Writing

A different way to enjoy my work, through the written words, notes, and poems that pour out alongside the artwork, and sometimes all on their own…


Bigger Than It Looks

October 22, 2018

Hovering over the water
Weightless over the face of the deep
The storm rides silently off to the hills
To darken the eyes of the cattle
And drown out the country music

The light that remains
Clear and unfiltered
Falling from above
Reveals an orchestra of liquid geometry
At once carnal
Yet also divine
Each note the offspring
Of a passing storm
With the laws of fluid dynamics

We’re drawn to the symphony
The melodies ring beyond the hall
To the cliffs high above
Calling us to a quick dip in the sea before dark

But once inside the concert hall
We’re swept away in a mass movement
Of salty sweat and black leather
Nearly drowning in the mosh pit
Bruised, bloody, and broken

From there we glimpse the orchestra more clearly
Four awkward teenagers
And a mountain of noise
Who allowed these kids to take the stage?

It is here that we learned this law of the sea-
It’s always bigger
Than it looks from above


When our Day Arrives

October 22, 2018

By day they theorize, philosophize, and lay their eyes
On this predicament
From old lawn chairs
Behind a makeshift barrier of plastic tape

By night they await the higher tide
Under the spotlight
Searching for answers
But generating none

Once a proud vessel
Named for nobility
Now on the rocks without the gin
Or perhaps because of it if the wind spoke truly

Each morning brings a new revelation
Coffee and binoculars the psychoactive agents
Of this daily vision quest

She is a solar eclipse
Her shining brightness now darkened
By the lesser light

Shucked like an oyster
Removed from her shell of open water
She now sits waiting for the ocean to swallow her hull

The heiress watches on
A mix of rage and longing
As she carves an homage of color
To the one she once knew

All the while they watched this maiden work
And no one said a word

It is no different with you or I
While our voyages may end differently
Still every voyage must end
And we can only hope there is
A daughter by our side
To mourn and remember us when our day arrives

 

Plein air artwork of a shipwreck near Cayucos on the San Luis Obispo coast of Central California
MOURNING AND REMEMBRANCE

 

That poem is a true story. The boat that got stuck on the rocks here was still stuck on the day of a solar eclipse, and over a meal of oysters with an artist friend in the area, Colleen Gnos, I learned that the boat used to belong to her grandfather and was originally named after her brother. I told her I was thinking of painting it before they managed to get it out of there, and convinced her to come with me the next day and we stood on the bluff and painted while the captains came and went. I suppose I could have just written this plainly right off the bat, but the whole thing was too poetic to merely leave at that.

-Entry on August 24, 2017


Washed Away

October 22, 2018

We came to this mountain in search of gold
We’ll leave with pockets full of solitude
We speak to the wind
We are here now
Everything else is gone
The cars and houses
The monies and the media
The interconnected web of information that
Ties us all together
None of that can truly exist at all

We know because we’ve listened to the quiet
That raged so loud our ears bled
We know because we’ve stood on the edge
And peered over
And seen everything we ever held on to
Smashed against the rocks
And washed away
Only to be returned as the treasures of
Small children on the outgoing tide

Dream on, dreamer, but when you awake
You’ll find nothing here
And that will be all that you need


Our Father

October 22, 2018

Our father
Kept us moving
Even though
We stopped a bit too often
To read the signs
And ponder
Their meanings

When it was time to move on
We would often
Have to push with all of our might

Barefoot
On the rough pavement

Our father
Drove a Volkswagon


The Choir

October 22, 2018

Sunday morning.

Somewhere under a cathedral ceiling the choir is singing an old song.
Out here under the open sky the choir sings the oldest song.

Somewhere under a cathedral ceiling, a choir is singing a new song.
Out here under the open sky, the choir sings the newest song.

The angels sing softly on the wind, they roar like thunder on the water.
They’ve sung from the beginning.
Unceasing.
They’re still singing now.
They’ll sing until the end.
Maybe even longer.

I worship out here with color, because I usually sing out of key.

When I am finished, I will go sing badly in the cathedral.
I enjoy those songs too.
Or perhaps I won’t sing at all, but I may still hum along.

But one thing is certain- on this Sunday I will go at night
Because the morning
Is full of light.


She Will Not Be Moved

October 22, 2018

Out from her
Slumber
Eyes blinking
At the newly minted greens
Of a silver spring day

The forest is full
Of dollars
But she is hungry
For the fish
That used to swim
Up the river

Today
She will
Stand still on the old
Logging road

And even though
The whole earth shakes
On this day
She will not be moved


Rabbit Trails From the Sky

October 22, 2018

As the old roads evolved into flight paths
We considered the implications
Of exploring
Rabbit trails
From the sky
And determined
For all the expansive visions
That pass through an elevated state of mind
There are other paths that are still better
Traveled on foot
Where you can hear the
Crunch of gravel
And feel your blood move faster
With every uphill step
And be reminded
That nothing worthwhile comes easily
But for now
Just sit back and enjoy the views
We’ll be landing soon enough
And besides
Here comes the flight attendant
With snacks


Grandmother Rock

October 22, 2018

They sit motionless, watching passively, not engaged in the passage of time like you or I, yet not outside of it either. We travel the world searching for new experiences, new understandings of what it is to be alive. They watch us come and go and always return again to their steady gaze. Changed, yet somehow always the same.

They have no need for comings and goings, yet they do not mock us. They know better. They have seen enough to know that our days are short, and our nights long.

They’ve seen our births. They’ve seen our joys, our fears, our love, and our tears. They’ve seen us wed, and they’ve seen our blood shed by hate, by sorrow, by intoxication, by miscalculation. They’ve seen our recreation, our red tape, our revolutions. They’ve seen our wars, our battles, our nobles, our scoundrels. They’ve seen us die. They’ve seen our burials, our burning bodies, our ashes scattered amongst them.

This is their secret: knowing without any effort that if they wait a little longer they will see it all.

If you are still, and you can hear the silence between the rumbling oceans, you just might even hear them sing.

Each has a different voice- one loud, one soft, one strong, one deep, one high, one low, and one with the voice of our Grandmother.


Heaven and Waffles

October 22, 2018

We’ve spent long days here
North of the river

We’ve spent
Our last two dimes
On
Heaven
And waffles
And a good night’s sleep
Sheltered
From the falling snow
Until the storm blew over

And now we ourselves
Are spent
Worn out
Like the two
Ragged
Dog blankets
In the back of the van

One more look at the ocean
Before we head home
And two things
Become clear

We’re not going home tonight
And
We’re gonna smell like dog
In the morning


Solid Gold

October 22, 2018

They took one last look at the river
And longed for another time
Saddened by the parade of motorhomes and meth
Stretching from the ends of the earth to right here and right now
They refused to join the neon funeral procession
They took their stand
And to this day they remain
Still
And beautiful
And made of solid gold


All That Still Remains

October 22, 2018

Cerebral flapjacks cooking on the whiskey bar
Artificial roller coaster couldn’t beat the bumper car
Creepers in the bushes, don’t look now
It ain’t no good
Sanitize it, light the wick
Then give ‘em all your food

Paint the cave and take a bath
But what about the money?
Stick parade, children laugh, hiding from the sun
Drink the water, drink the brine
Eat the fish and honey
Leave a tip and exit quick
As soon as all the eatin’s done

Sun and wind, electric eels, out drying on a line
The pizza burned the house down
And blamed it on the wine
Our feet are wet with old concrete
The Romans laid to last through time
We checked the clock, the time ran out
They said they didn’t mind

How about the ancient ones
Still soaking in the past?
The love they made, the things they said
None of which would last
They wrote their names upon the walls
Like flowers through the cracks
They killed the sky, they drowned the moon
They wrote them loud and fast

Look around, make no sound
What is it we have gained?
This is it, there’s nothing more
This is all that still remains


Southern Vista

10/08/2018

This was painted months before the somewhat recent fatal bluff collapse incident. You can see the warning on the beach here, that circle of boulders isn’t some hippy stonehenge setup, it’s the remainders of a previous collapse. The sand and soil has washed away, leaving just this ring as a reminder of the footprint these bluff collapses can leave. A sobering thought. But it’s a beautiful coast, and this southern view from one of the stairway’s landings was a joy to settle in with for an afternoon.

But the best part of this one for me (and also having nothing at all to do with the painting or the place), was unlike most of my trips to SD area, my wife came along for the ride, so instead of finishing this and scrounging some dry bread and salami and warm beer from the back of the van after finishing this painting, I got to kiss her beautiful sweaty face after her long jog on the beach while I painted. The multi-million dollar homes on the coast here are nice and grand, but it’s the simple things that truly make a man rich.


Marine Layers

09/27/2018

I enjoyed this moody midday painting. Sometimes I go to a place hunting bluebirds and sunshine. In this case all I found was clouds and crows. For real. A friend that lives nearby showed up midway through the painting with some amazing deli sandwiches which we shared by his van up on the road. Halfway through we looked down to my easel and a crow had landed on my palette and was just standing there staring at the painting- which contained no shiny objects, or food- so nothing came of it. But it’s those small moments that remind you that this isn’t your home studio. Well except the time the neighbor’s chicken wandered in, that was kind of similar. But mostly birds don’t generally get too involved in my art world. After the crow took his turn, I returned to finish this one beneath the marine layer that kept threatening retreat, but never quite mustered it. I’d left the sky pretty raw, just my typical underpaint of thin washes, as I waited for the sky to figure itself out. By the time I realized these clouds were here to stay, those faded dripping clouds that were painted with zero intention actually seemed perfect for the piece, so I left them as they were. I know this is all pretty uninteresting for a backstory. I blame the bird. He had every opportunity to make something happen but he didn’t do anything at all. No crowfeet in the palette, no beak scratches on the painting. Nothing. It just stood there until it was done and left. Apologies.


Tide Falling

09/26/2018

One of the most iconic waterfalls in all of California and one of only two year-round falls in the whole state that land on the beach. This one used to land in the water, but a landslide deposited so much sediment up the coast that the gradual drift of currents built this beach where none previously existed.

I’ve heard stories of repeated rescues of tourists who get the wild idea to climb down to the beach here get stuck on the cliff face halfway down and have to get lifted, dragged, or otherwise hauled out. I was cognizant of that as I edged around some fencing to a private perch of my own so as to paint this scene without interfering with anybody’s view.

During my short time there I saw repeated groups of tourists go half-stomping/half-sliding through the brush and poison oak down the hill in search of some better view to photograph (or more than likely just a better backdrop for their selfie). I often thought to say something about the oak, but then figured the deed was already done, why ruin their moment?

My first plan was to charge the trail up the hill behind this cove and seek a more elevated overview of the coast, but a low cloud cover prevented visibility and even threatened to descend while the overcast daylight was fading fast. I had to work a little more frantic than usual to make this one happen, but I’m glad I stopped and made the effort. Even on a gray day, the color of that water stops you in your tracks.


Some Things Money Just Can’t Buy

09/26/2018

Like most surfers who’ve visited the area, I’ve collected some great memories of this place over the years. I’d wondered about painting this rock outcropping overlooking the beach for a long time. The last time I tromped around it there was quite a few years back and there was no trail that I can recall, just a lot of bushwhacking though blackberry bramble and poison oak. Now there’s a trail that goes right up to it and I’ve got mixed feelings about that, but that’s a whole other story…

When I was nearing completion on this one a group of 4 guys, maybe just out of college, walk up and see me painting. They all have their phones out to take photos of the scene, taking turns walking up and shooting from right beside me, as if I was in the only designated photo-taking area. I thought it was odd, but people can be odd so I didn’t think much about it. But then they turn to leave and one of them walks back over to chat. He seemed friendly, and I thought it would be a typical out-in-the-field conversation- (How long you been painting? Is this your hobby? Do you sell these? Etc) But no. He explains that he went to design school himself and seeing me paint reminds him of a cartoon his professor showed his class in which a photographer walked up to a painter at work and held up his camera, aiming it in the direction of the artist’s subject (at the same time this kid held his cell phone up and pointed its camera at the scene I was painting) and pressed “click” (at which point he took a photo) and turned to the painter and said “Done.” As he said the word “done” with a smug satisfaction he turned and walked away in a mic drop sorta way.

I hope his design school didn’t put him in too much debt because clearly he still has a lot of learning left ahead of him. I’m hoping the best for him though. When the light bulb finally goes off he’ll probably end up becoming a serious art collector, or maybe even an artist himself. I hope he reads this and I can meet him again on the flipside of that equation. We can laugh about that cartoon together over cold beers. I’ll buy.


If These Walls Could Speak

09/25/2018

This is a busy place. Especially after spending a week painting in virtual solitude on one of our offshore islands. Back to humanity. Parking lots. Attitudes. Spandex bikers. Beach joggers. Warring 12 year olds. Addicts teetering on the razor’s edge of their future. Social media selfie hounds. Freeway traffic. All of this and a perfectly foiled right point. Some call her the queen, but few are those who truly respect her crown. Her benevolent rule is oft mistaken for an invitation to take, take, and take some more.

I failed to convey all the day’s action in this painting. Instead I was drawn to this little driftwood shack (itself a satellite shack from a much larger and heavily used complex of impromptu structures) and the contrast it provided to the exclusive beachfront homes that line this fabled shore.

Solid walls of plaster. Crumbling walls of driftwood. Holy walls of water.

The things these walls have seen. All of them. The stories could fill volumes.

They won’t be told here.

The walls themselves are the only story I saw today.

Oh and the squirrel that nabbed my trail mix from my bag…gone. And the very oddly placed cooler full of Coronas that was set next to the driver door of my van when I returned. Was that intentional? No other cars in the lot. I figured if they were left accidentally, someone might return for them and be bummed to find them gone so I left them where they lie. Well, I may or may not have borrowed one, but still… a nice gesture if it was meant to be one. Thank you, if you meant it… or even if you didn’t.


Time Waits for No Man… And Neither Does the Boat

09/24/2018

I’ve heard it said that “time waits for no man”, well… neither does the boat.

It was a pretty rushed scramble taking on this scene just before the boat was to depart for home. I was half-tempted to “miss the boat” just to stay a bit longer, but thought better of it.

When I started this painting of the entire scene before me, I may have bit off a bit more than I could chew in such a short time and wasn’t able to quite finish this one on location, but a bit of studio work at home from memory and I think it conveys the place pretty well.

They say visiting these shores is like going back in time, to an older California… well, there you have it.


The North Shore

09/24/2018

After two days of painting one stretch of coast in this off-the-beaten-path outpost of California, I was eager to see a different part of it before leaving later this day. It would require a 2.2 mile hike, while “carrying a ton*” art supplies up and over the low hills without a soul in sight to bring me to a completely different shoreline, facing nearly due north- an unusual arrangement on California’s coast.

The only unwonderful thing about painting this was knowing I had to get it done fast and hurry back without time to explore or else risk missing the boat. I’ve missed the boat on a lot of opportunities in life, and wasn’t eager to discover what it would be like to miss the actual boat itself. Still a great time to see this shore with my own eyes before leaving.

*Not all that heavy really, maybe 25 or 35 pounds max, but the geographical wordplay is intended for those who know…


Moonlit Echoes

09/23/2018

5th painting completed today… well sorta today. Technically I only did four during the daylight hours but then snuck this one in the late hours of night beneath a bright full moon.

The moonlight falling on the crushed gravel paths makes walking these trails at night a beautiful experience. The reflective white surface of the path glowed in comparison to the grass on either side. The old buildings here are relics from the previous era of sheep and cattle ranching- of which the cumulative effects on the islands native species and coastal topographies are still being studied today.

In the daytime it gets apparent pretty quickly that these old buildings are no longer used, but in the quiet of night it’s somehow easier to imagine them resting from the noisy activity of a long day’s work, only to rise at first light and go about it all over again. Each clanking chain blown in the wind creates another echo from a not so distant past.

In reality though, the sun has set for good on these operations. These moonlit echoes are a reminder that each day has its own dawn and its own dusk, but the moon comes and goes as it pleases.


Torrey Pine Sentinel

09/23/2018

When most folks hear the words “Torrey Pines” they think as much about a rare variety of pine tree as they do a very specific location in San Diego- the state park named for the tree and often touted as the only place in the world where these trees grow.

But don’t worry, I’m not naming locations here, this is nowhere near San Diego, and just happens to be the only other place on earth where these pines are found.

I had hoped to march further up the hill and get a more expansive view of this grove, but sometimes when I see a painting before me, it’s hard to pass up. Especially if the day is getting late and I still have a 3 mile hike ahead of me. In this case I was battling a sense of urgency and perhaps over rushed this one. I had been out on the hills in the late afternoon the day before and really enjoyed the way the sun set behind them but still illuminated the flat alluvial plains that sweep out and form this long crescent bay. I went after it a bit prematurely, anticipating the changing light shift to come, but it wouldn’t happen for another hour or so after I was done with my shift standing watch beside this old Torrey Pine sentinel.

Some plein air paintings are created by reacting to the moment, but sometimes they are a reaction to a memory as well. That was this one.


Beside Clear Waters

09/23/2018

This irresistible cove is overlooked by a rare Torrey Pine. I find myself today among the only Torrey Pine trees that exist outside of San Diego. The hillside behind me contains a dense grove.

I was drawn to this one, standing alone beside these clear waters. It seemed to me a bit of a fragile metaphor for an artist’s life. There’s safety in the herd, the job, the career, the retirement funds, and all that.

The art life is often about stepping away from the pack just a bit. Safety and comfort are traded for meaning and beauty. Like this tree by the ocean, the artist remains exposed to the battering winds that life brings. The salty air may even stunt our growth and cause our beards to whither, but out here we are alive.

Until we aren’t. Same as everybody else.

Whatever. Stop painting. Go swimming!


Our Farther

09/23/2018

I usually grumble about my heavy pack whenever I have to hike more than a mile. This turned out to be a six mile round trip to make this painting happen. But I could not complain about the heavy pack this time. My hiking companions on this morning sunrise walk were a couple of scientist fellows intent on monitoring frogs on the far side of this island, which somehow required them to carry a massive metal post and post-driver. (I’m no scientist, so don’t ask me). I guess we all have our crosses to bear, but theirs was definitely heavier today. And they were traveling twice as far. I was able to paint two paintings and make it back to our cabin with time for a dip in the ocean and another quick painting before dinner. We didn’t see them back until several hours after dark.

Along the way this morning, I kept seeing plenty of places I’d have loved to stop and paint, but something kept driving me farther along the path.

I think it was simply the desire to go farther itself. There’s something about spending yourself to get out there off the beaten paths and be alone on the face of a wild earth that gets in your blood.

The scientists and I approach this place from completely different angles, but we have a lot of common ground as well, it’s just a bit farther out.


We Must Keep Our Eyes Open

09/22/2018

We must keep our eyes open. First two syllables: We-muh. Wordplay for the name of the tribe that lived here for thousands of years before they were scooped up and sent away to make room for sheep and cattle and now a national park.

The opportunity to come visit this place was part of a program through CSUCI that brings students here to study this unique natural environment. This trip was designed with an emphasis on “seeing the landscape”. Being that’s my bread and butter, I reckon that’s the reason my friend Dr. Reineman invited me to tag along.

The fact that I was here with a bunch of science students really hit home when there was audible excitement and giddy applause for the announcement of an “ethnobotany” hike. I was pretty fascinated too, but I must confess I only lasted about 20 minutes on the educational hike and then my need to see a broader view of the landscape won out and they sent me on my way.

What a joy to set up an easel and paint on this hill, where not too many feet travel, and even fewer easels get dragged up and put to use.

Life is hard to predict, so keeping my eyes open, I know this opportunity may not come again. How thankful I am to be here today. 


The Gambler’s Fallacy

09/21/2018

One of California’s prized state parks. I arrived early, knowing the park fills up to capacity nearly every day with a line of cars waiting to enter. I’d made it on time, but my van was too long. Denied.

I had a long way to drive that day, and a boat to catch tomorrow that I could not, and would not, miss. But I’m here now, the sun is out, and there’s parking on the road. The longer hike in would swallow at least an hour, and the painting itself would likely take another three. I might be driving straight to the docks to catch the boat instead of to the house I’d hoped to get a decent night’s rest in. I gambled it and hoped for the best.

A frantic fast-paced hike across the entire length of the park, heading straight for a zone I thought would be ideal, but when I arrived, I found that due to heavy foot traffic, every piece of trail in this park is roped off with steel cables and the rangers mean business. Might not be a big deal for a photo-snapper to hop over and quickly get the shot, but for a 3 hour post out on a rock in plain view was a bit more than I was willing to wager. I’d follow the trail along the entire northern perimeter of the park and find a suitable view from the trail itself. Given the natural beauty, I liked those odds better.

It wasn’t as sure of a thing as I’d first thought. Part of the problem was that awful cable preventing access to many a view. Another part of the problem was the nooks and crags of this headland are just so beautiful I couldn’t help but wonder what was around each bend, so by the time I’d passed up 3 good views I started to realize that the one before those was maybe the best, but by now I’d gone so far I didn’t want to backtrack and surely there must be something better around the next corner, yeah? It wasn’t until I came to this overview of a small bay on my way back that I realized this was my last chance. So I rolled the dice and started to paint.

But my gamble was nothing compared to the one-time owner of this land who gambled it all away to a troop of soldiers in one failed hand of cards. At least I got a painting out of my gamble.


The Long View

09/20/2018

Sometimes a painting or a place stirs up more of a poem instead of any sort of story. Not sure what I was thinking here, but when I pulled up my notes on this one, this poem is all I had written down. Make of it what you will…

—

Bones of old ships
Left basking in the sun
The mast of an ancient whale
That swallowed the sailor’s son
Observed, measured, recorded
Love notes in the margin
In their book of numbers
Written but never done

It’s the allure of the sea
It’s the stairway to heaven
It’s the ticket that was rendered
For breaking the number seven

On that distant ship
Out near the horizon
They observe the charts
and adhere to strict notations
Students of the sea and sky
And of the publication
Of their book of numbers
Printed but still in revision

It’s all here and plain to see
When you separate the many from the few
They shout a holy countdown
But the answer is found in the long view