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Monday Morning Art School: can you paint in winter?

It was way below zero; the rough texture is because my oil paints froze; it was also cold enough for my battery to die. And of course I was out of cellphone range.

I’m being chased home to Maine by wind, rain and occasional snow; that means winter is just around the corner. Beginning plein air painters often wonder, can you paint in winter? Sure, if you take simple precautions.

Watercolor

Everyone knows that you can keep your paint water from freezing by adding vodka. The problem with vodka solutions isn’t getting the paint on the paper; it’s getting it to set up once it’s there. Alcohol evaporates faster than water. If you use vodka, expect softening as the painting warms up.

With watercolor in winter, you’re best off avoiding fine washes.

Ocean saltwater freezes at a 28.4°F. On a sunny winter day, that might be all the boost you need. The more salt you add, the lower the freezing temperature, but remember that salt is hygroscopic and changes the texture of watercolor paintings.

My palette and water basin are plastic, which cools more slowly than metal. Wrap them in an old scarf and slip a chemical handwarmer underneath. Bring hot water in a thermal flask and add it bit-by-bit to keep your water liquid. Don’t leave your brush standing wet in the cold; the bristles will freeze. If you can, keep them in your jacket pocket.

The problem with cold is not freezing so much as that nothing ever dries. Avoid sloppy wet washes and don’t overload your brush.

I was thinking of buying a cordless hair dryer, but Richard Sneary told me that in his opinion they’re not effective. “You’re better off getting in your car and turning up the heat,” he told me.

Of course, watercolor is compact enough that you can often paint from your car.

I was very grateful on this day for Eric Jacobsen’s wood fire.

Acrylics

The short answer is, just don’t. Acrylics need a minimum temperature of 50°F to cure properly. In extreme cold, acrylic paints become brittle and can crack.

Oils

The answer to “can you paint in winter” is always yes for oils.

While oil paint becomes stodgy as it gets colder, its linseed oil base doesn’t freeze until the temperature drops below -10°F. Odorless mineral spirits don’t freeze at all. That means oil paint can be handled through conditions that fox all other mediums.

I painted this years ago while waiting for my kid to finish swim practice. It’s long gone, but the photo always reminds me of that time.

Taking care of the artist

I hate cold feet and hands, so I wear insulated, waterproof snow boots when painting outdoors. Others stand on a scrap of carpet or cardboard. I slip handwarmers into the backs of my gloves. My buddy Eric Jacobsen carries around a small brazier in which he lights a scrap-wood fire.

I used to wear overalls, but they’re too cumbersome. Now I wear a waterproof, windproof jacket with layers underneath.

Consider working from a seated position. The closer you are to the ground, the less you’ll be buffeted by the wind. The best location is a sheltered, sunny corner. Work in short bursts to avoid hypothermia, and bring something hot to drink.

Winter is a great time to practice park-and-paint, but don’t forget to wear a high-vis vest and bring traffic cones.

Your car

I’ve killed my car battery in extreme cold, and I’ve gotten stuck in the slush on the side of the road. Inevitably, that happens when I’m out of cell phone range.

If you don’t already have one, get one of these little car starters and learn to use it. A high visability vest and traffic cones are important anytime you’re painting along the roadside, but especially in low-light situations.

Special online plein air show

Work from the 20th Annual Sedona Plein Air Festival is available in their special exhibits gallery and online here. I’ll have more to say on the subject later this week, but for now enjoy browsing!

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Great landscape painters

I’ve stopped to see Jane Chapin and Roger Gatewood on my way home from Sedona. They have an outstanding art collection; I contemplate it every time I visit. They’ve given me permission to share my favorite four paintings with you, which has somehow expanded to include 12 paintings by some great landscape painters. Thank you, Jane and Roger!

Bluffs of Rio Chama, 40X60, Clyde Aspevig. Your small device screen can’t capture the grandeur of this scene or its impeccable painting. Note how the foreground sage is a unifying design element.
Taos Pueblo, 16X20, Oscar Berninghaus. Nocturnes can be overwhelmingly dark, but Berninghaus exploits the hazy perception of twilight with low contrast. He went back to this subject again and again. The blue-green darkness quotes Frederic Remington’s nocturnes.
Study for Labourage Nivernais, 8X16, Rosa Bonheur. Bonheur was the most famous woman painter of her time, known for her paintings of animals. She did study after study for the final painting.
The Thaw at Mt. Rainier, 12X16, John Carlson. The simplification of form and value is lovely, as is the shape of the trees and how he allows them to break the frame. He’s one of America’s acknowledged great landscape painters for a reason.
Untitled landscape, 8X10, Len Chmiel. This is an abstraction reminiscent of Goya’s El Perro painting, or Wyeth’s Christina’s World. It’s all about that horizon line. Each of those huge shapes is composed of many hues, tightly tied in value.
Santa Fe Canyon, 24X30, Fremont Ellis. This painting is held together by the light shape of chalky green and tan in the foreground, which contrasts with the golden-yellow of the aspens.
California Colors, 12X16, Kevin Macpherson. This is maelstrom of brushwork and color. I love the negative space between the beautifully abstracted trees.
Sierra Lake, 27X34, Edgar Payne. With Payne, it’s all about the contrapuntal diagonals, big shapes and the lost-and-found edge.
Pueblo, 9X12, Sheldon Parsons. The blue in the background hills is anchored by the yellow-gold and peach in the foreground. It’s a great example of a split-complement color scheme.
Head of Golden Tears, 8X10, Carl Rungius. I love this for its loose brushwork and great color in the shadows.
Untitled, 14X20, Mian Situ. You can either have a lot of light punctuated by shadow, or a lot of shadow punctuated by light. This is another painting with great richness of hue in the shadow shapes.
Finally Home, 16X20, Jane Chapin. Jane’s two spaniels went walkabout and disappeared for weeks. This is a portrait she did when they finally returned home; it’s a narrative painting of deep affection and fabulous brushwork.

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Above Cody on the South Fork

One of the things I wish I had time to paint this week.

Last year Jane Chapin sent me a video of a ranch hand chasing a grizzly. “Get out of here, bear!” he kept shouting, moving fast along with his blue-heeler behind the scurrying bear. I assumed the man was on horseback, but today he told me he’d been on foot. He was doctoring an injured calf when the bear showed up. That took guts, but what else could he do?

This young man has the dapper mustache of a 19th century derring-do on a surprisingly young face. “Are the bears hibernating now?” I asked him.

“They never truly hibernate,” he told me. I guess that’s a myth they tell easterners to keep us visiting Yellowstone National Park in winter.

White out conditions above Cody, WY. Sometimes being a cowboy sounds romantic; other times it just seems like hard, cold work.

Monday night, he told me, a grizzly was nosing around the garage where two mule deer are dressed and hanging (he’s also gotten an elk this year). How did he know? “Grizzlies smell like really strong wet dog.”

Hunters in the Snow, not the Pieter Bruegel the Elder version.

Are brown bears and grizzly bears the same?

I always thought so, but apparently grizzlies are a subspecies of brown bears, which exist in temperate regions worldwide. But North American brown bear means grizzly.

I’m along the south fork of the Shoshone River for a few days before I head east again. Yesterday’s storm was the first snow I’ve encountered this season. It was a wild temperature swing from the heat of Sedona last weekend.

The temperature here at the ranch is always lower than it is in Cody proper. Last winter when I was here the temperatures dipped below -30° F. That week, I saw wolves loping across the meadow; this week, a coyote sped across the road in front of me. Down by the river yesterday, I surprised a golden eagle.

It was cold and damp and oh, so beautiful along the South Fork of the Shoshone River.

We took a slow, slippery drive up the South Fork of the Shoshone River looking for bighorn sheep. They’re always elusive, but it’s elk season and hunters have perhaps pushed them farther up the slopes. A string of mules waited patiently near the river.

As dusk began to fall and the snow continued to blow, three of Jane’s horses made a rather silly break toward the ranch road. The youngest, Roscoe, reminds me powerfully of my last horse, who could be sly. As Roscoe thundered up behind Jane, my heart was in my throat. At the last moment, she swung under the split rail fence.

This is a telephoto shot because Jimmy (the guy with the long ears) is way far away.

Sadly, I only saw Jane’s donkey (who is a middle-aged gentleman) from a distance. He’s hanging out by the river with new pals. “Jimmy, Jimmy Stewart!” I called vainly into the wind.

Yes, I am tempted to paint with every twist in the road, and my kit is right here. However, my time here is fleeting, and new experiences and friendship are both precious. I can always paint tomorrow.

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Monday Morning Art School: put down that selfie stick

Laura Martinez-Bianco at our campsite at Mathers Point in the Grand Canyon. Yeah, she’s tired.

Laura Martinez-Bianco, my husband and I left Sedona Arts Center at 2:05 PM Saturday, heading toward Mathers Campground at the Grand Canyon. The last time I did this was with painting student Kamillah Ramos two years ago. I had a pretty good idea that we’d arrive just as the sun threw the last light onto the rim of the canyon, and so it proved.

For the past quarter century, the world’s beauty spots have been infested by digital photographers. I first saw this in 2008 at Phillip Island in Australia, where the evening march of the fairy penguins to their nests was obscured by tourists jostling to grab the perfect shot. “It happens every time,” my Aussie cousin told me.

Our campfire and tent. Thank goodness for places with little light pollution.

The selfie stick and influencer-wannabes have made this worse. At Mathers Point, we could have tried to thread through the selfie photographers, but instead we just stood at the rim. “Pity the poor people at home who have to look at those vacation photos,” my husband commented about one particularly obnoxious man. “Hundreds of views of the same guy’s face.”

There’s more to life than your smart phone and selfie stick

Prior to 2000, people shot photos on film, which was expensive. When I visited the Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park in 1992, we shot three rolls of 36 exposures, or 108 images. Much more time was spent seeing than shooting.

Photography is so easy that pictures have become more about sharing on the internet than as a record for posterity. You can’t really see natural beauty through the screen of your phone, and nobody else is that interested in your vacation pictures. Yes, digital pictures are ‘free,’ but if you’re always looking at the screen of your phone, they steal the experience.

Cell phones sometimes annoy me, but they are great at identifying plants. This is an agave, or so sayeth the internet.

Your camera is making a sucker out of you

Last month, when the aurora borealis was peaking in North America, several people told me, “I saw them, but they weren’t as bright as I thought.” That’s because our expectation has been shaped by cell-phone photography. (I grew up in the Great Lakes region, and I’ve seen them many times.)

People will say, “I took that without a filter!” Unless you’re savvy enough to override the controls on your cell phone, it is, essentially, a filter. The aurora borealis looked brilliant on the internet because cell-phone (and digital) cameras automatically adjusted the exposure.

Who says I can’t cook? Oh, right, I do. (Photo by Laura Martinez-Bianco)

How modern photography has changed painting

It’s easy to oversaturate digital photography, and high chroma looks great on a video screen. That is in turn pushing modern painting into higher saturation. I like it, but it’s no more natural than my eyebrows.

Put down the camera… and the brush

“Do you want to go out at dawn to paint?” Laura asked me on Sunday morning. I had a long drive ahead of me, and, alas, we had to tear down our camp before hitting the road.

“Besides,” I told her, “My eyes and brain are tired.” Including all the events, Sedona Plein Air is nine days long, after all. Just like photography, the act of painting changes how you look at the world around you. I needed a reset.

I then drove hundreds of miles across the Kaibab Plateau and then north on US 89 between Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park, before finally hooking up with the interstate system. Since I was behind the wheel, I didn’t take a single photograph, but I saw dusty blue vistas that stretched forever, snow on high peaks, magnificent yellow cottonwoods, and hoodoos and hillsides scoured by the wind. It’s one of the most fantastic drives in this country, and it’s printed in my memory in a way that cell phone photos just can’t touch.

Sometimes, you have to put the phone—and the paintbrush—down and take time to just look.

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Things I noticed at Sedona Plein Air

A Road Less Traveled, Barbara Mulleneaux

Instead of looking at my paintings, I thought you might appreciate seeing some other work from the 20th Annual Sedona Plein Air Festival. This is hardly complete; some painters hadn’t hung much work before I shot these photos.

What interests me in painting? Color, composition, and a unique viewpoint. This is a smattering without critical analysis, but I hope you enjoy it.

Guillo, Barbara Tapp. Of course I love it; that’s my dog!
By the Lake, Hadley Rampton
Road to Adventure, Manon Sander
Enchanted Passage, Krystal Brown
Ain’t We Got Fun, Casey Cheuvront
Bruce Gomez
Laura Martinez-Bianco
Hai-Ou Hou
Breakfast, Tom Conner
Here is my wall of finished paintings. As you can see, I’ve encroached on Tom’s space. Tomorrow I’ll choose my three favorites for judging, and I’d love to hear your opinion.

By the way, all of these paintings are available through Sedona Arts Center, 928.282.3809.

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What am I looking for in an artist portfolio?

Dawn on Upper Red Rock Loop Road, 20X24, oil on canvas, available through Sedona Arts Center. Please excuse the awful photography. I haven’t remembered to photograph any of these before they were framed and hung.

Years ago, I took a master class from a nationally-known painter, through a nationally-known art institute. After a day, he asked his monitor, “who let these people in?” It was rude, but I saw his point. No effort had been made to ascertain whether students were competent to take a master class.

It was a waste of time and money for all involved. Neither the beginners nor the advanced painters benefitted, and the instructor was frustrated. (Not that I’m certain he had a lesson plan, but that’s another issue.)

I honestly can’t remember the title, but they were three cottonwood trees casting magnificent shadows. Available through Sedona Arts Center. And, yeah, I won an award.

I’m teaching an advanced painting workshop next June, and I don’t want to repeat that mistake. I’m reviewing portfolios now. I hate hurting people’s feelings, and I know that some people will find the portfolio review process painful. However, I owe it to everyone to be straightforward. All my workshops benefit students at more advanced levels. Many professionals (by which I mean people who are regularly selling paintings) have taken them and benefitted. However, this particular workshop is directed toward people with a specific foundation in process and design.

If you need more fundamentals and you’re an oil painter, you can take my online Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters.

This was a very enjoyable painting to do. They’re cottonwoods along the Verde River. Am I in a tree mode? I think so. Available through Sedona Arts Center.

What am I looking for in an artist portfolio?

  • Are the fundamental orders of operations of painting (which differ for different media) understood and respected?
  • Does the artist understand color theory?
  • Does the artist understand the fundamental rules of composition?
  • Is there mastery of technique?
  • Is there a coherent value structure?
  • Is there developed brushwork?
  • Is there consistency?

Don’t let that intimidate you

I’ll be absolutely honest with you about whether you should take this workshop or another one, but don’t let fear dissuade you. Many of you are finer painters than you realize.

I had an epiphany courtesy of Laura Bianco this week. She has been telling me for several years that she doesn’t care about the judging, or the competition. I found that difficult to understand until today. I suddenly realized that all that matters is that I’m here. Considering how long it’s taken me to arrive at that home truth, I can’t expect you to suddenly buy into it, but I promise I’ll write more about it later.

Country Road, 14X18, available through Sedona Arts Center. This is my favorite painting so far.

However, cut me some slack, timewise

I’m in the middle of a very long event, the 20th annual Sedona Plein Air Festival. I’m trying to get to emails and texts, but it’s an uphill slog. I spent 14 hours (you heard that right) on Dawn on Upper Red Rock Loop Road this week, and I’m beat.

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Monday Morning Art School: plein air festival etiquette

Country Road, 14X18, oil on archival canvasboard, available through Sedona Arts Center.

There is something about Casey Cheuvront and Upper Red Rock Loop Road. Last year, a woman parked herself in front of Casey and gave her clients a long spiel about the magnetic energy of the rocks, while rolling magnets around on a metal plate. Another guide occupied the same spot to talk about ley lines. It’s distracting to have people looming in front of you, obscuring the view.

On Saturday evening, Casey, Ed Buonvecchio and I set up to paint the sun dropping over Sedona. We were careful to follow the etiquette of a plein air festival, which includes:

Snoopy in the shade, 8X10, oil on birch, available through Sedona Arts Center.
  • Respect the venue, and follow any rules;
  • Don’t disturb others’ enjoyment of the natural surroundings;
  • Don’t plant yourself in the middle of a path;
  • Clean up after yourself;
  • Engage with interested passers-by;
  • Be considerate of other artists. This means giving fellow artists space to work, and not getting in their sightlines.

Casey was tucked into the shadow of a juniper, painting the sunset. A swarm of photographers suddenly surrounded her. It was a workshop. Despite there being tens of thousands of acres of open land around us, and paths leading in every direction, they were packed so tightly around Casey that she didn’t have room to move.

Hailstorm over Coxcomb, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, available through Sedona Arts Center.

“Do you mind?” the instructor asked. “We’ll only be a few minutes.” Forty minutes later, they finally shoved off, but the light, and the moment, had passed.

It all starts with drawing

“You don’t always do a value drawing, do you?” Ed asked me. On the rare occasions when I skip one, I regret it.

Unfinished painting of dawn. I spent a morning sketching options, a morning transferring my best sketch by grid. I’ll start adding color this morning.

I’ve been going out at 6 AM to paint the dawn. In two days, I’ve done several sketches and gotten my final idea transferred to canvas. (I still have some foreground issues to work out.) My canvas is gridded because, yes, I do a value drawing and then transfer it to my canvas.

That proved very handy last evening as the shadows changed by the minute. I was able to reference my drawing when the light had gone. When you think you don’t have time for a value drawing is when you need it most.

Painted at the speed of light, 11X14, oil on birch. I haven’t decided if it’s finished.

Show ponies

Hadley Rampton and I were sitting on a fence watching the scrum at our first quick-draw. “I think plein air festivals are like the rodeo,” I mused. “We all know each other, we all go around the same circuit, we compete for the same prizes.”

“I’ve thought about that,” she responded, “but I think we’re more like show ponies.”

And on that note, I’m off to paint the dawn again. I’m sorry these missives are so brief, but plein air festivals mean long days of painting.

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Bypassing almost all of America

For much of its route, Rt. 66 has been obliterated and bypassed by I-40.

There are around 35 cities named Springfield in the United States, and I feel like I’ve been through most of them this week.

In fact, I only bagged five: Massachusetts, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, and Missouri. I’m in Sedona, AZ for the 20th Annual Sedona Plein Air Festival, after driving more than 3000 miles in 4.5 days.

I asked the internet why Springfield is such a popular place name in the US, and the answers were all over the map. Springfield, MA was a major manufacturing area during much of our push westward, and so the name might reflect the optimism that one’s little settlement could be another powerhouse community. Or, they might have been named after the 16 Springfields in Great Britain. In some cases, there may even have been springs located in fields.

Holbrook, AZ, where I turned south for Phoenix, is a lovely pocket of mid-century Americana.

Springfield, Illinois is forever associated with Abraham Lincoln, and although I didn’t stop at his National Historic Site on this trip, I’ve visited it before. I missed his boyhood home in the Pigeon Creek Community, and I regret sailing past the Petrified Forest National Park at dawn. But needs must when the Devil drives, which my husband might think is preferable to my lead foot.

I did take a few minutes to drive down legenday Rt. 66 through Tucumcari, NM. It was a disappointment. Much better midcentury charm was to be had in Holbrook, AZ, and it was right on my way to Phoenix.

On that note, I’m off to get my boards stamped for the festival, and I’ll see you all on Monday.

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The busy work of professional artists

Deadwood, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

“Non-creatives underestimate how much time we spend on non-creative tasks to support our creative output,” artist Cheryl Shanahan recently told me. She was varnishing paintings at the time, but I’ve been thinking about her comment this week. I’m in the middle of a 41-hour drive from Rockport, ME to Sedona, AZ for the 20th annual Sedona Plein Air Festival.

“But that’s on you, Carol,” you may be thinking. Over the past three years, it’s taken 24 hours for me to travel by air from my house to my friends’ house in Phoenix. That includes getting up in the middle of the night to drive down to Portland, layovers, and time spent foozling around renting a car. Driving may add another 16 hours, but when I get there, I have my own car, my own dog, and even my own chair.

And, rather annoyingly, last year my entire painting kit (retail value, ~$600) disappeared somewhere between Sky Harbor’s car rental return and my gate.

Beautiful Dream, oil on archival canvasboard, $1449 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Two winters ago, my son and I contracted COVID in West Yellowstone, MT. Given a choice of feeling horrible in a hotel room for ten days or driving home and feeling horrible in the car, we elected to zip back to his apartment in New York, taking turns sleeping and driving. I learned a few things on that trip, including that COVID is slightly less horrible in a car than in my bed. Just as importantly, America is prettier on the ground than from the aisle seat of a plane.

I’m not planning on getting sick on this trip, but I still had a lot of prep work to do before leaving. That included closing my gallery for the season and wrapping and storing paintings. I won’t be home until early November, after all. In addition, I prepared archival painting boards, matched them to frames, made sure I had enough paint, and sorted and packed my tools and clothes.

I’m luckier than most because I have a 3-day-a-week administrative assistant. But even with that, non-creative tasks often threaten to swamp me. In addition to the Cheryl’s varnishing and my travel, here are some of the things professional artists do that you never see:

Preparing classes and workshops: I love teaching, both on Zoom and in person at workshops, but there’s a lot of lesson planning involved. Some of my students have been with me a long time, and I refuse to feed them warmed-over instruction.

Marketing and Promotion: I’ve had to learn things like SEO the hard way. While Laura manages my promotional materials, website and Google visibility, this blog is still 100% written by me, three days a week. The oldest posts on this platform are from 2007; I don’t know how much earlier I started it.

The Wreck of the SS Ethie, oil on canvas, 18X24, $2318 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Boring old admin: Someone has to read contracts, invoices, and routine emails. Worse, someone has to file state and Federal tax forms.

That includes paying the bills and keeping accurate records, which I do twice a month.

Art handling: Preparing artwork for exhibition includes framing, packaging, and transportation. And you don’t necessarily do it just once—frames get damaged in transit, or by people knocking into them. And they go in and out of style.

Documentation: We used to send work to professionals to be photographed and wait to get slides back. The modern artist photographs his or her own work and maintains records of sales and exhibitions.

Midnight at the Wood Lot, oil on archival canvasboard, $1449.00 framed includes shipping and handling within continental US.

“How long did it take you to do that painting?” is one of the most common questions we’re asked. We like to answer, “a few hours, plus the sixty years I’ve spent learning my craft.” A more accurate answer would include all that back-office work that you, the buyer, never see at all.

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Monday Morning Art School: the beautiful randomness of nature

Surf’s Up is 12X16, on a prepared birch surface. $1159 includes shipping and handling in the Continental US.

Sea and sky

“You’ve used the term stochastic process twice this week,” one of my students told me. “What does it mean?” It means that the outcome is random, but vaguely predictable. There are too many variables to know exactly what’s going to happen.

Waves are an example of a stochastic process. Sitting on the shore and watching how they repeat, we realize they’re never exactly the same. But they’re close enough to see general patterns.

High Surf, 12X16, oil on prepared birch painting surface, $1159 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Waves are generated by wind interacting with the surface of the water. Variations in wind speed, direction, and duration create a range of wave heights, patterns, and surface textures. Waves often interfere with each other, leading to more complex patterns.

Add to that the tide, currents, and the impact of storms. Science can model an average wave, but it can never tell you what the next wave is going to look like.

That’s why it’s so helpful to paint waves from life. In real life, you can bend them to your wishes, making them subservient to composition. In photos, moreover, there are ellipses and borders that are invisible to the naked eye.

The problem with copying these borders and ellipses in a painting is that they’re generally too fast to be seen with the naked eye.

Clouds are another natural phenomenon that is stochastic. Their formation is influenced by atmospheric conditions including temperature, humidity, and wind patterns. These often change rapidly and unpredictably, and that skews clouds’ shapes, sizes and densities. Topography also influences cloud formation, which is why I’m more likely to see a lenticular cloud in Wyoming than at my house.

Again, that’s helpful to the artist. Assuming you have the fundamentals right, cloud distribution can be a compositional element.

Sunset over Cadillac Mountain, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 includes shipping and handling.

Fractals

A fractal is a complex geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is a reduced-scale copy of the whole. Fractals are endlessly complex; you can continue to zoom in and discover new patterns without ever reaching a smooth or simple edge. Fractals are found in many natural phenomena, including:

  • The branching pattern of trees right down to twigs and leaves;
  • The crystalline structure of snowflakes;
  • The irregular shape of coastlines;
  • The rough, jagged profiles of mountain ranges;
  • The branching pattern of lightning;
  • The fronds of ferns.

Fractals, by the way, are why nobody can ever tell you the exact length of the coastline of Maine. The smaller the unit you use to measure, the more inlets and points there are, so the distance just seems longer and longer.

The pine nursery (Madawaska Pond), 12X16, oil on canvasboard, available.

Spirals

A spiral is a curve which emanates from a point, moving farther away as it revolves. Many sea and snail shells are logarithmically spiral, as are many plant parts, including sunflowers and pinecones.

There are spiral galaxies, and hurricanes follow a spiral pattern. Of course, our own DNA is a double helix, which is a double spiral.

The Fibonacci Sequence gives us a spiral that’s been used as a compositional tool for centuries. It’s closely related to the Golden Ratio. They both work because they divide space in ways that’s not easy for the human mind to parse.

Fooled you

Are you one of those artists who ‘can’t do math’? You’ve just followed three mathematical concepts. They didn’t hurt you one bit, and they’re important for observing and representing nature.

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