Home Port, 18X24,, $2318 includes shipping and handling in continental US.
I arrived at home, finally, at 5:43 yesterday evening. Iāve been gone for a long time and been to a lot of placesāto Manchester, Liverpool, Lancashire, Yorkshire, Edinburgh, Fife, and then home through Reykjavik and Boston. From there I went to Albany, NY, where I saw my family and collected my dog.
āWhy donāt you move to Vermont?ā my daughter asked me. (She knows I wonāt return to New York.) Iām extremely touched that my kids want me nearby, but I love my life here in Rockport.
When I was in Fife, I could feel my sinuses open with the sea air; I felt as if I were home again, for at least a few hours.
It was unbearably hot and humid on Wednesday in the Hudson Valley, reminding me powerfully of one reason I left New York. Itās just as cold in upstate New York as in Maine in the winter, but summers here are so much nicer. Itās that sea air, which moderates temperatures.
Yesterday morning, however, I hiked to a waterfall along Hannacroix Creek, where I let the dogs romp in the stream while I swatted mosquitoes. That reminded me of just how beautiful New York is. Itās a study in contrasts and always leaves me feeling conflicted.
Waterfall on Hannacroix Creek in Greene County, NY.
I arrived home to a beautiful thick fog and mizzle. It was 59Ā° F. and I could feel my dry skin relax and ease back into its usual healthy state. If you want to escape the heat of summer, I recommend Maine. (And if you paint, you can take one of my workshops.) If you have allergies, sea air is a balm.
I like Home Port for its view, but I also like its neighbor, a lovely lady whose house has figured in several of my paintings, including Forsythia at Three Chimneys. Sheās what I aspire to be at her age: self-reliant and forthright.
Downtown Rockport, 14X18, oil on archival canvasboard, framed, $1594 includes shipping and handling in continental US.
I treasure the time I get to spend with my friend Martha. Since she moved to Scotland it takes planning and effort to see her. And although we have great hiking trails in the US, there arenāt little pubs and hostelries along the way. Iām too old to carry my world on my back. Until I get a burro, my long hikes are going to be in other countries.
As much fun as this trip has been, however, Iām starting to feel a little homesick. This is the downtown block of my home village on the Maine coast.
I painted this with Ken DeWaard. Like everyone else, I can sometimes convince myself I can buy my way into better brushwork (or color, or texture, or whatever). This is, of course, a snare and a delusion.
I admire Kenās brushwork, so I decided I decided Iād see what he was using for brushes. Sadly, it was the same composite of new and old, pristine and slightly-sticky that was in my own kit. There are no silver bullets. (And nor is my brushwork so terrible; we just want what the other guy has.)
āWhat is that arc in the water?ā my husband asked. Itās the rooster-tail of a lobster boat coming in fast. That pegs the time as early afternoon.
Iāve been in Britain on another lovely, long, blister-inducing hike. Iāve turned my phone off and while Iām gone, Laura will be running the office. Just email me as usual if you have questions or problems registering for a class or workshop. (Who am I kidding? She fixes all that stuff anyway.)
I have to choose five paintings for jurying out of this mishmosh...
In the deep woods, the gender differences in theĀ pipi sauvage, the business of peeing in open spaces, is reduced. Menās clothing is designed for it; modern womenās clothes are not. (Yes, I have a SheWee; itās more trouble than itās worth.)
Laugh if you will, but this is a serious issue for women plein air painters. In the deep woods we can find privacy. In cities, there are coffee shops. On a 40-yard slope of open granite shelves, with the ocean on one side and luxurious homes on the other, theĀ pipi sauvage is a manās game.
Eventually, I found a small thicket of rose bushes. Unfortunately, I also dropped my keys without noticing.
Painting in Wednesday's rain. (Photo courtesy Mitch Baird)
āIām so sick of painting lavender skies,ā Janet Sutherland said. I laughed, because itās also my go-to solution for making grey days interesting. Eric Jacobsenās was to set up a dead-seagull still life. Itās a beautiful painting in the manner of Jamie Wyeth, but āit needs a special buyerā as we say delicately about paintings that are unlikely to ever sell.
Thatās why all of us at Cape Ann Plein Air (CAPA) were all thrilled to awaken Thursday to crystalline skies and clement air. I went to Cathedral Rocks, where I found Jonathan McPhillips, Mark Fernandez, Eric Jacobsen, and Mitch Baird. By eleven, I was regretting my long pants (which Rae OāShea had kindly laundered for me). Now, this was October weather!
Eric Jacobsen arranging a still life at Pigeon Cove. Poor juvenile gull.
By the time I was done with two paintings, my fellows had all wandered off to find subjects elsewhere. Thatās when I realized Iād lost my keys. I backtracked and searched under rocks and shrubs, praying hard. They were right where Iād dropped them.
That was the start of a day of small snafus. None of them had major consequences, but all required backtracking, searching, and recalibrating. Thatās just a sign of being tired, which is to be expected after a week of very long hours. The 35 artists in this show are blessed to do this for a living, and even more blessed to be in this prestigious event, but painting is also hard work.
On Thursday evening, we painted nocturnes in downtown Gloucester. I have a hard time with night painting, as my bedtime is 7:30 PM. And I was suffering from a preconceived idea (which is seldom good in plein air). It was born of the unseasonably-cold weather and Halloween decorations around town. I wanted to paint a ghost.
Rae OāShea kept me company. Itās not one of my most brilliant paintings (if I can be said to have ever painted a brilliant painting), but we had a great time figuring out how one paints a ghost. And if anyone says, āthatās not plein air!ā I challenge them to prove that wasnāt what we saw.
Jonathan McPhillips at Cathedral Rocks.
I wish I had more days to paint, because the schooner wharf at Harbor Loop is stunningāall cross angles and swooping curves. Unfortunately, we hand in our paintings today. I think Iāll take a small (9x12) canvas and frame into town with me. If I can sneak in one more painting before the flag goes down, Iāll do it.
My ghoulie set-up.
Not that this is a practical idea. Iāve already done a dozen paintings, with one wipe-out. The last thing I need is another. However, everywhere I turn, I see something else I need to paint. The combination of limpid autumn light, crashing surf, fishing fleets, and beautiful old buildings has me in visual overload.
The paintings from CAPA will be online later today. I will post an addendum as soon as I have a link.
