There Used to be Two

When I rolled up to paint here I was thinking it would be a simple thing to pull up and paint from the back of the van as there is a carpark directly overlooking these rock formations. My first curve ball was when I realized it was posted as a 20-minute zone with the state park there. Instead of getting interrupted part way into a painting I figured I’d ask the park staff what they thought first. They seemed ok with it, but couldn’t promise I wouldn’t get the boot, especially if a “certain” ranger showed up. That was more assurance than nothing though so I figured I’d be alright and headed back to wait for the spot I’d scoped out to become available (shouldn’t take long, 20-minute zone after all). After about a half hour I realized this little truck in the prime spot just wasn’t moving. Due to the angles of the other spots, this really was the one I wanted and figured it was worth waiting for, but now the day was getting long and upon closer examination, the fellow in the truck appeared to be napping, headphones on, eyes closed, t-shirt tucked in his visor to block the sun from his face (and the view as well). Really? I mean he could do that anywhere he wanted, why choose this spot? Oh well, I figured some parking lot diplomacy was in order and proceeded to politely tap on his window and apologize for disturbing him, asking if he could move his rig, and offering him the two beers I was saving for later in exchange for his troubles. He was pretty stoked about the whole thing. They were just plain old Sierra Nevada’s but his eyes lit up and he said he’d heard about these beers, that they were supposed to be super good, all natural, top shelf beers. I wasn’t one to argue, I pulled into his spot and got to work. Never did see the ranger. But it was a really hot day, I could have enjoyed those beers.

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Prior to the Fire

Painted this on location on my first day in town on this trip. This was the ridiculously hot day here. Not an ounce of wind either. If I knew then what I know now, I would have jammed up the coast to the points north as the wind has been prone to howl out there, cutting paintings short, threatening to blow them right off the cliffs. So far so good but its been hectic, not like this day. This was easy. Welcome to Santa Cruz, now move along.

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Redgate Ranch Afternoon

Quick afternoon sketch of the scene here. Gonna get weird with some live art after I finish a burger real quick. Good vibes all around, stoked to be here.

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Demolition: Speed of Love

I see them on their good days
And it’s hard to believe
The damage that the fairer of the two
Sometimes inflicts
When she lashes out
Unseen
On her darker days

The gaping holes wrecked into the seawall here
Speak of forces beyond comprehension

I go out here like everyone else
Just to watch on the really big days
But the seawall always seems to hold.

Yet the evidence is there
That on some days
It isn’t so strong

Maybe it’s like most of us
And it only tends to break down
In the dark of night
When no one is looking

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Knuckle Bones

After a whirlwind road trip to that stretch of California just below Point Conception yet still well above LA, its good to be home for a bit. But only for a bit. Enjoyed painting our good old “knuckle bones” out here the other day before getting ready for another painting road trip to the points south…

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And This

This may or may not have been painted on my way down the coast a few weeks ago, or on my way back home today. I’m not talking. But I am exhausted and my back hurts and my knee is all tweaked and I could use a good long nap.

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Yo No Soy Marinero

Last one from a recent Ventura/Santa Barbara trip.

Sometimes a painting almost seems to paint itself. This one really didn’t need me much at all. The more I got involved the more I messed it up so at one point I just sort
of mentally checked out. I put on some music to drown out the roar of semi trucks on the highway behind me and relaxed through the afternoon until it looked finished. I’m
not trying to sound flippant about the work, but I think everyone who makes art can relate to the way some pieces just need us to get out of their way.

But the title is true. I am not a sailor. I will crash your boat. Seriously, don’t underestimate my lack of seaworthiness. I will steer your beautiful boat into a sandbar and all the knots I’ve tied will come undone. I will happily recline in your captain’s quarters, though. Especially if there are snacks.

-Entry on August 30, 2016

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Without Regard For Rules or Regulations

Found a few more paintings from my recent Ventura/Santa Barbara trip lurking in my van when I unpacked. This one’s title has nothing to do with ignoring the state park rules, but more about my decision to drop that palm in the foreground, chopping off a chunk of the composition against all of my better judgement. Its not like I ran out and just painted what was in front of me and then realized later that maybe a strong vertical like that isn’t the best thing for a pleasing composition. I knew full well even before setting up my easel that I was flirting with disaster. Even now I reckon that disaster and I might just be involved in a committed relationship here. But then every time I really start regretting that choice, I end up looking right at that palm trunk and the rest of the painting comes together peripherally and I love it again.

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Educational Facilities

These are the places where we return when we get a bit too old after a long week of work and need to learn to be young again. They are also the places where the young grow and learn, and gain wisdom beyond their years. Up and down the coast are these friendly pockets of earth, some of the finest educational facilities in existence.

University ratings are irrelevant, although SPF ratings should be considered carefully.

Degrees are measured in Fahrenheit, or possibly Celsius for the international exchange students.

Graduation isn’t just for the end of the year, it happens all the time. From jumping over waves in the shallows, to jumping in to them from a bit further out. From belly boarding to stand-up riding. From riding whitewater to sliding down the open face. Diplomas are framed in ear-to-ear smiles and displayed proudly in the dining hall where peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are served and seagull janitors mop up whatever is left behind… or just unattended.

-Entry on August 28, 2016

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Forgive Us Our Trespasses

The first sign said
No Trespassing

After climbing over the gate
And walking across the forbidden land
The second sign said
Permission to Pass

We couldn’t help but wonder
For whom was this one written?

It is always good
To be forgiven

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Land Rights

To step foot on these shores is to step back into an older California
Preserved in the ether of wood, and rust, and leather

If exclusion is the cost, so be it
Surely we’ve spent more for less elsewhere

By the way, if you can get me past the front gate
I give really good deals on commissioned artwork out here

I just thought I should mention that

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Rey y Reina, Fuego y Agua

Found another one from the last road trip. Not sure how this wasn’t posted earlier. Painted during the Rey Fire a few weeks ago. Those are its massive plumes in the upper right glowing in the afternoon sun. Huge thanks to those that made this view possible for me. The word I heard was that 4 other painters were denied access here earlier in the day before I came along. To paraphrase an old song, its not that my path was shining, I was walking on outstretched hands. Grateful indeed. 

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Port of Call

We all travel in a line around here, between mountains and sea, making stops at key destinations along the way, much like boats seeking harbor at successive ports as they
sail up or down a coast.

This particular voyage brought me to this port late in the day. I parked in a neighborhood somewhere behind that flagpole in the distance and proceeded to join the masses from every corner of the earth. One foot in front of the other, with each step a different language is heard. I enjoyed the choir while walking the length of the pier and circling back around the harbor and out to the end of this breakwall.

With my large backpack, complete with a rusty bucket clanking around back there, I was glared at like just another down-and-out fisherman who’d lost it all, but wasn’t ready to walk away from the harbor just yet.

And now that the sun has set I’m not ready to walk away either. I don’t feel finished with this painting, but this day is finished with me.

-Entry on August 23, 2016

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Well Oiled

Of course I could have just drove up and painted right here. It’s barely 50 feet from the parking spot. But first I had to spend an hour or two exploring the inland side of the road, scouring around the train tracks and straining unsuccessfully to find a passable goat trail up the steep eroded bluffs to gain a view looking down on this pier.

And again, I could always head out on these uncertain view-scouting missions without grabbing my 40 pound pack of gear, and just come back for it once I find a suitable view, but
instead I hauled that thing all over these dry dusty hills full of pricks and burrs in the heat of a Southern California summer, before conceding my defeat and just painting from the water’s edge instead.

Without these miscalculations and inefficiencies, what would I be? Some sort of well oiled machine?

Sounds boring. And I don’t rust in the hot tub
either.

-Entry on August 22, 2016

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The Queen’s Castle

Even though she was royalty
We continued to stare
At the lines
Around
Her blue eyes
And at the
Shape of her
Trembling
Lips
That encircled
Her delicate mouth

Meeting her was
Our good fortune

She showed us grace
And mercy
We did not
Earn

Little did we know then
Just how good
The Queen would be to us

Or just how difficult
Fortune can be
For those
Who have received it

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California Burning

This painting tour of the Santa Barbara/Ventura coast is quickly developing a wildfire theme. Every time you turn around down here there is another fire raging on another hill. I had a different spot in mind today, but the view of the smoke plume from this little utility road was just too good to pass up.

Each distant hill
Another mound of sticks
Prepared from long ago
For the clouds
To warm themselves
While California burns

These atmospheric bonfires
Often stop traffic
And force the impatient
Onto unmarked utility roads
With no clear exit

Good luck with that
Black Honda Civic

I saw you go in
And back out again
In reverse

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Wall to Wall

Kicking this tour off with a bit of urban lore, some ghosts of 80s punk rock, some working class grind, and beach house lounge jockeys all woven together in an iconic Southern California juxtaposition. With waves. Don’t leave anything valuable in your car.

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