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Category: plein air

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Looking forward to next weekend in mid-coast Maine

Rockwell Kent, Late Afternoon, Monhegan Island, collection of Jamie and Phyllis Wyeth
It is a warm, sluggish summer day. My thoughts are already jumping ahead to this month’s Maine workshop. Our day trip to Monhegan Island was cancelled in June because of weather, so I’m doubly excited.
A chance word by a FB friend got me thinking about Rockwell Kent’s smashing paintings of Mañana from Monhegan—a view which we’ll be painting, exactly, since our site is next door to Kent’s former home. Looking at them is more bracing than a gin-and-tonic, sweeter than an ice cream cone!
Rockwell Kent,  Winter, Monhegan Island, Metropolitan Museum of Art
Rockwell Kent, Monhegan (c.1948) 12″ x 16″ oil on board, Tom Veilleux Gallery
Rockwell Kent, Blackhead, Monhegan Island, Maine, private collection
Rockwell Kent, Toilers of the Sea, 1907, New Britain Museum of American Art
And one Hopper painting, for contrast:
Edward Hopper, Blackhead, Monhegan, Whitney Museum of American Art
If you’re signed up for my July workshop in mid-coast Maine, you can find the supply lists here. There’s one more residential slot left; I’m dying to know who is going to fill it. August and September are sold out , but there are openings in October! Check here for more information.

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“I can’t draw a straight line.”

Street in Saintes-Maries, ca. July 17, 1888, by Vincent van Gogh–done as a mature artist. 
The good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise (which is, sadly, not wholly rhetorical right now) I will have a new drawing student this week. My friend has internalized the message that she can’t learn to draw; in fact she told me that she “lacks the gene to draw.” I think that is absolutely wrong, and I challenged her to let me teach her. She has risen to the challenge:  “I have a special brand-new sketch-book and a special old and beloved pencil all in readiness.”
I am not a big believer in an art genius, any more than I’m a believer in a math genius or a language genius.* People are more facile at some things than others, but almost everyone can learn to draw, just as almost everyone can learn to do sums, conjugate verbs or sing.
An early drawing of houses at 87 Hackford Road in London by Van Gogh. He was an adult when he drew this, but untutored. Good thing he never told himself “I can’t draw.”
My friend has a PhD in Classics, can rattle away in several antique languages, and has been entrusted with the molding of impressionable minds at a Catholic college. On that evidence alone, I doubt she is learning-impaired. So I am confident she will learn to draw very quickly.
Imagine if we taught other subjects like we teach art:
Here is Drusilla in English class. Her teacher encourages the class to write down words that express their feelings, without ever discussing spelling, syntax, or structure. Having no notion of grammar, Drusilla gets herself totally balled up in ‘can and could/may and might/shall and should/will and would,’ and throws down her pencil in frustration. “Oh, Drusilla,” says her teacher in a sad voice. “That’s OK. Not everyone can learn to write.”
Here is Drusilla in math class. Day after day, her teacher stands at the board calling out numbers in vast, voluptuous streams of ever-changing patterns. Drusilla, however, wants to calculate the volume of a sphere. “Oh, Drusilla,” says her teacher in a sad voice. “That’s OK. Not everyone is good at mathematics.”
Exploring creativity is instructive for five and seven year olds. By age 13, a kid needs to be taught the tools of art if he or she is going to succeed. We have, by and large, abdicated teaching those tools. We place self-expression above craft, and the results are predictably poor.
Oddly, virtue is another subject where the educational establishment has decided it has no right to impose standards. Virtue is unquestionably a learned discipline, as any person who’s ever struggled to civilize a child can tell you. Is the decline in teaching art somehow related to the decline in teaching ethics?

There is only one slot open for my July workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME, and August and September are sold out.  Join us in July or October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.

*Speaking of “genius,” the word originally referred to a tutelary god or guardian deity or spirit. Using it to refer to a person of outstanding ability is the product of the Renaissance, which shows how our thinking has morphed over time.
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It’s painting weather!

We’ve been stuck in this weather pattern for weeks. It’s hard to paint in.
I got an email this week that read, “This being the 4th of July weekend, summer is officially here and it is time to do your plein air painting. No more excuses about it being too cold or whatever
”
Clouds stacking up to the west.
That is very true, but it has been tremendously wet up and down the East Coast. A little rain isn’t a problem, but deluges are. We’re complaining of Florida weather here: it rains every day. My Floridian friends are complaining that it’s not just raining every day, it’s raining all day, every day.
Lyn sketching as she debates whether she will have time to paint this view.
We had a preacher visiting from Nigeria recently who mentioned in passing that Americans love to complain about the weather. He’s right about that—if it’s 90° F., it’s too hot; if it’s 60° F., it’s too cold. And yet we live in a kind of peaceful Paradise here.
Some of us had the good sense to work from the porch.
All kinds of weather are good. They’re just not necessarily good for plein air painting.
But not Carol and Joe… and that’s a good thing, because they both did fine paintings.
On Wednesday evening, an electrical storm rumbled into Rochester just as my students and I were getting in our cars to drive to Cindy and Danny Barben’s farm in Honeoye Falls. Driving south out of town, there were tree limbs down and flooding in the intersections. I picked up my cell phone half a dozen times to cancel, but I’m caught in a conundrum of modern life: a third of my class only texts, a third emails, and a third can only be contacted through Facebook. Quick changes in plan aren’t that easy.
If I ever painted from photos, I might be tempted by this view. Note how wet the fields are here in the Genesee Valley.

But it was all fine, because shortly after we arrived, the sky cleared, with tremendous peach and blue clouds rising in great heaps to the south and west. (The moments after a rainstorm are often the most glorious of the day.) And although the sky feinted, it didn’t really start raining again until we were packed up to go home.

Cindy guiding in a missing painter.

You can study painting with me in Rochester (Wednesday evenings this summer), or you can study painting with me in Maine. There is only one slot open for my July workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME, and August and September are sold out.  Join us in July or October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.
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A day late and a dollar short

I love job lot stores, but I confess, I would have no idea what to do with this stuff. On the other hand, the old farmer in me would sure like to learn.

 (Sorry this is late but it’s harder than you think to post while driving at 74 MPH down the NYS Thruway.)

Friday morning we were scheduled to take the ferry to paint at Monhegan, but we awoke to the sound of heavy rain being driven by a stout wind. My painters were leery of the ferry in that weather, especially knowing that the other side was socked in with rain, and that rain often brings fog. (We have a roof under which to paint on Monhegan, but the views would have been seriously compromised.)
There was still a line at Red’s Eats, even in the rain. People are truly wonderful. (Photo by Corinne Avery)
I’d been working them very hard and they were tired, so we switched gears and decided to poke around galleries in Rockland. We included a stop at the Island Institute’s Archipelagoshop, which showcases a broad and range of art, craft and design made by Maine island residents. After this, we had a quick lunch, packed for us by Lakewatch Manor—and, no, I didn’t remember to take a photo—and took a side trip through Damariscotta, just to enjoy its loveliness.

This poor bridge on the Mohawk seems to get regularly knocked around by flood waters. (Photo by Corinne Avery)
Once again, our timing was exquisite. That volatile, capricious river—the Mohawk—had overflowed the New York State Thruway earlier in the day. By the time we were passing through, it had retreated and was merely nipping at the margins of the road. What could have been a difficult drive was, in fact, easy as blueberry pie. Nine hours later, I was happily home, reading about flooding all over our state and grateful to have arrived unscathed.
There is only one slot open for my July workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME, and August and September are sold out.  Join us in July or October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.
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Painting at lovely Camden harbor

As it was misty and cool today, we went to Camden harbor, with its many lovely wooden boats and fine galleries.

Intrepid dockside painters.

C’s color temperature study from yesterday.

Rearranging dinghies to suit.

A lovely sensitive sketch of dinghies, by C.

Dinghies, painted by S.

J, painting the scene across the harbor.

Other J, painting her first boats ever… and doing a lovely job of it.
And an ice-cream sundae for dessert–with fresh berries, chocolate, and a delish cookie.
There is only one slot open for my July workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME, and August and September are sold out.  Join us in July or October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.
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Now, if I can just remember my paint

View from Owl’s Nest.
Anyone who thinks the life of an artist is all glamour ought to try doing the framing, wrapping and pricing before a show. It’s done, and my painting tools are packed, and I’m ready to leave for Maine in the morning.
Painting tools for three people, plus my teaching supplies (in the pink bag). My trusty Prius is going to be stuffed full.
I store my paint in my freezer.  That occasionally results in my forgetting it. (I’m thinking of tying a bandanna to my backpack as a mental cue.) Usually, my forgetfulness results in nothing more annoying than an afternoon sketching rather than painting, but it would simply not do to take off to Maine for a week of teaching without paint.
So it’s off to Maine tomorrow, by easy stages. Sadly, that means I will be too late to attend Rockland’s Summer Solstice Street Fair, but if you get there before me, be sure to go.

And the paintings, wrapped and ready to move.
And if you haven’t signed up for my Rochester classes or Maine workshops, what on earth are you waiting for? August and September are sold out for my workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME… and the other sessions are selling fast.  Join us in July and October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.
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The opposite of creativity is what?

New garden, run over. Excuse the bad photo, but it’s monsoon season in Rochester. I don’t dare carry my camera, and my cell phone kept fogging up..
Last evening I talked with a Pittsford farmer (really) about the different ways in people are creative. He has two “artistic” sisters, whereas he likes building and growing things. He figured they’re two sides of the same coin, and, of course, I agree.
This morning, I noticed that a truck had plowed across a brand-new garden here overnight, digging deep ruts into the earth, smashing new shrubs and plants, and fracturing an antique sandstone accent curb. (It would have been nearly impossible for this to be accidental.)
This is petty vandalism in the grand scheme of things, but it still irks me. If this keeps up, will the owner let the lot revert to the packed dirt, weeds and broken glass that is so sadly common in the commercial-industrial areas of our cities?
The worst act of vandalism I ever committed was unintentional: I walked into a sodden, newly seeded lawn before realizing why the owner had a temporary string barrier around it. Thirty years later, it still bothers me. That is not because I’m some kind of moral paragon; it’s because my personality is fundamentally creative, rather than destructive.
Of course, most people’s minds are wired the same way as mine. But what goes on in the heads of that small minority who take joy in defacing or destroying what others do?
Perhaps in some instances, the driving force may be envy or resentment, but I imagine that in most cases it’s some kind of pure spirit of rage—a sort of angry equivalent to the bubbling effervescence most of us experience from time to time. But I really wouldn’t know.
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My new field easel

Slik tripod, Guerrilla painter easel head, and En Plein Air Pro shelf.
After I posted last week about my search for a new plein air easel, I found this little number on Amazon. Oddly, while it is listed as being made by Guerrilla Painter, it isn’t on their website. Perhaps it’s a discontinued item.
My brother had actually drawn up a plan to make me a very similar item, but I know he’s relieved to be excused. It seems absurdly overpriced to me, but it’s also exactly what I needed to retrofit my existing tripod into an easel. Like all Guerrilla Painter items, it’s extremely well made. Unlike my Guerrilla Box, however, it’s very lightweight.
Or, I can turn the head 90 degrees and put my palette to the side. Not sure why I’d do that, but it’s nice to know I can.
 I have a Slik tripod that’s a little heavier than I’d wanted—about 5 pounds—but very strong and easy to set up and take down. The Plein Air Pro shelf fits it perfectly, and the easel head works very well with its quick-release head.
I like being able to move my painting to different angles, which is why my lightweight Mabef beechwood field easel with its pivoting head has been the easel I’ve returned to after each flirtation with a different (and mostly more expensive) system.
I don’t generally watercolor like this in the field, but if I wanted to… or, I could put a board in there and a tablecloth over the whole thing and serve afternoon tea. Or, I could take the easel head off and use the tripod to take photos!
This being a component system, I can easily buy a replacement carbon-fiber tripod that will weigh less than 3 lbs. and set me back—oh—not more than $450. But right now, that extra two pounds seems bearable for the price.
The bubble-level is there for leveling a camera. But I think this means I can stop carrying a separate level around in my kit.
The En Plein Air Pro shelf is really intended for watercolorists, but I’ve decided the cup-holder might come in handy for coffee. (Not that it will really show when my palette is open.)
Dismantled and dumped on my steps. Will fit easily in my backpack.
This set-up means the only wooden box I’ll be carrying is my palette. All my other tools are in plastic bags or bins—lighter in weight, easy to toss if they get gummed up, and easily replaced at the hardware store.
It does need to be field-tested, and I’ll be doing that tomorrow. I’m especially interested in how the tripod and my umbrella get along.
And if you haven’t signed up for my Rochester classes or Maine workshops, what on earth are you waiting for? August and September are sold out for my workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME… and the other sessions are selling fast.  Join us in June, July and October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.
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More on that winnowing thing

Everything I’ve sorted so far pales in comparison to the business of sorting paintings with a critical eye… there are works that aren’t mine, works I can’t assess the quality of, and works I hope to finish some day.

The Duchy is perched on the side of Rochester’s only hill. This makes it prone to short bursts of flooding. Given the monsoon-like rains of this week, Coach and I suspended our regular workout in favor of clearing storm drains with a hoe and a trowel.
Too much of a good thing leads inexorably to trouble.
New York is lush in late spring, and the Duchy tends to go for over-the-top horticultural displays. I confess I’ve contributed my share of them, having designed and planted St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church’s gardens as well as growing a profusion of roses, peonies and ornamental trees on my own small plot.
Blossoms, seed pods, soil, mulch, and clippings… all creating concrete in the storm drains.
Of course, a surfeit of good things can be as troublesome as any bad thing. The Duchy’s trees are lavishly shedding blossoms and seed pods. That has combined with soil, mulch and clippings washing down from gardens and along the gutters. Now, blossoms and seed pods and soil, mulch and clippings are all great things, but in excess they’ve packed the storm drains up like concrete.
Winnowing is an ugly job… but absolutely necessary.
This brings my thoughts inexorably back to my own studio. There are stacks and stacks of my field sketches, and paintings by my students, and unfinished canvases for which I still harbor some hope, not to mention art supplies that I may use someday. All are unabashedly good things, but taken as a whole, they’ve blocked my studio up as surely as those storm drains.
The hidden stashes don’t count if they’re in a dark closet, do they?

This, then, is the next big step in the winnowing process.
And if you haven’t signed up for my Rochester classes or Maine workshops, what on earth are you waiting for? August and September are sold out for my workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME… and the other sessions are selling fast.  Join us in June, July and October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.
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What did the sea say to the mermaid?

It’s a Merdonna and Child. Or something.
When this buoy arrived in the mail a few weeks ago, certain members of my family were flummoxed. “Who sent us an oversized dreidel?” Since I was expecting it, I recognized it for what it was, but then wondered whether it was supposed to go dreidel-side up or dreidel-side down. A cursory search on the internet was useless—evidently, Mainers are not into social conventions like which end is up.
I took a guess, and put the stick on the bottom. Too late to worry if it’s wrong.
How do you paint on a buoy? Lash it to your easel.
I am painting it for a fundraiser for the Penobscot East Resource Center to be held later this month in Rockland, ME (more on that later). One would imagine it was a simple matter of filling, sanding and priming the surface, but, as usual, I’m pressed for time.
The biggest problem in painting on a curved surface turned out not keeping the figure proportional (as I expected) but drawing a straight horizon line. It’s very difficult to lay a ruler down on a cylinder. Tomorrow I’ll mark it with string.
There was a time when I used these wee little brushes a lot. That was a long time ago.
Eventually I bungee-corded it to an easel, but I’m only going to be able to paint on one side at a time. So much for working all parts of a painting at the same rate of development.
Sandy just told me she learned in her Renaissance art history courses that the infant Jesus always looks so weird in order to prefigure Christ’s death. I think that’s a fiction that comes from art historians never actually painting. Just try drawing a squirming, wailing baby—without photography, you’d have to drug the little darlings to get them to hold still. My mermaid is a little hackneyed, but her baby is coming along well. 

Baby’s cute. Mom needs work.

I have to leave in a few minutes to go teach at Schoen Place on the Erie Canal. There are no buoys there; there are (to my knowledge) no fresh-water mermaids either. Have a happy evening!

August and September are sold out for my workshop at Lakewatch Manor in Rockland, ME.  Join us in June, July and October, but please hurry! Check here for more information.
Oh, BTW, what did the sea say to the mermaid? Nothing. It just waved.