly get the shot, but for a 3 hour post out on a rock in plain view was a bit more than I was willing to wager. I’d follow the trail along the entire northern perimeter of the park and find a suitable view from the trail itself. Given the natural beauty, I liked those odds better.
It wasn’t as sure of a thing as I’d first thought. Part of the problem was that awful cable preventing access to many a view. Another part of the problem was the nooks and crags of this headland are just so beautiful I couldn’t help but wonder what was around each bend, so by the time I’d passed up 3 good views I started to realize that the one before those was maybe the best, but by now I’d gone so far I didn’t want to backtrack and surely there must be something better around the next corner, yeah? It wasn’t until I came to this overview of a small bay on my way back that I realized this was my last chance. So I rolled the dice and started to paint.
But my gamble was nothing compared to the one-time owner of this land who gambled it all away to a troop of soldiers in one failed hand of cards. At least I got a painting out of my gamble.
The Long View
Sometimes a painting or a place stirs up more of a poem instead of any sort of story. Not sure what I was thinking here, but when I pulled up my notes on this one, this poem is all I had written down. Make of it what you will…
—
Bones of old ships
Left basking in the sun
The mast of an ancient whale
That swallowed the sailor’s son
Observed, measured, recorded
Love notes in the margin
In their book of numbers
Written but never done
It’s the allure of the sea
It’s the stairway to heaven
It’s the ticket that was rendered
For breaking the number seven
On that distant ship
Out near the horizon
They observe the charts
and adhere to strict notations
Students of the sea and sky
And of the publication
Of their book of numbers
Printed but still in revision
It’s all here and plain to see
When you separate the many from the few
They shout a holy countdown
But the answer is found in the long view
Shower Power
Pure and Simple
One of my favorite things when I’m out on the road (or at home for that matter) is finding a new trail to access a piece of coast I haven’t seen before. I’d seen some new trailheads on a previous trip past this stretch of private agricultural coastal bluffs and made a mental note to return when the opportunity arose. Today it arose because I’d been painting like mad over the last few days and had planned to get get some waves this morning, and as luck would have it the surf was absolutely uninspiring. But the weather was as nice as it gets, a great day to go paint and I happened to be in the area not far from this recently opened trail. I’d looked up the trail on a map and saw that it ran for miles on the edge of the coastal bluff, fields of artichokes on one side, the deep blue sea on the other. A pure and simple distillation of the essence of this coastline. I was disappointed to find the trail closed on weekdays though. Nuts! I’m sure they have a fine reason for this, but it boggled my mind. Fortunately, it wasn’t closed up by the road where a little fence-hopping would be obvious, but all the way down by the ocean well out of view from passing cars. The view from the locked gate was just fine and all… but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little finer just a little further in.
Afternoon Martinis: Side A
Afternoon Martinis: Side B
A Wide Range
The fourth painting completed in one long day spent in solitude, hunting views and painting in one of the most beautiful parts of California I can think of. I’ve driven past this little ranch nestled along a finger of this estuary and always thought it would make a nice painting. The day was fading fast, but I don’t get out this way too often so I made the most of it. From tree lined roads, to quiet beaches, to sweeping rugged vistas, to serene pastoral settings, there truly is a wide range of possibilities to paint out here.
Also, there will always be a moon over Marin.
Nova Albion
Plein air painting in strong winds is indeed a sport. Especially on the edge of a steep cliff. Painters know the challenges, but most folks just see finished paintings during their 10 seconds of social media fame and think whether they like it or not. Whether they should type a comment, hit the like button, or just keep scrolling. The next painting on the viewer’s feed may have been created in a comfy studio, warm, nice lighting, no glare, no time rush to race a changing light. One created in luxury, the other with the easel constantly shaking like it’s a passenger in a third world tour bus on a back country road about to go over the edge and into the ravine. There’s no way to appreciate the effort that went into painting in 30 mph wind gusts and what sort of makeshiftery and desperate soul-pleading goes into these excursions to return with these tangible artifacts created on location. This is one of those that could have easily been lost had I relaxed my firm grip on the easel at the wrong moment in the howling wind on this exposed headland.
I could see this painting in my mind, long before arriving. A tantalizing thin finger of land extending out to the shelter of a sweeping bay- the roaring Pacific one one side and calm waters on the other- that sort of thing gets me fired up, and why not? There’s not many places one can stand on California’s mainland and get this two-sided dynamic in one frame at this geologic scale.
This bay is thought to be the site where an English explorer attempted to claim this region of the new world for England over 400 years ago, dubbing it Nova Albion- which is Latin for New England. This was well before that term had come into use for the Northeastern United States. But England never followed up on the claim, and Spain continued it’s expanding rule of the region they called Alta California. The name “Nova Albion” would be lost except to the history books, and a few old maps.
Her New Road
I imagine it was only a seasonal closure, something about nesting birds on the sand dunes, but it rattled my whole game plan. This isn’t a place one just passes through on the way down the coast, you have to really make the effort to get off the beaten path to find yourself out here. Once you do, especially if it’s on a quiet weekday, it’s one of the most amazing places in California. But even so, if your whole plan was to march up the dunes to capture the beach scene here for a dear friend from your youth, it’s a bit frustrating to be met with signs and fencing marking everything off limits except the parking lot and the beach itself. I like to be outside of a place and looking at it from a decent distance when I paint a location, so sitting on the beach just wouldn’t cut it. I found the only vantage point that offered a distant perspective was from the side of the freshly paved road that led to the beach here. As I took in the scene I realized the road was boldly part of the landscape and it gave me a moment to reflect on the different roads we take in life. Hers and mine parted many years ago. This was her new road. I’d never been here before, and (being that I have a bit of an aversion to painting long straight sandy beaches) probably wouldn’t have come at all if she hadn’t asked me to. Realizing this, I made it part of the painting on this beautiful morning just as the fog lifted.
Later that night, I’d end up sleeping in the van illegally in this carpark at the end of the road. Restless at one point in the early evening, I got up and walked this road by starlight. The wide road providing an easy stroll in the dim light as the night mists hung over the low vegetation on either side. Not a soul around. Just a traveler alone with his thoughts, passing through in the night, and gone again at first light… (to avoid the rangers mostly, I am not an early riser by nature).
The Light at the End
First of four paintings I’d paint this day in one of my favorite parts of California. Thick morning fog prevented me from seeing the views I came for so I went with my standard back up plan- wander around aimlessly and grumble about that old nemesis- the Great Northern Pacific Marine Layer. Mid grumble I passed this road lined with Cypress trees and it changed my tune.
Trust the Process
Chromatic Water Theory XII: Rhythm and Melody
The Blue Canoe
