You almost forgot...

"The Mantle" oil on illus. board 8" x 10"

Yeah, remember that I had done studies and such for this painting? Well, here it is. The intent was to do this much larger, and to be honest, it would have been far easier to do it that way. Getting the facial features and such at this size (the head must be a half inch high) was just a pain. Plus, I think I painted this thing at least 3 times. The first time, I had big retouch varnish problems. Then, it fell off the easel into a full palette. And the third time was because I repainted the head, and messed up the background around it while doing it - not seeing the correct values due to the paint sinking into the surface (a new kind of treated foamboard: it sucks).

Anyway, I don't know if I'll blow this up or not. At the moment, being in the midst of the second round of minumentals, I have no intent. There's certainly enough good info here to do it, so I may use it later. Or perhaps I will just sell it as a finished piece. Who knows?

I had other reference ready to do a series of these, but again, it will have to wait. Perhaps some day there will be a window to re-indulge my figurative ideas. At least the next time, I'll know better about trying new surface materials. That painter's foam is crap. And I'm sure getting used to the triple primed linen. Supersmooth surfaces can expose a ton of surface anomalies when photographed. I had to scan this (new scanner!), because I varnished it with Galkyd Lite. The retouch varnish proved impossible to apply on this surface. But the Galkyd is super shiny, and when I went to take a pic of this, all I could see was a reflection of me with a camera. That wouldn't enhance the feel of this piece very well, would it?

Capitol Reef

Whoa, a LOT of pictures, sorry! Well, it's not just Capitol Reef, but the approach:
- The Gulch, from the beginning of the Burr Trail (a 4x4 road which is the southern approach to Capitol Reef and the Waterpocket Fold, stepping down through the Escalante Grand Staircase)
- The Henry Mountains, 11,000 footers standing alone out there in the Escalante)
- Compressed sandstone hills down in the Waterpocket Fold, near the Bitter Creek Divide (That's Mom's truck out in front. I took this with the phone while driving some pretty sketchy washboard)
- Rainbow from the Rim Rock Inn in Torrey, just north of the park. A thunderstorm followed us, and dumped snow at about 10,000 feet. The Henrys were white the next morning.
- Beginning of the Grand Wash Gorge. See those little holes on the bottom right? They're the entrance to old uranium mines, circa 1860. The cliff wall here is 1500 feet to the top, about 6700 feet above sea level.
- The open section of the Grand Wash Trail. There's a guy way back there in the middle of it, but he's too small to see, I think. I should post a high res closeup at some point, because he waved to me.
- The top of the cliffs from 2 pictures up. That's my foot. And that's 1500 feet straight down. That big boulder to the right is the size of a house, if you need more scale.
- Cassidy Arch from the Cassidy trail. Another mile to get there.
- Cassidy Arch. The bush to the left is only a foot shorter than me.
- Happy to be there, but there's no one to take my picture but me!
- My setup at the Reef.
- Finished! What a change in light!
- Capitol Reef, oil on linen panel, 6"x8"

It took most of the day just to get there, what with taking the Burr Trail and all. And, as I said, a storm was following the whole time - we were just ahead of it. Even though we could have taken a faster, paved route, I'm glad we went on the Trail, as I saw some fantastic ans sudden changes in geological forms all along the route. There were some pretty steep switchbacks down into the Waterpocket Fold, which provided for a serious 4x4 experience. The Blazer did fine, since I didn't plunge to my death or anything.

Once in the park, I scouted around for a painting site, while sightseeing at the same time. The big public campground was actually full (which seemed odd later on, for the following day I encountered NO ONE on the Cassidy Arch Trail), so we headed north out of the park to find the cheap but serviceable Rim Rock Inn, which had pretty awesome views of the Reef. That cold line of storms finally came across the Boulder Mountain escarpment to the west, so an inn was a fine way to go, I thought.

The next morning, I got an early start, and decided to mix it up by hiking first and painting afterward. Mom was taking her sweet time, so she told me to meet back at the visitor's center at 5:30 PM. I set my sights on Cassidy Arch, named for the outlaw Butch Cassidy, who holed up in the impregnable Reef from time to time with his gang. The trail itself starts along with the Grand Wash Gorge trail, but veers off and ascends pretty steeply for almost a mile. It was tough, but I enjoyed the workout, as the views got ever more spectacular as I ascended. I saw that I was making good time, so I veered off to find the cliffs one sees as you drive into the wash. I eventually found the dropoff, as you see above. I then backtracked to the Arch, and it's amazing how it comes up suddenly - a big hole in the slickrock. You could fly a good sized plane into it from the front. After hanging around the top for a bit, I literally ran down the trail, which was a fun reward after having slogged up in the dry heat. I had a lunch of jerky and cheese at the trailhead, and drove back out to the Scenic Road to a turnoff I had earmarked for my painting site.

Well, the view was great, but unlike the previous day, the wind had shifted and was now blowing down the Reef from the north at a good, steady 20 miles an hour, with at least 30 MPH gusts - right in my face. Great. I gathered some beefy boulders and fortified my tripod. It wouldn't budge, so I felt pretty confident. However, I was literally pushed away from the painting countless times, and I was covered in pink dust, a real desert rat. Fortunately, the painting wasn't exposed, so it fared well. I came away after 3 hours with a decent study. A full and fun day, to be sure!

I met up with Mom, and we drove a much more direct rout back to Beaver. Again, the landscape, the rolling sagegrass hills, the mountians, and even the cattle towns charmed me with their distinct beauty. The 2 1/2 hour trek passed in an instant.

Once back at Mom's house, I relaxed with a few drinks, sat on the porch, and looked at the mountains in the last light of that day. I had one full day of reorganizing and ease before the next big early morning drive back to Vegas and then the long flight home.

The trip was definitely a success. I got 3 good paintings out of it, I hiked alpine, canyon and slickrock, and I finally understood why everyone who has been to the monuments of the West urged me to see it for myself. I urge you, too, if you've never been. Imagine never having seen the ocean, and then suddenly you're at Acadia National Park. It's that dramatic. I don't think I could ever live there, but I am aching to go back, for it is now a part of me since I painted there. It really did affect me, I can't deny it. I think this is an excellent thing.

Thanks for reading. More news from the studio, and plein air in Maine - soon!

Bryce Canyon

From the top:
- Bryce Point
- Closeup of a hoodoo (this one is called "the Hunter")
- A raven at Agua Canyon
- A castle descending into Fairyland Canyon
- Boat Mesa, the Chinese Wall, and a thunderstorm (!)
- My setup at Fairyland
- Finally done!
- Fairyland Hoodoos, oil on linen panel, 8" x 10"

These pictures are a little out of sequence, as I hiked the 8 mile Fairyland Loop Trail after I finished the painting.

What an amazing place Bryce Canyon is! There are a dozen turnoff points along the main road into the park, and they are easily accessible, not to mention totally different from one another. At its highest, the rim is 9500 feet at Rainbow Point. The canyon is also known as "The Pink Cliffs" and is the highest "step" in the Escalante Grand Staircase. From Yovimpa Point in the park, one can look out to the White, Vermillion and Gray cliffs, stepping down ultimately to the Grand Canyon. It is a vast and varied landscape.

The crazy spires in all sorts of colors and shapes are called hoodoos. Some are shaped like statuary, others are more like giant rock crystals. Everywhere you turn you see something new and interesting. It's best if you hike down into the canyon to see the real scale of things, though. I chose the first turnoff, Fairyland Canyon (about a mile off the main park road) for both my hike and my painting.

I must admit, the painting kicked my butt somewhat, as the colors were so intense and varied. It was a bit difficult to not only get ahold of the new and crazy shapes, but also the saturation and hue shifts, not to mention getting atmospheric perspective into all of it. I went away half done on the first day, and went back to the campground where Mom and I set up our "car camp." She had been over at Sunrise Point looking around. She saw I was frustrated, so she suggested staying an extra day to finish. Fortunately, the conditions the next day were exactly the same, and I finished up at 2 PM. I was happy, as this was a tough subject!

After a quick bite, and getting my stuff stowed, I hiked down into Fairyland Canyon. It was wonderful and strange and breathtaking. The latter was doubly true, as I decided on a whim to do the whole loop trail. There's an elevation loss/gain of 2300 feet. At altitude, it was a bit tougher than it seemed. In my picture of Boat Mesa (above), you can see the thunderhead coming over. No sooner did I snap that photo when lightning struck the mesa. As you can see in the picture, I was pretty exposed. I wrapped up the camera and slid down into a gully, and camped beneath a hoodoo cave. It was time for a snack, anyway. I got my rain jacket on, and when the rain started slowly, I pushed on, only to find that it started snowing! Huge, chunky slush flakes noisily hit my jacket. I had to laugh - this was really strange! Then is shifted back to a light and steady rain which I knew would abate, as I could see clearing in the distance. When I crested the rim at Sunset Point, I had to hike 2 miles back along the rim to get to Fairyland Point where I had parked. This section was easy and bucolic. The best part of this end of the trail was when I descended a bit into a field and this gorgeous aroma hit me. It was the rain evaporating off the sagegrass. What a wonderful smell! I won't forget that for a long time.

So, it was back to camp after 2 days in Bryce, and we feasted on freeze dried dinners, Wasatch Brewing Company beers, and a celebratory Camaguey cigar I had brought with me from home. I was ready for the next drive down the Escalante to Capitol Reef! To be continued....

The Tushar Mountains

From the top:
- Mt. Belknap and Mt. Baldy from downtown Beaver
- Little Res (reservoir)
- Robber's Roost
- Delano Peak, Mt. Holly and Lake Peak from Puffer Lake, frozen at 10,000 feet.
- Finished painting at 3 PM
- Mt. Holly in Spring, oil on linen panel, 6" x 8"

After a decent flight, I arrived in Vegas at about noon. There was a bit of trouble with the rental car, but I was able to get into a Trailblazer (a 4x4, but like most big American cars, the steering, acceleration, and brakes were mushy) and hit I-15 for a 250 mile drive north to Beaver.

The desert just blew me away with vast, hardpan emptiness. It looks so very neutral, yet I knew it was ripe with strange life and the possibility of stranger death. Just over the Arizona border, the highway leads to a mass of cliffs, and suddenly one drives into the deep cleft of the Virgin River Canyon, providing a fantastically radical change of scenery after the desert. Then, once past St. George, Utah, the canyons and red tumbles of rock become more structured, raising up into peaks and valleys, with the latter becoming verdant with cultivated horse and cattle ranches. Then the peaks to the east rise above the snow line and become the Tushar Range. To the west are the smaller, but far more jagged Mineral Mountains. The valley is quite wide and Beaver appears on the east side of the highway.

Being such an Easterner, the town's layout seemed a bit alien to me, what with ramshackle horse paddocks mixed in with the typical Main Street of post office and pharmacy. Regardless, my mom's place lay northeast of town, about 4 miles up a rise, past larger ranches, nestled in a hill of pinyon pine. Just outside of town, I pulled over to get an overview shot of the wonderful expanse of clouds and mountains (above). A herd of a dozen rather large mule deer greeted me on the way up the North Creek Loop Road, giving me a bit of pause at their lack of care by the roadside.

Mom and her husband, Paul, live in a real, hardwood log cabin. It's older as far as log cabins go, and it is the most solidly built one I've seen. The view from the porch is basically a closeup of Belknap and Baldy, with hints of Delano Peak and some other heights in the range. Seeing the snow all across these 12, 000 footers, I knew the going up there was not to be for my amateur hiker aspirations, but I felt compelled to see them closer and perhaps pull a painting out of the alpine air. Route 153 out of Beaver goes up through a pass, and one can get fairly close, but the pass itself is cordoned off until at least June, due to the snows above 10K.

The following morning, with Mom as guide, we took my vehicle up to Puffer Lake, the last view available before the road closure. On the way up, there were more than enough wonderful sights. The Beaver River comes down in a sparkling rush this time of year, and it is harnessed by some well-engineered pipes in sections, and brought down to the ranches in the valley. There is also a series of alpine reservoirs, the most cozy of which is the "Little Res" (above), where one might cast for trout, though I saw an osprey there who would no doubt find such competition unwelcome. Once you hit 8,500 feet, some switchbacks begin, and wonderful formations like Robber's Roost (above) can be seen from the turnoffs. The snow was now earnestly deep as we neared the old ski area (now defunct) near Mt. Holly. Before the road ascends once more, a barrier ends our climb.

Puffer Lake is barely thawing about the edges, and from its western end, one looks straight up at the pointed peak of Mt. Holly, with Delano Peak behind and to the left, Lake Peak to the right, and City Creek Mountain to the right of that. The snow was crystalline, and hard-packed enough to support our weight as we tracked across to the spot I thought would be best for painting. Well, I did fall through to my waist in one or two spots, but future cave-ins were avoidable once I understood how to read the snow surface for telltale anomalies (a change in surface patterns due to spaces between buried boulders).

I set up and began painting at noon and finished at 3. Mom hung around, watching, as she had never seen anyone, let alone her son, paint en plein air before. I struggled a little bit with getting the curvature of the descending Aspens and Douglas Firs, but in the end, I began to read the landscape. Fortunately, the palette was pretty similar to a Maine maritime palette, so I didn't have to read into color too deeply. In all, I felt good about the work. So, while Mom ate a sandwich and rested in the truck, I hiked up into the woods past the lake, though it was slow going, picking my way over the snow. After an hour, I returned, and felt it would be more fun to hike over more stable ground.

We went back to the house, and my mom had to run errand in town, so I drove about a mile up the road to a place where I thought I could tackle Rattlesnake Mountain, an 8000 foot mound, a foothill to the Tushar proper (you can see it in the far right of the first photo). I did enjoy the hike immensely, though there were no discernable paths, and I began to run out of light before I could summit. At this point, I was rather hungry, and felt I deserved a beer or two after a successful painting day.

And anyway, I needed to rest up, because the following morning we were to head out early to Bryce Canyon. So... to be continued!

Goin' Out West

Here's some photos from summitpost.com. From the top:
Temple of the Moon - Capitol Reef N.P.
An amphitheater at Cedar Breaks.
Angels' Landing - Zion N.P.
The Tushar Mountains, just east of Beaver.

This is the spring vacation that I mentioned. I've been busy getting myself geared up for this trip, thus the lack of Blogger activity on my part. I wanted to finish everything on my plate at work, and have all necessary items (thank you, LL Bean) squared away before I go. Yes, I'm leaving tomorrow for Utah, flying into Vegas and driving northeast to Beaver, as my mom lives there. She has been a wilderness aficionado for 25 years, now, and is more than expert enough to be my guide to these amazing looking places. Yeah, my mom! You won't find too many 60 year old women who can go 2 weeks in the wilderness by themselves. And she does this kind of thing at least once a month. I do have my adventurous side, and this is where I get it from.

My intention is, in my usual metier, to do some plein air painting while there. I've sent my Open Box M (my pochade, or travel easel) ahead of me via FedEx, so the airlines won't lose it. I have ample linen panels, and I will hit an art store I found in Cedar City on the way north for any extra supplies. My box is not as portable as it could be, but a lot of the places you see here are merely short hikes (save the mountain peaks), so I think it's doable.

I also intend to do some serious hiking/climbing while there. Angels' Landing, which you see above, looks like a spectacular climb. No, not the face, that ridge on the side. I'm no technical climber. My mom also knows of places in the high desert that are hardly ever visited, but are nonetheless spectacular. It takes a full day to hike into these places, but I'm into it, if time allows. The painting comes first. I'm shooting for three solid studies.

This is going to be intense. I have never seen the like of this kind of landscape, so it's a great opportunity. Wish me luck in painting!

I will be "off the grid" for the duration, but I'll try and post some images a few days after I return.

Time and Timeless

From the top-

• Gnomon - oil on panel, 19"x28"
• (a detail closeup)
  
• Study for Gnomon - oil on linen, 8"x10"
• A side by side look at the larger piece with most of the underpainting showing and the study.

The study was done en plein air at Two Lights State Park alongside my good friend Meghan (it started raining on us at the end, so the foreground never really got resolved). I was attracted to this rock's shape, as it reminded me of the triangular piece that casts the shadow for a sundial. That piece is called a gnomon. There was a contrast here, as there is a timelessness to the place: an incessant beating of water on rock for eons. Yet the shape of this rock is reminiscent of a device crafted for a human scale of time. After looking at the study for a while, I felt it demanded a grander scale in paint.

Working this way generally gives the best results, as it allows for a lot more of an innate understanding of the subject. That is, I painted it once, so it can only get better if I paint it again. A lot of passages are so familiar, though they are on a larger scale. Color choices have already been made in the study, so that's an easy thing to deal with. The palette was limited: raw umber (always!), ultramarine blue, cadmium orange, ivory black, titanium white, some indian yellow for effects in the seaweed, and a touch of viridian for the trees on the distant island. So it was mostly about pushing value and warm/cool as a point/counterpoint.

You'll notice in the study that the rock is more truncated than in the big piece. That's because I had to fit it into the panel, as the panel dimensions didn't really accommodate the shape that well. I rectified that in the large piece with some photo reference, to which I applied a grid for drawing purposes. Sorry I didn't get a photo of that aspect, but I referred to it only for the sake of the underpainting and layout. The contrast, values and colors of the photo were so unlike the study, that it was only useful for shapes and detail. Just shows that there is no substitute for painting from life.

I had a little bit of difficulty in the near foreground with the rocks and tidepools. I didn't want any of that to detract from the big rock, so I tried to shift the hue to a cooler state, as well as pattern the clinging seaweed (the most saturated color) to lead the eye up to the rock. It took some doing, but I think I achieved what I wanted. This may not seem like a virtuoso feat of painting in the grand scheme, but for me, this was one of my biggest efforts in a long time in terms of size and dedication.

Of course, it's way more fun to look at this in person. Come on by and visit me, and take a look!

Hopes and Dreams

She Dreams - oil on panel, 5" x 8.25".

This is a very recent piece, and it is very important to me, despite its small size. It is an allegory of hope, of facing one's fear, of dreaming, of looking to the future. Here's a rare thing: I am not ready to part with this, even though I've had interested buyers. Not yet.

You see, as I've said (and as I've posted) in this blog, I feel very strongly about the figure, and I want it to be a bigger part of my oeuvre. One might look at this blog and ask, "Well, isn't it?" No, it's not so much. I'm torn in too many directions. My full time position demands professionalism and skill, but gives no room for personal creativity. Nevertheless, I am compensated well enough to keep me there - more out of necessity than anything else. My art outside the commercial realm is now in flux: do I keep painting the landscape so that I maintain a salable portfolio, or do I return to the figure and fulfill a more personal ambition with a less-than-salable series of works? I have a solid history of selling landscapes, so I'm aware of what the buying public prefers (from me, anyway).

[I should note here: models need to get paid. It's an expensive proposition. It's not like a photographer who can do a TFP trade - that is - time for prints. As wonderful as the model may be, I can't give her the painting! Maybe some painting lessons? Time for Teaching?]

Why be so concerned with selling? Practically speaking, some extra money always helps. And there's that dream of one day making a living from doing my own work as opposed to completing someone else's. Yes, yes , my art is worth something to me - but does it convey what I'm trying to convey? I've always been interested in narrative, in storytelling. How can I tell if the stories or the meanings are ringing true? If someone pays good money for a painting, the investment indicates that they have gotten it - or something close to it. They are also investing their lives in it; they are going to look at the painting for a long, long time. That is the biggest deal for me - that someone would want to do that with my work. It is an important validation.

The sentiment of this painting here addresses a lot of what is said above. The funny thing is, the initial impetus for this was to not only attempt a new figurative work as a test (hence the scale), but it was also a reflection of someone else's artistic and personal journey. She faces difficult choices, as well. It was only in the midst of painting this that I realized I was in the same boat, albeit in a different career phase. It's a fairly universal sentiment, now that I think upon it, and I think the prospective buyers saw this.

Well, the test succeeded on a pictorial level, I feel, but the dreams themselves ares still being deciphered.

Meanwhile, I have to take better pictures of the latest landscape that sits happy and finished in the studio. I shall post those shots this weekend.

Thawing Out

This is Evendim, oil on panel 9"x12". It's in a private collection somewhere. Yes, another Tolkien name, but the scene depicts the headwaters of the Fore River, at the end section of the Fore River Sanctuary here in Portland. This is what it looks like this time of year, generally: some ragged edges of snow still waiting to melt off and freshen the brackish waters.

This winter seemed particularly long. I'm just beginning to thaw and feel the urge to paint outdoors. I'll be sure to post my successful plein air attempts here. That way, when winter returns, we can all look back at those paintings and remember that there really is a warm season in Maine!

Where Is This?

Well, I think most Portlanders know that this is Back Cove. I mean, where is this painting? This is Anar the Golden, oil on panel 9" x 12" (I was giving things a lot of Tolkien names at the time). I sold it 2 years ago, along with a number of other paintings in a number of shows at Jameson Gallery (in its previous incarnation). This very low-res picture is the only thing I have of it. I don't know who bought it.

I've learned a couple of things from this period. One is to catalogue everything immediately. There is a whole series of pieces that I sold in one shot, and I have no reproduction whatsoever. Thankfully, I know who has them, but it would be a disturbance to him, and an expense to me were I to borrow them, take them out of their frames, photograph them, and re-frame them. I should probably do this anyway, but it could have easily been avoided. Other pieces, like the one above, are just plain gone, in a private home or office, or who knows where. I really wish I had some good photos or slides of these for my portfolio. Yes, it could have been worse, I could have lost them in a fire, like what happened to Martha, but for me it was too much rushing to get the pieces framed and into shows that robbed me of the time to properly record them. It was my fault. So the other thing I learned is: finish before the deadline, not on it.

If anyone has seen this painting, or one like it, let me know. I may need to stop by and photograph it. I'll bring a bottle of wine for your troubles.

Work in Progress

Typical Saturday at Berehaven. Here's a little sidelong glimpse at "Gnomon."