Forest Sketching

Yesterday John and I drove North along the coast to visit Salt Point State Park, just North of Jenner, CA. John’s mission was to photograph mushrooms, I was there to explore and take in the scenery.  These types of trips are often tricky for us.  John can spend up to 30 minutes photographing a subject while I’m standing around waiting.  Need I say more? 

This is the second outing I’ve brought my sketchpad, in an effort to keep myself busy while John is doing his thing.  The first time I tried this I couldn’t bring myself to sketch at all.  I think the difficulty is in shifting from hiking/exploring mode to becoming still and focused.

We walked along the road awhile then veered off trail.  It wasn’t long before John found several mushrooms he wanted to photograph.  I knew this was an opportunity to draw.  I paced the area, scoping out possible drawings.  I wasn’t sure I could do it, to settle down and sketch.  After about 15 minutes I finally picked a sit spot.  Still, I couldn’t draw.  So, I sat and studied the things on the ground around me.  I found cup fungus on a stick, old false chanterelle mushrooms, redwood needles, redwood cones, and Usnea (a light green lichen).   Finally, I started to focus.

A few days ago I visited the Robert Koch Gallery in San Francisco and saw the extraordinary photos of Yamamoto Masao.  The photos were luminous, filled with mystery, light, and nature.  Many reminded me of drawings.  They ignited a small spark of inspiration within me, to draw something small and detailed, with graphite only.  So, sitting there in the woods I turned my attention to the micro.

I picked up a clump of Usnea.  It was very soft and delicate with microscopic little “hairs”.  I found a tiny stick with a pleasing amount of the stuff, brought out the sketchbook, and lost myself in a miniature world.  Before long, my drawing was finished and John wanted to head to the ocean. 

So, I learned an important lesson: drawing on a hiking trip is possible.  It is much like meditating. I need to sit, slow down, take deep breaths, and connect with the landscape. I can’t just whip out my sketchbook and draw like one might do with a point-and-shoot camera.  With this precious knowledge, I know I can and will sketch in nature again and again.  

"Usnea on a Stick", graphite on paper, 8 1/2 x 5 1/2", 2011

“Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes”

Work in Progress

Today I am painting and thinking about change. 

There was this artist whose work I LOVE.  I discovered her paintings at a Mill Valley gallery years ago.  She worked in mixed media, creating narratives that were carefully rendered.  They had a Latin American feel.  She even painted the frames and incorporated them into the pieces.  I took a couple postcards from her shows and drooled over them.  Today, they are as interesting and beautiful to me as they were then. 

Recently I searched for her on the web.  I found a website bearing her name but the work looked nothing like her.  Could it be her?  It was. I confirmed her identity by her exhibition history.   She had become a minimalist!  There was no trace of the old work on her website.  I was shocked and disappointed.  I really liked the old work, I wanted to see it again, and I’m not attracted to minimalism.  How did her work change so drastically?

I can’t answer for her, but I can answer for myself.  My work has steadily changed over the years.  It’s not like I wake up one day and think, “I’m going to do something completely different”.  No, the art evolves.  I’ll be working in one style while in the back of my mind some ideas are percolating. Some of those ideas may brew for years, others may fizzle out before they are mature enough for me to birth them into the world.  When my work shifts it happens with joy.  I am newly inspired and am off exploring the unknown again.  I don’t mourn for the old.  Everything I do is like a steppingstone leading me deeper into the wilderness.  I savor that journey with excitement and anticipation.

My experience with the artist described above is not a new one.  In the arts we often get attached to a style of expression.  We relate to it, and it inspires us.  When the artist changes, we might be left longing for more of the same.  Some will only listen to David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust, unable to embrace the work that followed (most of his career).  Others only like Picasso’s cubist period, or Kandinsky’s early work.  That’s okay.  We can listen to those albums and look at those paintings over and over.  They will continue to bring us joy.  No one expects us to like everything an artist creates.  All I ask is to be respectful of the mystery of artistic process and accept inevitable change.

“Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge.” – Eckhart Tolle

“Without change something sleeps inside us, and never wakens.” – Duke Leo Artides

New Beginnings

Celebrating the New Year is not terribly meaningful for me.  It’s just a date.  Why not make any moment of any day a “New Year”?  The chance to start over, make plans, and adjust focus should not be limited to this annual event.  However, this year January 1^st coincided with some inner shifts, and the holiday felt significant to me. I decided I wanted to start the first full week of January with work in progress.

When I paint, I like to work on many pieces at once.  There are several reasons for this method.  For one, it’s practical.  I work in oil, and I work small.  Paintings quickly reach a point where they need to dry before being reworked.  If I sat around waiting for the paint to dry I would loose productivity, and perhaps my momentum.  Also, working on many paintings at once creates a cohesive set, reflecting my frame of mind and skill in a given time period.  Finally, if life distracts me from painting, I find it is much easier to start up again with unfinished pieces rather than start something fresh.  Again, it is all about momentum.  So, over the past seven days I started thirteen paintings.  

Work in Progress

This next set reflects a change in subject matter.  I’m taking a break from found beach objects and exploring a theme I’ve been thinking about for a long time, candy. For me, it’s not too dissimilar from sea glass.  Hard candy is colorful, luminous, and sometimes translucent like glass.  Instead of hunting the beach for subject matter, I’m hunting in shops around San Francisco.   Also, I love that my palette is expanding.  With candy I get to use bright pink, yellow, orange, and green!  These indulgences come in a myriad of shapes and designs further expanding my repertoire. Beautiful sweets draw our eye and entice us with the promise of something delicious.  Unlike sea glass, we can physically consume the beauty.  

 

You might be wondering if I will eat my subjects once the paintings are complete.  Uh, …no.  I’ve been handling them way too much, they are sitting out collecting dust, and are exposed to paint and solvents.  Believe it or not, I don’t have a sweet tooth.  With the exception of chocolate, my definition of culinary bliss is a bowl full of salty cheese popcorn.

My subjects!

A Perfect Day

I took a chance on heading out to the beach before the storm hit.  I made it just in time for the low tide.  The conditions couldn’t have been better.  The storms churned up a bounty of goodies, there were very few people on the beach, and the cloud cover made spotting glassy jewels easy.  I spent all my time in an area about a 1/4 of a block long. The spot was so juicy I got down on the ground and sifted through the pebbles.   

I knew it was time to go when the tide started to cover my “patch”, it began to drizzle, my pockets looked like they held baseballs (so heavy I had to keep pulling up my pants), I ran out of tissues, and for some reason I kept smelling the paints waiting for me in my studio.

Solstice Walk

 Okay, so it is not officially the solstice anymore, but I'm calling this my solstice walk anyway.  I ended up spending the actual solstice visiting friends, connecting with the light and warmth of others. 

Today I visited with the sun, birds, fresh air and beach.  The wind was a bit cold, but it was tolerable for the most part.  Here is what the low tide blessed me with.

Chasing the Sun

We arrived at the ocean just before sundown.  Just in time to see Arjuna in his chariot racing Northward, perhaps off to some distant battlefield or that legendary conversation of The Bhagavad Gita.

The beach was gorgeous.  I told John “I’m heading south” and trundled off to a swatch of pebbles near the low tide line.  As the sun went down I had the sensation of being in a dream, floating in rosy glow, lost in the crash of waves.  I sang David Bowie songs out loud as I knew no one would hear me.  I found some large pieces of white glass and a few other treasures.  I could have stayed for hours, but it was dark, and we were hungry.  At times like this I am reminded of how lucky I am to live in San Francisco.

“When one sees Eternity in things that pass away and Infinity in finite things, then one has pure knowledge.” -Lord Krishna in “The Bhagavad Gita”

Treasure Hunt

I’m a beachcomber.  It started when I was 8 during my first visit to San Francisco. I found my first piece of sea glass on Paradise Beach.  The ocean and bay were an awesome sight to my young Midwestern eyes.  Yes, there are beaches on Lake Michigan, but I don’t remember ever finding anything but loose change, crowds of people, and trash.

Often you will see me on the beach when there is a minus tide.  I’m out there with the clam diggers, fishermen, surfers, joggers, and dog walkers.  My hands are in my pockets, nose pointed down, and I’m walking slowly.  The beach is different every time I go.  Sometimes I find fistfuls of colorful glass, pebbles and shells.  Other times there is nothing.  A low tide is no guarantee of a “good haul”.

Yesterday, even though I went with the sole purpose of photographing the sunset, I found myself scanning the sand, looking for my favorite colored jewels.  Occasionally I’d remember to look up, and snap a picture or two.  The tide was low and I found a glistening piece of sea foam green glass.  Oh joy!  I also found a large intact razor clam shell and other precious things.  Perhaps they will become the subjects of future paintings, or maybe I will just hold them and admire their beauty on a cold rainy day, like today.