White Hot
South Swells and Sunlight
Summer is kinda over, except fall really is the best summer around here. That said, rain is in the forecast once again, which means I’ll be hunkered down and catching up on a bunch of studio work over the next few months. Looking forward to spring and summer 2020 road trip season already.
This was from a painting trip with Wade Koniakowsky back in 2018. He wanted to paint this tricky street view so as his guest I wasn’t going to argue. But Wade paints fast. And he had to meet someone that afternoon. We had 1 hour. Maybe less, at least it felt that way. Oh well, I tend to paint wonky cars even when I take my sweet time so there is that. Still a fun challenge.
Rising Tide- Setting Sun
About a year ago, I spent a week in San Diego painting with my friend Wade Koniakowsky and wrapped it up with a show in his gallery. It was a hot week, and sometimes challenging to find the motivation. This was at the end of a long day in the bright sun as the afternoon finally started it’s turn into evening. The tide was high, and a largish swell was running with just two surfers out front getting pummeled for our entertainment.
I set up just up the road from Wade to paint this little bend in the cliff capped off by a scraggly stump of a windblown cypress hanging on for dear life- probably in a tree’s version of a comatose state dreaming of a life in Big Sur.
A group of guys walked by, tattoos, wife-beaters, socks pulled high, beanies even though it was still fairly hot out. They were stoked on the painting. Well not so much the painting itself I reckon, they seemed to me like the sort of crew that doesn’t encounter plein air painters too often, so I think they were just stoked to see a real life hipster version of Bob Ross doing his thing out on a cliff in the wind. They were so jazzed they gave me a cold beer out of the paper sack one of them carried. Heroes.
A short while later, Wade was finished up with his painting and he walked over with his wife and a friend who had brought more beer, and… this is key… wait for it… Chips and salsa. Oh my. I don’t even care how this painting turns out anymore, this might just be as good as it gets right here right now.
451
Another rainy day morning here has me thinking back to hotter times, like summers in San Diego. I’ve realized later in life that a lot of folks actually and truly like hot weather. Like it feels good to them or something. I imagine folks from these climates heading north and braving the cold (55 isn’t really even cold, but it’s relative, yeah?)… They probably look forward to getting back home to trunks and flip flops and t-shirts. For me it’s the exact opposite, I survive these 90 degree days (not really hot, but it’s relative remember?)… Always looking forward to getting back to our northern coast. This painting brings back warm memories. Sweat mostly. But shoot, no complaints… Just another day at the beach.
Why the Fahrenheit 451 reference? Aside from the heat, I just got to thinking of the landmark power plant that looms over this stretch of coast, and how we’ve become so dependent on modern technologies fueled by electricity. Old methods are being lost. The internet provides unlimited information, but at the expense of hard-earned knowledge. Libraries keep closing. We’re burning the books ourselves now, and posting shots of the bonfire on social media. Yes, irony. Part of the fun. Do you smell smoke?
-Not that anyone would gather that sort of message from this painting, and not that it was ever intended either, just an insight to my process of coming up with titles after the fact. Since I never name locations it forces me to think a bit too much occasionally.
Apologies.
Maybe I’ll read a book today.
Intertidal Architecture
The first painting I ever recall painting of a specific location on the California coast was of the Seal Beach Pier. It was for a 7th grade art class. It wasn’t painted on location. It was painted with watercolors. And I’m sure it had lots of details conveyed through the awkward lens of a 12 year old’s eyes. I don’t know where it ended up.
They say some things never change, and I’m inclined to agree.
Except this is not the Seal Beach Pier. It’s not for an art class. It was painted on location. It wasn’t painted with watercolors. And it’s details are conveyed through the awkward lens of my 43 (now 44) year old eyes instead.
Speaking of this pier and my eyes, I’ve never seen a pier with architecture quite like this one. I should have just painted that part on the left that really interested me, but there was that wave that kept breaking off the pier that I just couldn’t leave out, so I ended up foolishly attempting to paint it all in one painting. When it’s my first time painting a place I have a tendency to do this so it’s nothing new, but 2 1/2 hours into these paintings I start questioning my life’s decisions when I realize how much tedious work I’ve taken on. Once finished though, the burrito that follows tastes that much better.
East of the 5
Step Right Up
Not So Distant Shores
Plein air from one of California’s other coasts
Not too often do I paint from places I can’t drive my van to, but it sure is fun to see these coasts with no roads and crystal clear waters. I’m stoked to be heading south for another round with one of our offshore islands next week.
Her View of the Canyon
Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
Hidden Hills
Vanishing Points
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.
The Great Escape
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.
Sarah’s Lemonade
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.
Vaudevillian Cartoon
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.
The Unveiling
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
Broke Down Van Blues
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.
Morning Commute
One Last Chance
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.
Car Trouble
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.
California’s Dream
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
From the Grave to the Cradle
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.
Almost Home
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.
Important Matters
Cubic Yards
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.