Artwork Notes & Backstories


Between the Music and the Beer

Live art of sand dunes on the Samoa peninsula on the Humboldt coast of northern California

10/05/2019

This was also a live painting done just recently at a benefit for a local nonprofit called Friends of the Dunes. I’ve been painting at their annual wine-sipping event for the last 6 years or so and always have a good time. This day was no different, but it was a bright sunny day, unlike some years, and I was supposed to set up and paint outside. I’d prefer to have been in the shade, but all the tents were sorta spoken for, so what was I to do? The obvious thing of course- wedge myself right in between the live music tent and the beer tent. I may not be smart, but I’m no dummy. Good times once again.


A Fresh Perspective

Plein air painting overlooking Highway 101 at Freshwater lagoon on the Humboldt coast of Northern California

09/21/2019

Long straight sandy beaches are a lifelong nemesis when it comes to composing a scene that holds my interest long enough to see a painting through. Down on the beach it’s all just sand and sky with that little strip of compressed sea level ocean. Aargh. Get me up on a hill. Give me a little more earth, a little more ocean, a little more of everything and a little less sky. Nothing against the heavens, I’ll be heading there soon enough, but for now my feet are still planted firm in the clay. Give me a beer and a sandwich. Give me anything at all, just give me a fresh perspective please.


Deep Calls to Deep

Plein air painting of mural on a church wall by Chris Del Moro and graffiti that say to Read Kerouac in Marina Di Pisa, Italy

09/17/2019

“The only people for me are the mad ones: the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who… burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles.” ⠀
-Jack Kerouac, American Poet and Novelist (1922-1969)⠀
Printed and taped on my father’s fridge by my sister (1968-2014)⠀
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Ok, hold on tight… ⠀
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Enter Tom Curren, stage right, guitar in hand, gliding across an old Persian rug on roller skates. The same rug on which I stood painting live to his music after a surf festival just north of San Francisco. The same rug on which just a few hours earlier I nervously met Tom backstage behind a translucent screen where Jason Baffa’s film Bella Vita played (the part where Chris Del Moro paints a mural in Italy). The same rug that once belonged to Jerry Garcia, who was greatly influenced by Kerouac, and who also once laid his hands on my own mother’s womb in Golden Gate Park in 1969 and blessed my unborn sister who went on to live a fabulous Roman candle of a life and introduced me to Kerouac’s work before cancer extinguished her visible flames. ⠀
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Bella Vita. Although my first encounter with the film proved deeply significant, I had no way to know just how far that magic carpet we stood on was going to take me in just a few years. If Jason Baffa hadn’t made that film about Chris Del Moro returning to Italy, Dwight Harrington wouldn’t have seen it and been immediately inspired to plan his return trip, catching me up in his slipstream. ⠀
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Shortly after Bella Vita was released, Chris asked me to do a painting up in the hills near his home in California. I arrived with friends and we descended into Chris’s world like characters from a Kerouac novel and proceeded to hoot and holler and drink the afternoon right into evening, resulting in a rather questionable painting. He was gracious, but I knew I’d make it up to him one day. ⠀
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Today was the day. I set up the easel in front of his mural in Italy and painted the scene in plein air. A gift for a friend. ⠀
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Graffiti on the wall simply read, “READ KEROUAC.” Just two words, but oh how they burned, burned, burned…


Drink Up

A plein air landscape painiting from the Lost Coast Trail at Sea Lion Gulch on the Humboldt coast of California

08/14/2019

The final panting of this trip. To keep our packs as light as we could (since I was carrying an entire studio) we carried little water with us- just enough to get to our next destination point and keeping our eyes out for water sources along the way. We brought a small filter and there’s lots of creeks that flow on this rugged coast year round, so we knew we wouldn’t have much trouble. This proved to be a perfect creek to drink up and refill after a long morning of painting and getting dried out in the now hot wind. It was also just enough of a bend in the coast that it didn’t face the full force of the wind and we opted to stop again for one more large painting before hiking the final 4 miles back to the car.


Punctuation Marks

A plein air landscape from the Lost Coast Trail overlooking Punta Gorda on the Humboldt coast of northern California

08/14/2019

As we hiked our way down the coast yesterday, I made a lot of mental notes for today’s paintings. Yesterday was for reconnaissance and smaller, quicker paintings. Today was time to get to work on some larger vistas. This was a scene that really struck me the day before. A sweeping view, punctuated by triple exclamation points in the solitary yucca, the jutting rock by the trail, and the old lighthouse barely visible in the distance. In the strong morning wind, I set about painting this larger 20″ x 16″ on location from this steep bluff beside the trail, carefully dodging poison oak, and thoughtfully weighting down every element of my supplies to keep them from blowing over the edge. I’d seen this spot in the afternoon light the day before, but had no idea what a treat it would be to paint here now. There is something so good and right about a crisp morning light.


Anything But Silent

Plein air nocturne painting of Cooskie Creek on the Lost Coast Trail on the Humboldt Coast of Northern California

08/13/2019

As my wife slept in the shadows by the creek beside this headland, I stood and faced the moonlight and attempted to sort out mixing colors by headlamp. Due to the timing of the tides we’d have to leave first thing in the morning so even though I’d rather have been sleeping myself, this was my only chance to paint here, over 7 miles from the nearest dirt road- our furthest point reached on this quick backpacking trip. It might look a peaceful serene setting, and in a way it was, but it was anything but silent. If you squint your eyes you might just hear a gust of canyon wind rushing to meet the crashing surf. Or an artist grumbling away by headlamp attempting to quiet his own inner struggle to stay motivated. This title may or may not also be referring to the manner in which I sleep, which can also be anything but silent- especially when I’m dog tired from hiking and painting all day and into the night. Sorry, honey. I love you!


Carry My Body

A plein air painting of a broken down hunting cabin on the Lost Coast Trail in Northern California's Humboldt County

08/13/2019

Not quite a proper backstory, and not quite a poem, this one took a rare detour into something else… either way, hope you enjoy the tale.

Food running low. The hunter prays for a kill as he reaches into the dusty cabinet for his last handful of oats before the sun sends the shadows scattering to hide behind every rock and tree they can find. Out the window in the pre-dawn light he sees movement, but when he looks intently there is nothing. Just the grassy flat leading to the precipice over the sea.

But he can’t shake the feeling he’s being watched. And he is. I watched him like a ghost all afternoon as I painted these crumbling remains of his cabin. I watched him bumbling about inside while waiting out the days of rain. Talking to his horse. Carrying the bodies of the freshly dead in the afternoons. Drinking himself stupid under the moons.

Separated by nothing but 30 paces and time, he saw me once or twice and muttered something to himself. The third time he threw a rock with a yell. His aim was good. It passed straight through my chest.

When the painting was finished I packed up my gear while he gathered up his belongings and tucked things here and there into his saddlebags. When we were both ready, he led his horse toward the spot where I stood, nearly looking me in the eye, but in a distant way. He stopped and turned, practically standing in my shoes, and looked back at the cabin one more time. But this time he saw it through my eyes as the earth reclaimed it’s walls and floors, timbers and beams. What was built for man, was now a palace for squirrels and was soon to be nothing but a high patch of ground for the morning shadows to hide behind.

As we both stood there, I watched his memories scatter in the wind. His heart hung in tatters, like a prayer flag on the barbed wire fence, and he let the rest of himself blow away entirely, leaving me there alone with his horse’s reins in my shaky hands. I’m no horse rider. It was all I could do just to mount the beast, but it knew the way, and it would carry my body home.


Motel California

Plein air painting overlooking the north end of Pismo Beach on the San Luis Obispo county coast of Central California

07/19/2019

I know you guys think my job is super easy. Just cruise around and paint pictures between coffee and beers and donuts and tacos. Go for a surf if the waves look fun. Hike around in beautiful remote places on the edges of the world. Hmmm… My job is pretty easy, come to think of it.

But there are also days like this one. Glorious sun-filled afternoons overlooking beaches full of memories. And on this day, it held far more than memories, it held my family- my wife and kids playing in the surf and sand below while I stood around on this forsaken cul-de-sac overlook painting the scene through a thirst-inducing 82 degrees of separation.

I painted fast and furious in hopes of joining them before they grew tired in the lengthening afternoon sun, but no matter how badly I wanted to finish this one and paint myself into the scene dragging my older kids out a little further into ever bigger and better rolling waves, it wasn’t going to happen today.

Today, this was the hardest job* I’ve ever had.

But it’s ok, not every day is like this, and me playing on the beach sure wasn’t going to cover the cost of this little trip that at least allowed them to enjoy the afternoon here. Sometimes life is work even when you’re living it up in the Motel California.

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*Speaking of jobs, did you know I used to always mention in my art bios that I’d never actually held a full time job? I did. Then after years of putting that statement out there I realized that most folks would read that to mean I’d never actually needed to work. As in some sort of trust-fund hidden wealth had allowed me to live this free and easy life. Well that was never the case. What I meant to say is that I was, and still am, proud to say I’ve always valued this pursuit of art so much that in spite of being ridiculously broke year after year, I never wanted to take on full-time work and become so drained by it that I’d let my art fall by the side of the road and into the ditches I would end up digging for someone else’s dream should I ever let go of my own.


Hallowed Ground

Plein air painting of Hollister Peak inspired by William Wendt in San Luis Obisbo County in Central California

07/17/2019

William Wendt was a master of California Impressionism, a distinct school of impressionist art forged in the California landscape back in the early 1900’s. One of Wendt’s most iconic paintings is called Where Nature’s God Hath Wrought and features a boldly centralized view of this very peak. Look it up if you need to, it’s worth the effort!

Wade Koniakowsky and I spent an afternoon scouting the countryside just off the central California coast, climbing under fences, walking through high grass, fumbling our way around holding pictures of Wendt’s masterful painting up to the mountain before us, comparing his version to reality in hopes of determining exactly where he stood and painted the scene from. We pretty much nailed it down one afternoon and decided to come back to paint it ourselves in the morning light. To be honest, it was a fun diversion from the coast, but I probably wouldn’t have bothered if it wasn’t for Wade. He was into it!

But once we got going I was hooked as well. And also blown away all over again at Wendt’s masterful work. I kept thinking his composition with that mountain smack in the middle of the canvas just shouldn’t work, and yet it does, and it does so with majesty. Neither Wade nor I were trying to recreate Wendt’s painting- we didn’t even look at it again once we had the spot figured out, our goal was just to stand where he stood and respond to the scene before us like we would with any other painting. I can’t speak for Wade, but I’m pretty sure neither of us felt like we had done half a lick of justice to the scene as the morning wound into afternoon and hunger took over.

But still, we’d walked on hallowed ground.

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It wasn’t until I looked closely at a map later that I realized that my Back Road painting from earlier in the trip is actually the back side of this very same peak. Kinda funny that I painted this mountain twice in one trip and if it weren’t for Wade and the fog I wouldn’t have painted it all.


Grounded

Plein air painting of a shiprwreck near Cayucos on the San Luis Obispo County coast of central California

07/17/2019

I painted this boat a few years ago, grounded hopelessly on the rocks in a small cove on the Central Coast. I had just learned that it had previously belonged to a friend’s family for years. It was even named after her brother, the “Craig G” until it was sold and the new owner renamed it the “Point Estero”.

I know very little of boats and what I do know filters in through little bits here and there until it’s hard to say if I know it at all or just made it up. But one thing about boats I did not make up is this lyric from Bill Callahan’s song Summer Painter:

“I painted names on boats for a Summer, For luck you keep the same first letter…
You don’t want bad luck at sea.”

No, you don’t. This is what bad luck at sea can look like. It could have been worse, nobody was hurt, but still no fun. Bad luck at sea looks a lot like bad luck in the intertidal zone now, and one can only hope it stays there and doesn’t become bad luck on land as well.

So far so good, this is where it’s been since it wrecked back in 2017. Except it’s spun around 180 degrees. It’ll eventually break into pieces here, but not for a real long time. Solid boat. Part of the landscape now.

I wanted to revisit it on this trip. It’s a great reminder that no matter how the world tries to label you, alway remember your true name… or at least it’s first letter, because you don’t want bad luck at sea. And also that no boat stays at sea forever, and for each of us our day will come sooner or later, and often unexpectedly. 


Meet Me in St. Louis

Plein air painting of kayaks on the beach at Port San Luis on the central California coast

07/17/2019

A little further than the road will take you, this little cove is accessed mainly by kayak or paddleboard which means getting out here to paint while armed with just a van and a backpack is a tricky matter of… logistics! Oh, how I love logistics.

And also my friends, like my good art pal, who lives just over the hill from this spot (check her art out, she paints like she means it, you’ll be stoked). Wade and I met her at the beach a mile or so into the harbor and joined her on her family’s kayaks and paddleboards for this little venture. All the art gear secured in our fancy dry bags (hefty trash bags, good for only the quickest of dunks), we paddled across on a sheet smooth blue-bird day that gave no hints of the howling wind that would greet us on the bluff over the cove where the coast makes its turn.

I typically like to get as high as I can while painting… elevation-wise (art is its own good buzz), but the wind just wasn’t having it up on the cliffs overhead, this little perch in a nook at the top of the stairs was pretty much the only option, but thankfully not a bad option at all for telling the story of this little kayak party cove.

After an afternoon of painting in the hot dry sun, I was looking forward to the paddle back on the cool water once again. Though now that we had finished paintings in our fancy hefty sacks, riddled with holes from the sharp corners of various bits of gear, the stakes were certainly a little higher. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.

We didn’t fall. (Well maybe a little bit on the final step off to the beach, but that didn’t count because the art and gear were not affected.)

Beers and fish sandwiches afterwards never tasted so good. Huge thanks to Colleen Gnos for taking Wade and I out there. 


A Pier Then Disappear

Plein air painting of an old dairy farm building at Cayucos on the central California coast of San Luis Obispo County

07/16/2019

Ok, let’s circle back to the Italian dairy farms that took root here in 1860’s… I painted this small dairy farm building one afternoon from beside an old ranch house where a not-so-Italian* friend of Wade’s was living.

Another not-so-Italian* fellow had long ago purchased this land and set up operations here all the way back in 1867. He first lived in the very ranch house where we were staying** (right behind me as I painted this scene), set in this picturesque valley, and began overseeing the dairy operations behind the house with a mind toward something bigger than the dairy. A former ship captain himself, his interest was in shipping and commerce and not long after settling here, he built the town’s pier straight down from this dairy (along with a fancy new house right beside the pier that still stands today as a registered landmark, leaving this small ranch house and its dairy in its historical shadow).

You can’t see the ocean or the pier from here anymore, the new coast highway has been laid on an embankment built up across this valley, separating the coast from this small dairy farm that has long since ceased dairy operations altogether. But their pasts are inextricably linked together. The isolation now provided by the highway has perhaps also helped to preserve this piece of history.

On this bright summer afternoon I couldn’t resist attempting to tell its story. It’s not a public place, I was only here because of Wade and his friend that was living here at the time, so this was a rare opportunity to paint an ordinarily off-limits piece of history. I’m sure I botched parts of the story, but I tried to keep it straight.

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*Just a guess, maybe they both had veins full of raging Italian blood and I just didn’t know it?

**Holy moly, one evening we were treated to a steak dinner in the very ranch house dining room that rivaled any steak I’ve ever had. The walls, wainscoting and trim all covered in umpteen coats of proper lead paint, old and darkened wood floors, nothing fancy by our standards, but the effect was nothing short of time travel. History never tasted so good.


Red and Gold

Landscape plein air painting of California poppies growing near Point Buchon on the San Luis Obispo County coast of California

07/15/2019

Corralina, it’s the Italian word for coral, and though no coral is found in this cold water, there is a red seaweed with a hard calcareous surface named corralina that does grow in these rugged tidepools. There’s also gold poppies that bloom in the spring here. I’m a sucker for poppies.

I had a strict 25 minutes to paint this one before getting locked in for the night with the mysterious devil in the white truck (see previous post). Not a pleasant option, I’d have to work faster than usual this time.

Also cookies. I don’t know how they got there, but I recall setting up to paint and finding some big delicious chocolate chunk cookies in my paint bag. I had to eat them quickly too, on account of the time constraints and all.

But don’t worry, I’m a professional. 24 minutes later I was strolling past the gates at closing time, checking out after a long day’s work, humming a little tune, the two wet paintings strapped to my pack, cookie crumbs falling out of my beard, savoring the taste of sweet freedom. Neither sweet beauty nor sweet morsel would be my downfall today.

I’d sleep wherever I want tonight.

In my van.

America! 


La Meccanica in un Momento de Pace

Plein air painting of the Borradori Garage near Cayucos on the central coast of California in San Luis Obispo county

07/15/2019

High tariffs in the newfound Kingdom of Italy in 1865 led to a large number of dairy farming Swiss-Italians to come to the US and eventually settle around this town. This coincided with the massive droughts that had just collapsed the large cattle ranches that dominated the California coastal landscape until that point. 
 
After the drought, small dairy farms became a viable reality and by 1880, Italian was the dominant language in this small town. And to this day the Italian influence can still be seen with icons like the Borradori Garage, (established in 1932 by Sam Borradori) standing watch over the pier that was originally built in the 1870’s to facilitate shipping of the local dairy products. 
 
It’s a peaceful setting, not at all what another notable Borradori namesake, philosopher Giovanna Borradori writes about in her volume “Philosophy in a Time of Terror”. The title of this painting, “La Meccanica in un Momento di Pace”, is Italian for “Mechanics in a Time of Peace”, an inverted nod to both Borradori’s. What is more opposite of terror, than peace? What is more opposite from philosophy than mechanical repair? Maybe that one’s not as obvious as the first, but I’m sure a case could certainly be made* over a beer or two while standing on top of my van watching the full moon rise in the soft summer evening light. 
 
*Full disclosure: I hold a minor degree in philosophy so standing around on an incredibly useful mechanical vehicle while arguing about incredibly useless subjects is something I consider not only good sport, but also an art. Cheers. 


Everything She Needs

My wife rocking out on guitar by a campfire on a cattle ranch

July 15, 2019

Several years ago I was invited by the Save The Waves Coalition to be a part of their Redgate Ranch Music Festival, to create event artwork and paint live at the event itself while enjoying live music from some great bands on the event’s single stage.⠀
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My first night there, after the music finally ended, and after packing up my gear stepping over the passed out revelers who decided to pitch camp where they lay, and after fishing yet another jacket from the van, I heard something that caught my interest. More music. But not from the stage and not so loud. Softer. Zeppelin tunes on acoustic guitars. Neil Young songs like old church hymns in the night. Older folk tunes that have been sung for hundreds of years. Maybe a banjo or mandolin as well. Melodies seasoned by the flames of a roaring campfire beside an old ranch house. ⠀
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I was drawn to this expression of life through song and sat mesmerized for the next few hours as this crew of musicians wove their songs into tapestries billowed upward by the smoke of the fire rising into the cold night sky. One would call out a tune for another, ranging from obscure Irish folk melodies to classic rock tunes I heard on the AM radio driving down the coast earlier that day. Without missing a beat, they’d all jump in and play these songs like they’d known them forever, and if they didn’t, they’d improvise so well I never knew it. ⠀
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I’ve heard Jazz musicians play songs together without rehearsing and demonstrate that Jazz is a language, and if you speak the language it’s just a matter of keeping the conversation moving. This campfire session, hours into the night as it bled into morning was the closest I’ve ever seen non-jazz music come to that communal language. I could have sat there forever.⠀
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I remember this campfire with tears right now. The end of musical gatherings that allow musicians like those to share their art and soul with non-musical chumps like me is a tragedy they can’t calculate into vital-sign statistics- but it is no less a loss of life in it’s own way. High time to pray. We’re gonna need a mighty Resurrection one day. 


The Devil at My Heels

Landscape plein air painting near Point Buchon and Diablo Canyon on the San Luis Obispo county coast of California

07/15/2019

The devil that was at my heels this day, wasn’t really a devil at all. But he worked for one, or at least a nuclear power plant that has taken the devil for its name. I’d hiked 3 or 4 miles out on this windy day to see the furthest reach of this coast that I could legally access. It’s not exactly public land, but is open during limited hours for public use with strict regulations about staying on the trail. These situations can make my work difficult. The best views are often a bit off the beaten path. I’d have to settle for a trailside setup today and was fortunate to find a spot that featured both an excellent elevated view of the furthest southern portion of this trail’s coastline, AND a nice windblock from the hill behind it. Painting here was a no brainer. 
 
Did I mention the wind? Sometimes I wonder what I’m thinking when tromping off into a howling wind like this. But then I remember that it’s like this all the time on the coast and when travelling you can’t exactly pick the calm and fair weather days in advance. This is what I came for. 
 
After completing this, I hiked the rest of the allowable distance on the trail to its end, always followed by a white truck. I’d walk around a bend, and he’d pull up to a lookout on the road above the trail. Everywhere I went. For the next hour and a half. There were points where the road was right beside the trail, but he’d never stop there to chat. He’d go on a head to another lookout and wait for me to pass. His watchful eyes and lack of interaction had me wanting to mess with him and wait for him to go just out of view, then turnaround and backtrack and wait for him to follow, then do it again and again until he gave up or finally approached me. 
 
But I was tired (my outdoor studio travels well, but it’s not the lightest pack in the world), and if I hurried at a good clip I’d have time to paint another little painting before being locked behind the closed gate. I’d already scoped a perfect patch of poppies over a beach with a flowing creek, so there would be no fun and games today, just a mad hike into the howling wind with the devil at my heels. 


Sir Francis Drake Was a Pirate

Plein air painting of Pirate's cove and Cave Landing near Avila Beach on the San Luis Obispo county coast of central California

07/14/2019

It’s true, he was a full on sea-sailing, ship-boarding, plunder-stealing, off-with-yer-head-if-you cross him pirate. The Spanish navy hated the guy and he had a personal beef with them as well. He even sailed clear past all of Spanish-settled California and claimed all of northern California for England in 1579. It didn’t stick, but it was still an interesting gesture. 
 
But that’s all just history. And according to some historians it is believed Drake may have hidden treasure in the caves right here on that headland at the end of this cove. Joined by my friend Wade Koniakowsky, we were stoked to walk up to this scene on a crisp sunny morning after the days of fog I’d been battling previously. Felt like we’d discovered treasure. 
 
Finding the beach below empty was a great discovery as well, especially since it’s a notorious nude beach. Empty was just fine for us, thanks. Did you know they call the creepers on the cliffs “scalleywags” or “rock monkeys”? They must have enough folks creeping up to oggle the nudies that they have made up names for them. I don’t know if that’s true, but I read in a paper once… so like I said, I don’t know if that’s true. I do know we had a local approach us up there and he seemed a bit agitated at first but then when he saw we were just painting the scene he lightened up. No scallewaggin rock monkeys we, ay? 
 
What we can say for sure is that even if those caves weren’t used for Drake’s hidden treasure, they were at least used for smuggling moonshine during the prohibition years. The smugglers even carved steps into the rock face out at the end of the point to help run the rum up and down coast. Oh, and Francis Drake was a pirate. We know that too. 


Ebb and Flow

Plein air painting of Ebb Tide Park near Shell Beach on the central California coast of San Luis Obispo County

07/14/2019

There is nothing like painting in the cool shade on a warm summer day, with a good art pal like Wade Koniakowsky humming around painting here, painting there, disappearing for awhile and returning with snacks and cold beers.

It reminded me of those days of my youth, before we could drive, and we’d take turns walking the mile from our little jetty to the liquor store up the road and return back down to the beach with a haul of sodas and chips and general junk food. Good memories, but I digress…

In spite of Wade taking the time to go foraging up the road on this day for our sustenance, I think he still completed two paintings here while I stood there plucking away at bits and pieces of this one. He’s quick. Like waves crashing on the shore. One after another. It’s inspiring to me.

I’m not the slowest painter, but my paintings definitely have a pace of their own, like the tide. Especially when enjoying snacks and cold beers in the cool shade on a warm summer day while watching the afternoon low tide ebb, then turn to flow back in again.


The Back Road

Plein air artwork of a ranch road leading up to Hollister peak near San Luis Obispo on the central California coast

07/13/2019

 As it happens, on this morning all of my plans were thwarted by that mother of all disruptions… No, not the pandemic, this was 2019- way before all of that. No, this diabolical mocker of all my good designs for spending a day under the sun will be with us long after this covid stuff is just a blip in our memory. I’m talking about a far more formidable foe here.  
 
Fog. On. The. Coast.  
 
Couldn’t even see the other side of the highway, let alone the ocean, so I found myself scouring the hillsides and back roads on this otherwise bright and clear morning for something to paint. Once I’m off the coast I get a little bewildered and turned around. It’s a struggle to stay motivated. But I was here to paint so I kept on and this little ranch road caught my eye leading up toward one of the many rocky peaks that dot this landscape. 
 
I didn’t realize it at the time but this would be a significant piece to kick off this tour of the area, the peak itself being one of the most personally meaningful locations I’d paint on this trip- hallowed ground for sure. But that’s a story for later on… 


A Dissonant End

Plein air artwork from the end of the Harmony Headlands trail on the San Luis Obispo county coast of Central California

07/12/2019

 I’ve got no ear for harmonies, seriously. I might not be tone-deaf, but I am certainly tone-dumb. But I have heard that in the language of jazz, the end of a song is often concluded with what is called a dissonant chord. I couldn’t really pick a dissonant chord out of a crowd, but I understand it to be one that isn’t in tonal harmony, whatever that may mean. It doesn’t quite fit in, but it works in its own way I guess. 
 
The end of this trail was kinda like that for me. An abrupt end at a barbed wire fence plastered with signs warning the would-be trespasser (me) to go no further. Of course I had wanted to go further, that was the plan all along. A quick lunch break while assessing the feasibility of proceeding would see a ranch truck come and go and come again in the span of about 20 minutes. Nuts. And this next part might have been all in my head, but I was sure I saw some beady-eyed stink-eye being cast my way as well. I think these guys can smell it on me sometimes. 
 
So I figured I’d buy some time and just paint this little vista safely on the public side of the fence then see if things might quiet down. And they sorta did, but the ranch truck guy hadn’t left yet, so I figured it best to hop along the cliff edge out of view of the road. I made my way quite a good distance up the coast like this until two things happened. First, I reached an impasse where I could go no further without heading up toward the road and all the risk of getting kicked out which would negate all the effort it took to get here. And second, while pondering my predicament, the fog bank finally rolled in and made my decision for me. No point going further if there was nothing to see, so I turned back and called it a day. This place just didn’t fit in with my plans for the day, but such is life on the coast. 
 
The hard to reach places are just that, and that’s what makes them so special to finally reach when everything lines up, and that works fine for me. 


Down by the Bay

A plein air artwork painting of house and barn beside Humboldt Bay on the Northern California coast

07/04/2019

It’s not always hard to reach edge-of-the-earth places. My long time goal of painting the entire California coast means that some days I’m just down at the end of the street painting a quick commission for some friends that are moving out of their cozy little home by the bay.


Dance of Days

A plein air artwork painting of Moonstone Beach on the Trinidad coast of Humboldt County in northern California

06/30/2019

I have some playlists of music that take me back to my school days- 80’s punk mostly with a slant toward anything connected to the D.C. bands that followed and evolved from Minor Threat and got caught up in the Dischord Records slipstream. One of these must have been playing when I painted and I ended up naming this one after a song by one such band called Embrace. I also remember a hippy lady dancing on the beach below as I painted the scene from the roof of my van. It was an interesting juxtaposition, the jarring noise and rapid tempos of the music in my headphones, while this flowing nature woman grooved to some other internal rhythm only she could hear, each in our own world- creating, and recreating in our own ways. ⠀
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Come to think of it, there were people all over this beach that day, I’m not sure why I didn’t include any of them in the painting. It’s not usually an intentional decision. I just see right past them. Maybe it has to do with being a bit of a recluse naturally. I’m not anti-social, I love people, and all kinds of people, even the crazy ones, but personally I may have some anti-social… tendencies… I suppose. ⠀
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There’s nothing better than painting on the edge of a cliff far from the well-worn trails where I’m more likely to be startled by a racoon than another human. I only paint in the more crowded places out of necessity (my goal is to paint the entire California Coast- or as much of it as I possibly can, and it certainly does get crowded at certain times and places). ⠀
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When I do find myself in these situations, it’s often standing on the roof of my van with headphones on cranked to 11 in order to tune out all distractions and just fall in love with the land and sea all over again. Nobody can get in my world when I’m up there unless I let them in. ⠀
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In these days of social-distancing, I admit I have enjoyed the reduction of social activities. But darn it if I don’t miss you guys out there. If you see me painting on the van, come on up if you like, or at least give a shout from below. And if you’re a groovy nature lady, well, just keep dancing that dance of days.


Left Behind

Plein air painting of a cactus and old buildings on the west side of Santa Cruz island off the coast of California

06/16/2019

Beautiful memories, but some days are defined by regrets, just like the cactus in many ways is defined by its spines. ⠀
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To get here required a two hour drive across a private reserve to this far side of the island. I have to give a big shout of thanks to my friends at the California Coastal Commission who heard of my mission to paint the entire California coast and let me tag along on this tour where 25 of us were headed to the furthest point west on this island, about another 45 minutes out from this remote outpost.⠀
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When we stopped here for lunch, I decided to stay behind. This was my opportunity to paint, being that they’d be gone for about 3 hours, plenty of time for a paint session. Not quite enough time to scout views to my satisfaction though, so after a few false starts trying to find a way up the hill for a better view, I settled for this one of the little outbuilding and blooming cactus that I saw from the road on the way here. Only afterward did I see on a map just how close I was to the path I was looking for to get up the hill. That is my first regret.⠀
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Ouch.⠀
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My second has to do with the fact that behind this building, and nestled in behind these old cypress trees is one of the oldest buildings on the island, dating back to 1860. That would have been a neater thing to paint, but I just didn’t see a good angle to paint it from. That is my second regret.⠀
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Ouch.⠀
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My third regret is not seeing the furthest point on the island. This might have been the only opportunity I’ll ever have had to make it that far and see it with my own eyes. Forced to choose between a remote vista without painting, and a just-a-little-less remote vista with painting, it was an easy choice, but not without some pain. ⠀
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Ouch.⠀
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And then there was the cold beer that I accidentally left behind at the cabin that I really would have enjoyed after being left behind by the group to paint this old outpost that was left behind from the ranching era on an island that in many ways was left behind by time itself. That beer would have been amazing. One final regret.⠀
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Ouch. 


Her Quiet Time

A Plein air painting of the central valley of Santa Cruz one of the Channel Islands off the coast of California

06/16/2019

The Chumash people lived here first. The Earth Mother’s name was Hutash, and it was said that she planted a particular plant on this island, from which the people emerged fully grown. They were cold until they were given fire by lighting from that old Sky Snake, the Milky Way, the Earth Mother’s husband.⠀
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The people were fruitful and multiplied. Happily. But their songs and laughter kept Hutash up at night. At last she couldn’t bear the racket any longer and she decided to make a bridge out of a rainbow from the distant peak in this painting all the way to a high peak on the mainland. Off they marched. They were told to keep their eyes on the mainland, but some looked down and became dizzy. The fallen ones were mercifully turned into dolphins by Hutash to keep them from drowning.⠀
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The people continued to prosper on the mainland as well, but now they were no longer so crowded on this island and presumably the Earth Mother finally got some sleep.⠀
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She must have still been sleeping when the Spaniard’s and other European’s arrived, because things got really weird at that point. In a few short generations things grew even more quiet on this island. Disease took it’s toll. The sheep’s wool was rendered obsolete by the Slavemaster’s Friend, the Cotton Gin. The vineyards were thwarted by that Old Grump, the Prohibition.⠀
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A few brick buildings and rutted roads were built, but there is only area in the entire interior valley that sees regular human activity now, and even there it is generally quiet. Access is tightly controlled and looks like it will stay that way for awhile.⠀
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When the old Earth Mother finally awakes I hope the folks who now own most of this island are prompt in cooking her up a nice cup of coffee and explaining to her how they wandered back over that bridge and down into the valley from Devil’s peak. And speaking of her high and beautiful mountain, the island-side foundation of her rainbow bridge, just who named it “Devil’s Peak” anyhow? And where did the rest of her children go? And why aren’t there more songs and laughter? Without them, it seems, she may have overslept.


Down Harbor Blvd, Just Past the Airport

Plein air painting of the the southern coast of Santa Cruz island in Channel Islands National Park of California

06/15/2019

It’s like standing on holy ground. I can’t believe how fortunate I am to be here today. These thoughts are never far from my mind as I stand on the edge of this steep shore cliff and paint the scene before me after a rare opportunity to walk the interior valley of one of Southern California’s more untouched regions that is generally off limits to folks that aren’t scientists, or students, or movie stars, or rock stars, or just plain wealthy. Being that I am none of the above, I know full well that I may never see this place again with my own eyes. Who knows? It’s hard to say. ⠀
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This view was the glimpse of the coast and it’s chalky white cliffs at the end of a 4 mile hike down Harbor Boulevard, just a little ways past the airport where the road ends at one of the fringier edges of the North American continent. Out here, the freeways and concrete and 24-hour rush hours become a distant memory, like those of a dream long forgotten. The natural quiet is powerful, and holds up a brutally honest mirror for our noisy modern souls to reflect upon existence. It’s a beautiful place to paint, far beyond what I was able to convey, but I’m stoked to have taken a crack at it anyway even if this is the only shot I’ll ever get.⠀

Oh, and being greeted with cold beers and the smiles of friends offering a truck ride back to our accomodations where a hot meal awaited only added to the surreal experience. If every day in the life of an artist was like this one, no one would do anything else I reckon. Every path has it’s peaks and valleys though, and this would definitely be one of the higher points on my chosen route.