09/30/2016
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.
09/30/2016
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.
09/29/2016
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.
09/28/2016
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.
09/26/2016
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.
09/26/2016
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.
09/25/2016
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.
09/12/2016
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…
08/31/2016
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.
08/30/2016
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
08/30/2016
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.
08/28/2016
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
08/23/2016
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.
08/23/2016
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
08/22/2016
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
08/19/2016
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.
08/11/2016
Single session studio painting, not plein air at all, it just looks that way…
I don’t work from single photos too often these days, but this quick snapshot from a few years back had been begging to get painted all that time. Yesterday I caved in and painted it in one session in the studio. Glad I did. The more I spent time with this captured moment, the more I realized and remembered just how good everything about it was.
08/07/2016
Painted live with the Sand Fleas this evening to benefit the Trinidad Coastal Land Trust. I’ve painted with a lot of bands and live musicians but never tried this before, where the focus is turned back squarely to the musicians. In fact I generally avoid figurative work altogether. There was some consensus that it looked a fair bit better earlier in the evening, but I’m not convinced. My feeling is that it didn’t come together till the very last song they played. Oh well, who’s to say anyway?
07/25/2016
Headed up the coast on a gray day. Surfed some fun summertime glassy gutless beachbreak nearby as the morning gray burned into afternoon blue. Figured it would be a good time to paint for a bit, and just after finishing the summer grayness returned.
That’s a big part of the fun (and sometimes frustration) of painting outdoors- working in rhythm with nature. You cant force it, but when you find that you are dancing in step with her, both of you moving with the maker’s drumbeat, its hard not to fall in love.
06/29/2016
Plein air from a van rocked by gusty winds. I tried to leave this area after the last one, I was beat, dirty, and looking forward to a hot shower and my family’s faces once again. But just as I was mentally plotting where I might find the nearest cheeseburger before making the 5 hour drive home, there was a fork in the road. To the left was food and the prospect of being home tonight, to the right was a road that would take me further out on this headland, already an hour’s dogleg from highway one. I’d never been this far out here before and not knowing when I’d be this way again it was an easy choice. I’d have to sleep in the van one more night. Then 5 or 10 minutes down that new road there was another fork that headed to the leeward side of the headland. I thought I would just take a look and then continue to the end of the main road. I never made it past this view. I literally used the side door opening on my van as a viewfinder for this one. Nothing in me felt like painting except for the sense of awe and opportunity that this beauty presented, so I ate a bit of dry bread for fuel and pushed through this one as quickly as I could and moved on. By now the exhaustion and hunger had the best of me and this time I chose the cheeseburger over the end if the road. Still had to sleep in the van though.
06/28/2016
I’d hiked this windswept beach for hours through the midday heat when the sun is at its shadowless peak. I was looking for a few things- a painting mostly, but also a wave or two. What I found was mostly wind. Lots of it. Blowing hard offshore early in the hike, then sideshore as the coast gradually bent to meet it. Just once it stopped briefly, then switched gently and met me face to face, greeting me with a holy sprinkling of sand, curiously examining this bearded fellow with the funny backpack. Not threatening but not welcoming either, whispering a cautious reminder of what she did to those Spaniards the other day who attempted to sail her waters. I told her what I was looking for but she said nothing and flew violently back to her Maker, leaving me to search in vain for a spot to paint that would convey the desolate beauty here. Even if I’d mustered the mojo to scramble up the cliffs for a better view, my gear would have surely blown off and out to sea before getting too far. Still early in the afternoon, I was resolved to find some sort of windblock in or near the next ravine. The steep wall that sheltered me there would surely cast its shadow soon. The tide would fill in and cover the wet and rippled sand along the rock wall on which I perched. I would wait patiently and go after it when the time was right. After a long while 3 things became clear. First, the afternoon brought a shift in the wind and I was no longer sheltered, canvas bouncing like a kickdrum at a punk rock show, and my heavily weighted easel threatening to set sail with each gust. A brush in one hand, my easel in the other attempting to ride this bull to completion. Secondly, the tide had peaked and the water would not crest the berm today. And thirdly, the coast here hooks so unusually that I had no bearings on direction when staring at the overhead sun and grossly miscalculated its arc. This ravine would remain lit up and shadeless for hours to come. I’d already blocked the painting in, anticipating these changes and really enjoyed the way it was looking, so I did what any fool that speaks to the wind might do. I kept on going, and that was her answer.
06/28/2016
The night before I painted this I stepped into a small bar in an even smaller town to sip a beer and charge my dead phone.
Open mic night was raging for a handful of locals and passer-throughs like myself.
Nursing my beer in the corner by the pool table (only spot near an outlet), and watching a few Mexican fellows play their game, I must have looked a bit too interested because next thing I knew a local had me lined up to shoot a game with him. He chose a poor opponent, I nearly didn’t sink a single shot even after he cleared his from the table.
We got to chatting a bit and I mentioned I’m down from Humboldt, and he says he knows the guy that painted the Humboldt Surf Company sign years ago when they were on the plaza up there. I’m tripping out a bit because he doesn’t even seem slightly familiar to me, but he described the sign I painted pretty well.
At one point he turns to me and for some reason says, “Welcome home.”
I reckon he was fairly stoned, he said so himself anyway.
Through the course of that single beer I had a few other fun conversations as well, one with another artist who saw me painting at the path down to the beach earlier in the day. Another with a musician’s friend who seemed to think they knew me, but this time I was sure they were mistaken. During that conversation one of the Mexican pool players took to the mic with a guitar while a gringo joined in on piano and belted out some numbers that had the whole room hooting and hollering.
Once they wrapped up, I checked my phone and it was charged, checked my beer and it was empty, checked my social interaction comfort level and it was as non-existent as ever, so I promptly checked out for the night and retreated to the dark and quiet confines of my van parked in a residential neighborhood around the corner.
I hit the road at first light, and arrived not too much later to this desolate beach I’d been wanting to explore for years.
After a quick swim I walked up on the bluff to get a better view of this pristine piece of California that I’d never laid eyes on before. I noticed my van in the carpark, and this time I welcomed myself home.
-Entry on June 29, 2016
06/27/2016
This was a rough day. Had to surf twice, before and after painting this one. All in a day’s work I guess…
06/26/2016
Took a grueling hike in the heat of the day yesterday in search of a spot I’ve been eyeing on the map for years. Like all the best places it requires a drive off the main road until the pavement ends, then a drive down a dirt road until the road ends, then you get out and walk. Unfortunately I didn’t find any views of the spot I had wanted to see, but the walk up the coast was a walk back in time to old California, possibly ancient even. California does this sometimes. Here she is, same as she ever was. Every bit worth all the sweat and effort to get here. Lots to more to explore, hoping to get back here another day…
06/25/2016
Painted this one from the mobile studio. It wasn’t moving at the time though. That would have been rough. Although that mighta helped keep the monstrous flies out of the van… they were nuts. Had to swing my paint rag around every couple minutes the entire time I was painting. I think they liked my yellow.
