MinneSOta

Today was a driving day. Some are painting, some travel. I thought a lot about Minnesota, the state I was leaving. My first day there I visited one of my two best friends from high school (my other best is her twin) in Minneapolis. It is a clean city, a young city, a healthy one.  As we walked around the lake nearest her home, droves of fit people ran and roller-skied by. Trees line the streets and there is a park every 6 blocks. The city is so progressive that they even recycle compost. Honest. That night we had a simple dinner of salmon and fresh farmers market potatoes and beans laced with the most delicious sauce I've ever eaten, something that started with a white wine reduction.

The next day I jumped in my car after a succulent breakfast out with the family. After 2 1/2 hours, I checked in to a nondescript hotel in Duluth, then drove partway up the north coast of Lake Superior, looking for inspiration. It is a luxury to have a day of reconnaissance.

On Sunday I got up early and again took Highway 61 up the coast. I drove almost the whole length, not quite to Grand Marais, before I stopped for coffee and advice. The amiable Minnesotan suggested Palisades Head, where I found cliffs high above the lake, waves breaking on rocks far below. I painted there for four hours.  I have never met more interested and polite people in one place. There were couples and families and rock repellers and each person was more thoughtful and friendly than the one before.

It can be hard to start a painting with onlookers. I dove in determinedly, inspired by the clear color and big shapes. Time melted away and I packed up late in the day when the sun came out, revealing shadows heretofore hidden.

So now I am in the land of giant sky. The birches and pines of Northern Minnesota gave way to the wide open plains, remaining trees tugging on the ground, hanging on in stripes along the soybean fields. I told the gas station girl outside of Fargo that I had never been to North Dakota and that I was excited.  She looked at me without smiling and said, "Don't die from boredom."

Easel on Down the Road - Wisconsin

Ah... Wisconsin. I went to college in Wisconsin. I developed my love for beer in Wisconsin. I hitched-hiked and ate popcorn for dinner and saw Bob(s) Marley and Dylan in Wisconsin.  I returned to the state Wednesday after spending too much time trying to leave my home. I unwisely routed myself through Chicago during rush hour and landed at my friends' farm outside of Madison after an especially long and grueling turn around the lake.

A hot wind was blowing, old barn bones creaking.  Leigh Ellen greeted me with hugs and ebullience, her signature characteristic. She and her husband are part of my college family. We share the era when we were all free to dream and dream big. They have 8 acres, 2 horses, 2 outdoor cats, a golden lab and a kitten that tugs at the dog's ears and tail. The 150 year old farmhouse stands tall, it's original vanity burnished to a steadfast self confidence, clear in the knowledge of its purpose in the world.

The next morning I woke early, brought my coffee out to the porch and watched the rising sun wrap around a magnificent maple. My eyes wandered to some of the out-buildings: the corn crib, the hog barn, the little potting shed with greens growing out of the roof, but inevitably returned to the tree. It reaches up in every direction then back to the earth in a sweeping gesture of inclusion.

That tree would be the subject of my Wisconsin painting, yellowing soybean fields stretching out behind, a blue road diagonalling in from the right. I spent most of the day working on the full-sized canvas (24x30) and I like the final product. I may tweak it when I get back to my studio or I may leave the current energy intact.

Minnesota is next. I start in Minneapolis with a great friend from high school, also family to me, and her equally wonderful spouse. Then I head to the north shore of Lake Superior, anxious to find the view that reflects my wonder at nature's strength.

Easel on Past the Piano - Roadtripping at Home

Sometime in March I planned on traveling this week and picking up 3 more states. I had five days in a row off from work - just enough to paint in Ohio, Pennsylvania and possibly New York. I would fit in an evening near Pittsburg with one of my best buds from college, who put out the offer as soon as she saw my intent. (Thank you, Jules!)  I would hit the road and get back in time to do a pastel demo-fundraiser in Dowagiac on Saturday.

Sometime between then and now I realized I'm tired. I remembered how comfortable it is to paint in my large, airy studio. I saw the leaves twist their way out of hibernation and thought of all the gorgeous landscapes that are local that I haven't been able to paint since last fall. My decision was easy: stay home.

16x20 oil on canvas, from the Dunes State Park

My biggest challenge in this stationary travel plan was to apply the same rules to myself at home that I do on the road. Just paint and write. First, I kept all phone calls, meetings and miscellaneous errands to a minimum. (Impossible to eradicate completely.) I painted every day, both out in the dunes and here in the calm of my studio. I worked on local landscapes in person, from pastels and from photos. I painted some wonderful pieces and some awkward ones, but no matter what, I was productive.

What I did not do was go out and have dinner alone, thereby interacting with strangers. (Not that many strangers exist in a town this size!) Instead, I had dinner out with different friends every night, including another painter (great conversation), the mom of my daughter's dear friend (super to catch up), my divorced girlfriend pals (always things to talk about) and - definitely the most fun - my boyfriend. (We took his motorcycle cruising on the way to dinner; the clouds were stupendous, boasting their very best, teasing me to paint them.)

In the end I think my stay-at-home travels went well. I have an extensive trip planned for the fall but now that it is almost summer in Michigan, I may not wander too far. I learned that I can be just as focused and serious in my own town as I am when exploring the states and painting that journey.

Easel on Down the Road - Roadtripping with Angela, Part Two

I don't know how to write this blog entry.  I have started in my head many times but I am a week from the actual experience, and so - somewhat stymied. However, I am determined to soldier on; here goes.

The 2nd Leg of Easel on Down the Road was completely different from the first. (Remember that Florida did not qualify as a Leg.) Most disparate was having a traveling companion. Angela is not only a fellow plein-air-based painter but also a very good, old friend.  We drank wine together in Chicago when Gallo sold Hearty Burgundy for $5 a half gallon. I feel as normal as ever when I'm with her.  We forget things in equal amounts, we get muddled over numbers, we crave: more time to paint, good novels and gatherings of friends. Over the course of the week we discussed things like how to represent the weird-ass shapes of the mountains, what the heck color were they and how do you mix it? We talked about family and future, money and meals. We laughed, sometimes uncontrollably, and we painted, drove back roads and painted some more.

The only downside of having a companion was that the trip was too safe. We stayed in lovely guest houses and ate home cooked food. We were comfortable. There are advantages to this but, somehow, there is not as much to write about. I did not meet many strangers or interact much with local culture. The only occasion that brought me fear was eating ribs that were not fully cooked at a roadside stand. I did not find time to write and I realize now that I enjoyed writing so much the first Leg because I was lonely. Writing provided me companionship. 

 

I am not complaining! I would not change this trip one little bit. I cherish the time spent with such a dear friend. Priceless, also, was the hashing out of artistic quandaries with someone else crazy enough to pursue painting as a lifestyle. 

We painted in Virginia, West Virginia and Kentucky. I have 8 or 9 small paintings and have already been at work in the studio on prepping for the large versions. I'll put up pictures of the 3 when they're finished. My next small trip is unknown but I'll travel alone again and perhaps seek out a bit of edginess. 

Easel on Down the Road - 1st half of 2nd Leg, Road Tripping with Angela

This past Tuesday we drove all day and by 9pm found ourselves on a windy mountain road on the western side of Virginia. All day the GPS and the printed Google map were in conflict with each other and we thought we might never get there. We arrived in the dark; just down a steep hill was a little red building - a gallery that represents Angela - with a little guest cottage snugged into a hill at the back.

In the morning we drove east on 39, a narrow two-lane with switchback turns and electrifying drop-offs, worthy of a Hitchcock film. We painted in two locations, both with gentle mountains sleeping in the distance. We returned "home" by six and could barely stay awake long enough to eat dinner - homemade meatballs that came all the way from my freezer in Saugatuck.

Thursday we drove to Charlottesville and pulled into the drive of a lovely home with another lovely guesthouse. Barbara Buhr, the owner of Warm Springs Gallery, again found us beautiful accommodations. The temperature is much warmer here at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains and trees of all kinds are in bloom.We have painted the last two days at local wineries. "Le Blue Ridge" was small and intimate and there were cows in the nearby fields that became small black smudges in my landscapes. The owners are from Quebec and very friendly. 

Yesterday we found "The King Family Winery". We were challenged in finding a spot that would both welcome (or tolerate) our presence and provide shelter from the potential rain. The winery has a broad covered walk, running the length of the building, and a very nice staff that kept track of our progress throughout the day. We were privy to sweeping views with horses, cows and a sprawling colonial home in the distance. Unfortunately, the animals could not survive my paintbrush. 

Today we are heading to a nearby farm that is owned by an artist who paints cows. I want to paint cows! We will clean up, pack and head back to Warm Springs tonight. Tomorrow I may make my way into West Virginia to paint in that state, leaving Angela to find a landscape on foot in the little town, population 123, where Thomas Jefferson once imbibed in the healing powers of the naturally warm water.

More thoughts on painting; there are no mistakes in art.

Painting is a lonely sport. I was in the studio all day and enjoying myself but by 5 I was sick of it. Sick of the sludge that had mixed up - all by itself, of course - on the canvas. What happened to that fresh color, the unpredictable brush strokes, the perfect balance of control and freedom? Argh.

There are days when I connect to a universal energy that seems to swing my brush for me. Painting becomes a place to take chances, to take chances and win! There are no mistakes. There is only me, acting with clear focus and not thinking too hard. Just painting.

Then there are days when all I do is waste paint. I say to myself, "There are no mistakes in art. There are no rules." This is supposed to free my inhibitions. But it is too late.  The painting is already precious. The marks get smaller and more repetitive. The piece winds tighter and tighter till I have no choice but to scrape it all off. I think two things: I may only ever be an average painter. (Is that so bad? Does anyone care besides me?) And - tomorrow is another day.

Thank God I have wonderful friends who ask me over for beer and pizza and to meet their new boyfriend (cute!) because that took my mind off the swirling black hole of my artistic abilities. Now I am too tired to over-analyze any longer. It is clearly time for bed.

Some Thoughts on Painting

Art does not have rules.  This is nice. This is also odd at times. Regardless, I painted straight through today. It's all a song, a story, an energy. Really good painting is much more about the moment than anything else.  And, the moment encompasses all.

Recently, someone asked me why I would still be working at something that I had not been able to master in four years.  I have thought a lot about this. Oil painting is exciting because it is so allusive. I am frustrated and delightfully enticed at the same time. (Four years? That is no time!)