Artwork Notes & Backstories


Milk and Honey

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.


Her Answer

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. 


Welcome Home

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


Between Sessions

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…


Same as She Ever Was

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…


Comin’ Down the Mountain

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.


Not My First Rodeo

06/24/2016

This was the only painting I painted today. Oh, I had plenty of time to do another one, maybe even two, but I hadn’t explored this particular piece of coast before other than a quick surf check that consisted of a total of 5 minutes in the carpark below before moving on to seek a more sheltered location.

Today, I had all day. These trails weave all over the hills providing views of the ocean and lessons in history, scattered with WWII era bunkers at every knoll with a commanding view. For years, many uniformed eyes must have been stationed on these hills staring out at this view, scanning the blue waters for anything out of place. I don’t know if the view ever got old for them, or if they considered it just one of the perks of their otherwise often uneventful job assignment. 

Either way, I spent the whole day wandering around taking in these views and almost didn’t even paint this, but as late afternoon set in, I figured I’d better get to work.


Steam Driven

06/18/2016

Painted in the studio, but with a plein air approach- start to finish in about 2 hours, no time to fuss about perfection, loose but with lots of intent… if that makes sense.

I have spent a bit of time in Santa Cruz. Several good friends moved there in the mid 90’s, and have been there since, so I always have good folks to hang with when I pass through that carnival. Plenty of great, and some of my rather oddest, memories come from time spent there. If you see me, ask about it, I’ll tell you some tales.

Anyway, all that is to say in spite of spending more time there than many places down the California coast, I really haven’t done much art there at all.

So when I was asked for some Santa Cruz art for the upcoming Boardroom Surfboard Show (Oct 8-9) I was both stumped and stoked. A great excuse to do something a little different, like an aerial view of the iconic lighthouse looking back to the boardwalk. A flipped script from the usual views we often see.

Even more stoked to now have another excuse to spend some more time in SC, I’ll be heading down next week and painting as many places in and out of town as I can for the two weeks leading up to the Boardroom show.

Slowly but steadily, I’m filling in critical gaps on my way to covering the entire California coast through my art. Give me a few more years, but sheesh, its long overdue to get Santa Cruz represented properly. California without Santa Cruz would be like Hawaii without Kauai- missing a critical chapter.


Above the Lookout

06/16/2016

Quick sketch from a recent session. Spent most of this day scouting for a vantage point for a different painting that I’ve had in mind for a while. Spending nearly half a day hunting for a painting and not getting anything done is a lot like searching for waves and getting skunked so I hammered this out in a rush. I guess that makes this the art equivalent of a quick surf in small onshore slop just to get wet. Felt better than driving home empty handed anyway…


Timezone # 3

06/10/2016

Plein air, but with a twist.

Traditional plein air work involves working fast to give an impression of the place at a particular time of day. The changing nature of light throughout a day limits the working time for a single session so larger pieces usually involve multiple sessions returning to the same location at the same time on different days.

This Timezone series is a slow cooking experiment in painting larger works in single sessions over a longer period, all day even, while still remaining true to the traditional plein air ethos. Each vertical band represents a different “timezone” painted quickly to reflect the light conditions of that fleeting moment.


Odelay

05/28/2016

Named this one after the album that shares the same name from Beck, simply because that’s what I was listening to while standing out on a roof overlooking this vista as I recorded the train tracks through the wetlands below on canvas.

This entire trip was plagued by a persistent coastal marine layer, but I had some good afternoon sun for most of this one. Also had to wrestle a bit with the hillside of torrey pines in the foreground. I’d never noticed before just how drastically those trees change colors at every subtle shift of light. I think it has to do with their needles being fairly open, allowing light to filter and refract through them.

Very beautiful, but a challenging spectrum to convey- one minute they’re glowing brighter than their surroundings as the sun fills their needles, the next they’ve gone darker than their surroundings as the cloud cover reveals their darker color.

-Entry on May 28, 2016


Sabbath Day

05/27/2016

Three things to say about this one…

First, at 30” x 24” it was much larger than I usually like to work out in the field, requiring 2 sessions on different days.

Secondly, I was nearly pushed off this hill and sent rolling down the steep slope behind me by a large dog. It was close for a second there. I don’t know all my dog
breeds, but picture a large, friendly German Shepherd. Seems about right. The owner was friendly as well, but she had no control of this dog when he decided he wanted to
play and went to snatch the dirty paint rag from my hand. It was full of wet paint and I wouldn’t want any dog to get a mouthful of that so I kept it out of his reach. He thought
it was a game and next thing I know he’s paws-up on my chest and I’m teetering off balance while the owner calls him to stop in one of the most futile displays of dog ownership I’ve ever seen. It was an interesting dance.

And thirdly, when painting at busy locations like this one, I often listen to loud music to get amped up and tune out distractions. This one was fueled by old Black Sabbath and
apparently I was heard singing along from the top of the hill. Apologies to the neighborhood. I can only imagine how ridiculous it sounded.

-Entry on May 27, 2016


Back East

05/25/2016

First crack at the desert. Furthest east I’ve been in a really long time. No waves, but digging the morning color palette all the same.


Moonlighting

05/24/2016

This was done by the light of the full moon and a strategically placed led headlamp- not too close to ruin ability to see the scene beyond it, but close enough to barely discern the difference between my primaries. But only barely, some super weird choices went down for sure. Went with my buddy’s bike for foreground and graphic interest. Seemed appropriate. Very challenging, somewhere in all this dim light I even lost my beer.


Hobo Lady Giving the Finger to a Freight Train # 1

05/23/2016

Apologies for the blurry photo, this one got away before I got a good shot of it.
Anyway, this one could be a long story that maybe I’ll write out one day, but you get the idea from the title. You see some interesting stuff go down at times when you paint outdoors, mainly cause you’re just standing there observing your surroundings for extended chunks of time. This was a good one though. Stopped the train and everything…


Chatting With Suess #2

05/20/2016

From the day I was shown this view, I looked forward to painting it. A sweeping vista of the coast revealed a summary of the region: a densely populated zone, but scattered with open spaces of arid beauty. A fertile ground from which to gaze out and ponder the absurdities of life that we take so seriously from sea level.

Dr. Seuss lived here. Not just metaphorically in the state of reflection on life’s quirkiness, but really, he literally lived right here. Behind this scene is the quiet hilltop neighborhood that he called home.

As I painted these two pieces side by side during a several hour session in the sun and heat of an early summer day, it crossed my mind that the good Doctor himself likely spent time out here walking these trails and enjoying this same view.

During the course of these paintings a few people stopped to chat, mostly because I was sort of blocking the trail and they had not much choice but to interact as they passed by.

But one particularly well dressed gentleman, gray hair, and a short gray beard, really seemed to take an interest in what I was doing on this hill. He mentioned he was “a bit of an artist” himself and enjoyed all sorts of art. He said he lived in a house “right over there” with a wave of his hand toward the home of the late Dr. Seuss.

Oh, I know full well this was just a man who lived in the neighborhood, perhaps even in Seuss’s old home, or at least very close to it. But even while knowing that, I am content to entertain the odd delusion that in some inexplicable way, I may have just met Dr. Seuss himself, and he likes my art. He never tried to buy the paintings (probably hard to do from the Great Beyond) but still, it’s great to know that the man who was likely responsible for the earliest influence in my art life now approves of what I’m doing today from over on the Other Side.

Well, at least in my delusional mind anyway…

-Entry on May 20, 2016


Chatting With Suess #1

05/20/2016

From the day I was shown this view, I looked forward to painting it. A sweeping vista of the coast revealed a summary of the region: a densely populated zone, but scattered with open spaces of arid beauty. A fertile ground from which to gaze out and ponder the absurdities of life that we take so seriously from sea level.

Dr. Seuss lived here. Not just metaphorically in the state of reflection on life’s quirkiness, but really, he literally lived right here. Behind this scene is the quiet hilltop neighborhood that he called home.

As I painted these two pieces side by side during a several hour session in the sun and heat of an early summer day, it crossed my mind that the good Doctor himself likely spent time out here walking these trails and enjoying this same view.

During the course of these paintings a few people stopped to chat, mostly because I was sort of blocking the trail and they had not much choice but to interact as they passed by.

But one particularly well dressed gentleman, gray hair, and a short gray beard, really seemed to take an interest in what I was doing on this hill. He mentioned he was “a bit of an artist” himself and enjoyed all sorts of art. He said he lived in a house “right over there” with a wave of his hand toward the home of the late Dr. Seuss.

Oh, I know full well this was just a man who lived in the neighborhood, perhaps even in Seuss’s old home, or at least very close to it. But even while knowing that, I am content to entertain the odd delusion that in some inexplicable way, I may have just met Dr. Seuss himself, and he likes my art. He never tried to buy the paintings (probably hard to do from the Great Beyond) but still, it’s great to know that the man who was likely responsible for the earliest influence in my art life now approves of what I’m doing today from over on the Other Side.

Well, at least in my delusional mind anyway…

-Entry on May 20, 2016


Boulder Dash

05/10/2016

Two hundred things to get done before I leave, and I go and spend the day boulder hopping with my paint gear all over the Humboldt coast. It truly is a problem. I’m not looking to fix it or anything, but maybe find a nice support group… where they serve donuts and coffee… on the beach… while painting… in between surfs. Hey now?


A Hope and a Future

04/20/2016

Painted live last week at Cannifest. Definitely not plein air. Blank white canvas to finished piece in one session though, no time to overthink it. Finally got a good photo of it. This is the one that won the audience vote up there. Pretty stoked about that.


Ephemeral Records

04/15/2016

At high tide that rock with the trees on it is an island, but at low tide you can walk right out to it. Over 20 years ago I ventured out to it with a friend, our minds set on climbing up to the top of it.

Except neither she nor I were the climbing types, we were just a couple of wide-eyed college kids, checking out this great big world that we were supposed to make sense of real soon.

We approached the base and made our way to the north, then to the south then back again, looking for some non-death-inducing route up the vertical side. After a few false starts, we surrendered and made our way back to the beach.

As soon as we reached the sand, we looked back and saw a couple of people climbing down off the rock. Their fluid movements made their descent look effortless. As we stood there watching their route, we realized it was a young couple, not much older than us, who were oddly... not really wearing any clothes?

Ok, she wore some tiny bikini bottoms, and a jacket that she took off and gave to him once they made it off the rock and back on to the ground. But that was it. No shoes, no shirts, no pants. Just a couple of nearly naked hippie kids making this daunting climb look like a stroll on the beach.

We watched in amusement, from a respectful distance, and after a quick discussion, we decided that we would just wait for them to wander off back into the forest from whence they came and then make our way back out, and follow the route they took. After all, we had jeans, and shirts. We even had boots on. We could do this.

And we did.

Going up was not hard at all now that we knew what line to take. Making our way all the way up and over, we enjoyed the afternoon up there lounging on the grassy meadow that looked out toward the slowly setting sun.

We sat there watching the white trails drifting out from the various rockstacks, and shallow waters where the waves churn the ocean into a thick foam. We began to see them that day as ephemeral recordings of the ocean’s rhythms, songs recorded on the water, every set leaving a thicker trail, and the calmer moments a barely visible line. The record player spinning at the speed of the ocean’s current.

Seeing the tide had turned, it was time to leave or else we’d be facing a pretty good soaking trying to get back across the tidepools to the beach.

And yes, in case you were wondering, we kept our clothes on the whole time.

Remember I said we weren’t the climbing types? If we had been, we’d have known that climbing down is a much more difficult challenge than climbing up. We discovered that shortly.

The upper portion wasn’t too bad, there were plenty of tree roots to grab hold of as we made our way down the eroded hilltop on our way to the steeper rock face below. That rock face itself was fairly easy to climb as well, consisting of solid rock with lots of cracks and features to provide good hand and footholds. The zone in t…

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Higher Education

04/05/2016

My favorite part of painting this one wasn’t painting at all. It was watching my home-schooled 13 year old daughter charging the waist high lefts out there all alone, figuring out the lineup, waiting for sets, eating it, making others, and just generally getting after it. Ok. Carry on…


Primarily Speaking

03/18/2016

One of my favorites from my “From Scratch” show. Easy to overlook, but symbolic of my whole approach to art. Flowing water vibes and a nod to the three primary colors I use. Every painting I make uses just red, yellow, blue and white. Every black, brown, green, gray or whatever is mixed individually from those same primaries. Keeps things simple, and keeps the colors connected.


Body of Water (The Red Door)

02/07/2016

Prologue Never, have I ever, painted live at a church // In these halls where language like an eagle soars // Hunting an explanation but seldom willing to explore // Beyond the war that leaves words stripped to their core // And the tension left behind that gives us sometimes something more // Than the eagle’s lifeless prey giving one last lurch // No, I have never painted at a church // At least not inside one // Or with permission // Thanks for having me // It’s good to be here // This year // 2024 years ago tonight // I wasn’t there, neither were you, things to do // Mostly laundry // Dingy gray rags, smeared with chocolate and mud, add some crimson detergent blood, they come out white like the tops of the clouds after the flood // Dressed to the nines, you made it to church on time // Good job, modern man… kind // You’re looking good in this temple // Have you ever seen a house of God quite like this? // A temple court // A basketball court // Yet bearing one another’s likeness // Yes, basketball // Basketball is people // Just like church // Paint them both with the red flags of the nations // And watch their colors drip and bleed // Down bright green leaves beneath a hot Tibetan sun // Their colors run // With ice blue prayers down a white mountain stream // How can this be? // It’s color theory and I know it doesn’t sound right // But yes // Red // Can indeed // If everything’s right // Red can indeed make white The Red Door I: Face Thyself I won’t bore you with all the color theory // But there is something you must know // Before we go // Any further // Into the light tonight // Where it’s the presence of all colors // And not their absence // That makes the purest white // Every potential, every wavelength // Present // In the brightness of the whitest light // But tonight? // I am here to paint // With words of reflection // And when it comes to reflections // To the color of objects // To our own complexions // To the shimmering of flesh and blood // To the material world that merely reflects the light it does not comprehend // Here, white is something different // Here, where all potentials collapse into one outcome // Here, white is void // White is absence // White is the emptiness between all colors // And here on this reflected side of light // There are three // A trinity // Blue // Yellow // And Red // Every color we can see comes from white and just these three // White the dove, white the light, white the wool of the lamb // Blue the sea, blue the sky, blue the water behind the dam // Yellow the flower, yellow the submarine, yellow the sun on the corner of the child’s page // Red // Red the door, red the rum, red the rust on the bars of the child’s cage // Red, the color of salvation // Red // Red the door // Painted with the blood of the passover lamb // Oh Death // Pass over us // Oh God // Deliver us // Let all the colors of this temple // That is our ver…

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Reclamation

02/07/2016

Written on April 22, 2020

Painting at the Jambalaya was always a wild time. A small space with a loud sound, and excited music fans moving with abandon, meant that my spot to post up was on the floor directly beside one of the speakers getting my ears blown out and going with the flow of knocks and bounces from dancers all swirling in one collective rhythm.

And with all that going on, I’d watch these unplanned visions emerge from the canvas as I swirled paint along with the moment. A gas mask, discarded, lying in a shallow puddle with fresh spring growth emerging. The mask no longer needed. But why not? Because there was no one left to need it? Or was the time of need simply over? I wasn’t thinking this through while painting, there wasn’t time in that high-octane environment to separate thought from action… There seems to be rusting metal nearby. The water acidic. But the sky blue. A single bird reflected in the glass of the mask flies overhead. I saw it emerge like Noah’s dove that returned with a branch in it’s beak. A sign that we’d soon be able to get off this blasted boat we’ve been stuck on during this 40 day storm. The time to rebuild would come soon.

Holy moly. I miss that stuff. I know a lot of you do too. There is nothing like good live music and the feeling of being caught up in the moment.


Sunday Skylark

January 1, 2016

A recent studio commission. I reckon if I’d tried to paint this one on location standing in the middle of PCH, I’d likely have ended up dead, hospitalized, or in jail before finishing. It’s no secret that I prefer the Studio of the Open Sky these days, but that’s not to say I don’t appreciate the quiet simplicity of the home studio where one can paint anything that comes to mind without even leaving the house. But I ramble…