Water is Life

If we look to the seasons we see that darkness comes in cycles, offset by rhythms of light. And yet the darkness has never felt so loud as the discordant anthem of this asymphonic night.

We are tempted to see this present moment as the cold oppression of a tangible force. A standing army of arguments against our better angels. Generals, officers and even pawnsmen making strategy behind the fireless smoke. Tanks and armor. Bullets, bayonets, and words.

Yes, words. Words meant for good twisted beyond recognition. Word as a weapon. Word as a poison. Word as the famine, the plague, the killing of every firstborn. Word as the ultimate tool of victory and defeat. Word delivered in a flash of blinding light, deceptively cloaking darkness behind it’s insatiable heat.

We begin to think of darkness in terms of the battle as though might just might make right after all and light might somehow be wrong.

Don’t be fooled. There is no darkness. It is not a thing of itself, it is only the momentary absence of light. As long as there is love and beauty and a song to be sung, darkness is already defeated before it has even begun.

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Isthmus Interrupted: Most of the Time She Can’t be Reached

The isthmus here is only passable at the lower tides, leaving the rock island on the right unreachable for most of every day. I’ve always been fascinated by the bending of wave energy around both sides of the island on the higher tides. Getting to this vantage point with all my paint gear wasn’t easy, but that is all part of the fun.

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Poetry of Geological Ideas

We really do have some beautiful coastline around here. While still technically a part of the California coast, this zone feels like another time and place altogether.

Pretty sure it was Einstein that said pure mathematics was the poetry of logical ideas. In that sense I reckon pure plein air painting  is maybe a poetry of geological ideas.

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I’ll be Ever’where, Ma

Painted this one two days ago for a friend. Without going into much detail, I chose the title from Tom Joad’s farewell to his mother in Grapes of Wrath. As I painted this much loved beach from an overview perspective not often seen, I thought of many that I have had to say goodbye to over the years and how there are times and places where we can almost feel as close to them as when they were still with us, perhaps closer even. A thick dark forest, impenetrable and full of mystery, seems a pretty fair metaphor for where they go who’ve left their earthly tents behind. From there they watch over us. So what then?

Tom Joad: Then it don’t matter. I’ll be all aroun’ in the dark – I’ll be ever’where. Wherever you can look – wherever there’s a fight, so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there. Wherever there’s a cop beatin’ up a guy, I’ll be there. I’ll be in the way guys yell when they’re mad. I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry and they know supper’s ready, and when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise and livin’ in the houses they build – I’ll be there, too.

Ma: I don’t understand it, Tom.

Tom Joad: Me, neither, Ma, but – just somethin’ I been thinkin’ about.

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Fixer Upper

I was hoping to go further up the coast but the midday high tide and a deeply eroded beach combined with solid swell prevented me from going much further than this little beach hut. Not that I didn’t try, it got pretty dicey around that corner. Timed my way around a few bends between sets but progress was slow and up the coast lines of whitewater were smashing all the way to the cliff face that I had hoped to reach. Stood and watched for a good long time, pondered a few potential outcomes, and finally retreated back to this little fort and made the most of it. Wish I had the family with me, the kids would have fixed this place up nice.

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Two Cents Worth of Advice for the Aspiring Artist

All art is a lie.

All you really need is red yellow blue and white.

Work fast, don’t worry about results too much. just keep going.

Don’t paint the things you’re looking at, paint the air between them and you.

Every piece goes through an ugly stage, just keep going and trust your instincts to bring it through. You will bring it through.

When painting next to another artist, loosen all their easel bolts when they aren’t looking and… wait, not that.

“Gifted” artists aren’t born with automatic talent. The “gift” they have is a deep and thorough enjoyment of the process, that brings them back for more and more and more.

Living as an artist is like Peter getting out of the boat and walking on water. No safety nets, and you’re bound to get wet once in a while. Watch out for sharks.

Selling art and making art are two very different arts. Don’t confuse them.

Be very careful not to dip your brush in your beer.

That is all.

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Depth Together

Here is the heart of war
Against the hardness of life
Against discomfort and difficulty
The battlefield a narrow expanse
Fertile beyond belief
Due to the wonders of modern agriculture
Also known as
Coffee

Lined with strip malls
And donut stalls
And the same house on every corner
Where surf movies play on repeat
While a child scribbles away
On the kitchen floor
Trying to draw out the poison
From the wounds incurred
During last night’s family feud

He finds solace between the lines
He draws the places that
Remind him of other times
I tell him it’s art
And that it’s going to be fine
He quietly responds
That it’s all just rhymes

And though the child can barely whisper dryly
And my voice speaks bold and highly
We both see the scene
Through one eye apiece
And only perceive
Depth together

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Fini

The artist.
You created this.
You accomplished everything.
Did what you never thought you could.
Lived circles around your own preconceptions.
Saw your children grow and scatter to the four winds.
Heard their glowing reports from the four corners of the world.
You’ll live your last days here in the shelter you’d always sought after.
Not working for the hollow dream of another man’s profit .
Just breathing now with the rhythm of the martyrs.
Breathing in the deep sweet breath of the dying.
Your youngest child still on the easel.
Bound to miscarriage.
No memories.
Gone.

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Perfect from Afar

One of the last paintings from recent Santa Cruz trip. This is the California I love. Open, accessible, space with occasionally great waves. In order to paint these places, I have to visit them in person. It’s one of my favorite perks of this job. I hear of parts of the east coast where private properties rule and effectively block out all public access to the coastline for exceedingly large stretches. Makes me thankful for all who have worked so hard in this state to weave public access to this natural resource into the fabric of our coastal communities. Places the public has enjoyed for years cannot easily be purchased and made private regardless of the weight of wealth being thrown around*. There’s some heavy battles raging on this front right now, but regardless of the outcomes, this is California, we will find ways through your fences and not feel bad about it at all. We’re happy to share the shore with the monied class even if they refuse to share it with us. That said, hats off to the folks on the front lines. It sure is nice to be able to leisurely stroll out on the trails to places like this.

*There are restricted private lands that benefit us all as well. The key here is preservation. If its a matter of keeping a coastline preserved in its natural state, sometimes private interests serve this purpose best… its case by case really. But buy a bunch of beachfront land and build it full of castles and walls to keep the commoners out of the places they enjoyed for generations and I reckon you’re asking for your castles to fall into the sea. We will not weep for your loss. We will rejoice gladly and use chunks of the shattered foundations of your fortresses to build makeshift stairs down the goat path we used before you ever came along.

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A Pleasant Arrangement

He was sitting out on his porch that afternoon. The day was getting late but the setting sun was still warm as he stared out over the water. I never knew him but his house stood there, looming large over this coastal scene. It must have been a pleasant arrangement. What better place to ride out one’s final days than sitting comfortably at home and staring out at an always changing display of natural glory? The dance of light upon the water, now penetrating and revealing the dark depths, later reflecting, casting an upward dance of shimmering angels soaring back to heaven.

-Entry on October 6, 2016

Post-Edit: He passed away not long after I’d hopped his distant neighbor’s fence to paint this scene looking back toward his house while he sat in the fading light of the sun. Thousands of surfers would come to honor his life and help shoulder the burden of loss that his passing wrought on this community. They paddled out and formed a circle in the water more than a half mile across, kept warm by their grateful hearts.

-Entry on June 18, 2017

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Lost in the Shuffle

Sometimes I find myself painting subjects that are a bit more involved than I’d like, but in order to eventually cover the entire California coast, I just can’t avoid them. Here is one of those. Quite challenging, one day I hope to sort out a better approach to these scenes that look out over rows of buildings like this. That said, I have done much worse in the past so its good to see bit of progress at least…

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No Rancho

Have you ever tried to touch your nose with your eyes closed, while sitting in a tiny boat, with two friends fishing?

It’s like being rather drunk, but it’s only the dramamine.

And the moving sea.

Now try to paint the scene.

I dare you

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Slot Machine

Line after line
And jewel upon jewel
These beams of light
Bearing weight
As well as witness
To our memories
Lost in the fire
On the night we crossed the bridge
Over the village of tents and mud
And ice
Passing cars
With no drivers
And the rising tide
Forced us to climb over the rocks
To round the headland
Where lovers loved
And dreamers dreamed
And thieves did their best work
Stealing all that we had
And leaving us with nothing
But ashes

And
Possibly
Yet another
Parking ticket

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Silent Conversations: Long Departed

I’ve heard this site was one of the oldest human settlements in North America. Long departed now, nothing remains but a hill of discarded shells surrounded by windblown dunes. And the wind. The wind has always been here. It was already blowing steady with undertones of far greater force to come and it was only mid morning. I had a dilemma. There was a broad rocky plateau from which a finger of precipice extended. The plateau had nice views and was lined by an eroded dirt bank providing excellent wind block. The view I sought was out on that finger though, and as it was the wind was blowing full force into it, slamming into the face and rushing over it toward the caves. A dicey spot to paint from to be sure. In these times I always take a moment to seek direction. Even in the noise of life there is always Silence around us, and within that Silence, a Voice, easy to miss, but impossible to ignore. “Go out to the edge and paint. Beauty is never without risk. I am with you” Ok. It was quite an ordeal getting set up, requiring total concentration on each movement and considerations of flight risks for each element involved in my painting process. In the midst of all this, other voices were present in the wind. Not threatening voices, but not welcoming either. The Silent Voice seemed to be speaking back to them and I was in awe of the conversation taking place around and within me while standing out on this precipice unknown and unseen by a single soul. Mists of white blew past me as I painted, passing over the precipice I was standing on and swirling down into the caves below. I wasn’t sure what to make of them until one blew right into me and I found myself being pelted by sand. From where? The nearest dune around was the base of the mound left behind by the ancients a hundred yards up the coast. Nature’s poetry. A more appropriate body for these voices could never be found. Quite relieved that myself, and every bit of my gear, and this painting (embedded with sand) all survived without taking flight. Thanks be to Silence.

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Quiet Water

To be honest, Santa Cruz stresses me out a bit. Crazy, crazy place… but I like it. That said it was great to get out of the hamster maze for a bit today. A friend treated me to some epic midday views up a private road way up the coast and I followed that up with this quick afternoon sketch from a path less travelled overlooking a place I’ve enjoyed visiting (although infrequently) for years. The wind howled pretty good while I painted this, but looking down on this pond nestled into a hook of coastal bluffs you wouldn’t know it. Smooth as glass, and quiet as could be. Something in me needed this today. Thankful to have the opportunity to walk this earth, life is beautiful. Find some quiet water and reflect when you have a minute. You won’t regret it. 

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For Miles and Miles

The last plein air painting from last months trip. (18 paintings, 12 days, 1 parking ticket…)

This particular stretch of California coastline intrigues me. Miles of coastal bluffs lined to the edge with row upon row of crops, a highly productive and active agricultural zone, and dotted with sculpted points and coves so abundant you always feel like you’re maybe missing something up the coast a bit. It’s gonna take more than a few trips to really sort this zone out in my mind, but I’m looking forward to all of them. Beauty for miles, but not without challenges…

The wind was howling at my back as I painted this one. Rarely did my hand leave the easel for fear of losing my gear off the cliff into rocky tidepools below, which would have been doubly troublesome due to the audience of surfers that sat just about in the middle of the painting (I somehow don’t always include them…) I can’t imagine the grief if I’d lost my gear off the cliff in front of that pack. I’d get run out of town most likely. Always a relief to survive a windy paint session and return with the painting in tact. I was so focused on handling the wind logistics here that I sorta painted this one on autopilot. Wasn’t till I got back and looked at it with the others that I realized how much I really like this one, it brings me back every time I look at it.

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This Spot is Gone But You’re Still Here

I’d heard about a homegrown skatebowl on some farmer’s field overlooking this coast for years. I even went looking for it once, but in all the wrong places. I’d gotten a tip from a knowledgeable source this time, though, so I’d be making a visit on this trip and hopefully coming away with a painting of a truly unique spot on the California Coast.

There were no cars around when I arrived. Nice and quiet, but an ominous vibe hung in the air. I see a pile of rubble on a berm above me, brightly colored spray paint on each block in the pile. This must be the spot. As I near the top and get my first look around, I’m confronted with an unexpected scene.

“THIS SPOT IS GONE BUT YOU ’RE STILL HERE” is spraypainted on the last remaining portion of curved concrete bowl. The rest is jackhammered into pieces and strewn
about this bluff.

Well, it was true, the spot was gone but I was still there and may as well do what I came to do, so I painted this.

The word I heard when I got back to town is that they must have just bulldozed it within the last week or so. Many folks hadn’t even heard it was gone yet.

RIP cool skate spot. At least your epic view still remains.

-Entry on October 1, 2016

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Protected

Latest from my Free Range: Santa Cruz painting tour. There’s coves like this all over the California coast, tucked away and protected from the predominant winds creating clean conditions when elsewhere the sea is ragged with wind chatter.

This coast is certainly worth protecting and I’m thankful for all who have worked to preserve the natural beauty of our state’s coast. Cheers to you all.

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Home Renovation

Bunches of quail, several deer, otters, and even a fox on the beach. They were all very gracious hosts. Even though I’m sure I smelled pretty bad to them, none of them said so. They live in a beautiful home.

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I May Not Play the Fiddle, But I Was on the Roof

Pretty stoked to paint this one from a rooftop today. Seriously, why paint in a studio when you can climb ladders and crawl through a skylight and set up in a place like this instead? Big thanks to my friend Charles for opening the door… um skylight… to make this one possible.

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Losing his Mind While I Lost the Plot

After several long days of painting I sometimes hit a wall. Pushing through it where I can, sometimes this art gig becomes work. Fun work, but still work. I wanted to paint this spot just because I’ve had some fun waves here over the years, but didn’t anticipate how difficult it would be to put it all into a functional composition. That and the sunlight being directly behind my back creating a sort of flat shadowless light. Somewhere in the tired struggle to convey a sense of this place I felt like it got away from me and even looking at it now I don’t really know where I was trying to go here. Just sorta lost the plot I guess. Maybe it was in the air, a hobo kid that must have just eaten all his drugs wandered incoherently in and out of my world while working here. Are brain frying loopagenics contagious? Most likely not, I think I was just tired….

I hope the kid makes it through, there’s a fair bit of lostness in the eyes around parts of this town, but that’s a whole different story. I need some sleep. Good night. Love the ones around you, we all need each other. 

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Everybody Has Been Burned

Fire crept
Over the mountain
We saw it from town
After dinner last night

Smoke drifting
Out to sea
This morning

Everybody has
been burned before
Especially here

On this day though
The Rasta Man
Only smiled
And gave me a beer
Instead

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