Ohio

I know Ohio. I have driven across the top and down the middle many, many times. I have bicycled hundreds of miles along the Sciota River. When I think of an Ohio landscape I see a white barn with its bald silo planted in the flat green expanse. I see an old farmhouse set in a pocket of trees, hugging a golden field.

And so, I decided to paint an urban landscape. Last month, driving home from New England on 90, I was pleasantly surprised by the sweep of the highway along Lake Erie, Cleveland's downtown deceptively touchable. I had not painted a skyline since I lived in Chicago 30 years ago and it was about time.

I found a small park on the lake just east of downtown. It was next to a marina and enjoyed by local fishermen and others who want to contemplate the lake's horizon. I got there by 11:00 and strolled around, looking for the most interesting view of the city. I set up with the docks underlining a cluster of buildings.The clouds sailed in and my composition was complete!

I had good energy but it was cold and the wind built as the clouds massed. I felt uncomfortable with my surroundings. Was this a dangerous place for a woman alone? I didn't think so but I couldn't be sure. Drawing the skyline took exacting attention which I could not muster. I outlined the shapes and filled in color with shivery strokes. Several men stopped to talk or take pictures. They were pleasant enough. But slowly I became so distracted that I stopped looking - death to a plein air! After 90 minutes, I packed up and headed to the Cleveland Museum of Art. If I couldn't make a good painting, I could certainly learn from others.

I put an hour on the street meter, just the right amount of time to dance through the Modern Galleries before the long drive home. I love to go to a museum alone. I sweep from painting to painting and only stop when one grabs me. I am always on the lookout for a Matisse or Van Gogh that I've never seen. I was rewarded by one of each. But what really arrested me was a female nude by Gauguin. "In the Waves" was simple and abstract, the woman diagonal across the canvas, surrounded by a rather raw green. Curls of white wave-caps connected her to the edges. It took my breath away!

And so, this Ohio experience was complete. I headed home, planning on finishing Cleveland in the peacefulness of my own studio.

Easeling on Down the Road in New York State

I reached Ithaca, New York Monday afternoon. I had taken the "short" route through Canada on Sunday so that I could visit with my nephew, Brendan, and his family on the way. Always industrious and never boring, they were pressing apples into cider when I arrived.

In Ithaca, Sam (brother to Brendan) and his partner were waiting for me in their charming, art-filled home. Sam and I went hiking to scout for painting places while Nick graded papers for his class at Cornell. That night we walked down the block to a simple, elegant restaurant where I enjoyed butternut-lime soup and a beet salad.

Tuesday was warm. Sam headed to NYC early and I made thick, press-pot coffee. After a fruitful discussion with Nick over peanut butter toast, I jumped into the Fit and drove just 12 minutes to the Robert Treman State Park. The lower trail led along steep, stoney cliffs and I gasped when I rounded the corner to see a man-made bridge high above rushing water, neatly fitted into the vertical shims of rock. I set up quickly, intending to paint this unique dialogue. It was hardly 10 am and the only other people there were masons, repairing the rock path.

My heart was racing. The water below was loud and the sound pounded through my veins. This was a difficult view. All of the colors were in the same family! I squinted to find the differences in value. I sketched the big shapes, then washed the darks in with a thin, warm grey. It looked good at this point - like a big, loose watercolor - and I felt the urge to stop. (Maybe this was the best it could be!) I continued.  

As I worked, I relaxed. The magic soaked in. This was a home to fairies, wood creatures, elfin beings. I filled my lungs with the turbulent air. Those negative ions - so much energy! Some people passed, their gate muffled by the river, cameras slung over their shoulders. One photographer took several pictures of me working (and generously emailed them to me later). Others paused to smile and note my progress.

Photo courtesy of Kurt Rhymestine

By 1:00 (my intended departure time), I was deep into defining the darker details. I slowly scraped the palette  at 1:30, cognizant of the long drive ahead. 

One of the masons was watching me. We chatted as I packed up. During the basketball season he plays exhibition games for the team that opposes the Harlem Globetrotters. What a job! He was looking forward to an upcoming event in Japan. He cheerfully offered to help carry the cart loaded with easel, supplies and the wet painting. This was a very welcome kindness, as the uneven path back to my car included several sets of stairs.

"Easel on Down the Road" has afforded me all kinds of personal perks. I spend time with family and friends in their own homes, a luxury to savor later. I meet people who are interesting and unique, with their own stories to unfold. And, I am often the recipient of unexpected generosity from strangers. Life does not get much better than this!

Easel on Down the Road - the New England states are finished!

I have finished the New England states. They came home is fairly rough shape, as this was the first trip with my new trailer and I need to tweak its wet-painting-storage-system. For one thing, styrofoam is not a good space-holder. It has the right amount of give but it wants to disintegrate into little white balls that absolutely love wet oil paint! I sanded every painting when I got home, due to this added texture. Also, my shelves were not quite tight enough so some paintings slipped and hit the ones below, leaving dents. A little water sprayed on the back fixed these imperfections. Despite these problems and some smudged paint, all of these pieces had great "bones" with which to work. I referenced images of the sites but mostly I just used what was already on the canvas, adding the richness of thicker paint while keeping the colors and values the same.  As I reworked each one, I recalled the place I stood and greatly enjoyed the memories this produced.

Connecticut - The Thimble Islands

Rhode Island - Colt State Park

Massachusetts - Parker River National Wildlife Refuge

Maine - Quoddy Head State Park

New Hampshire - The White Mountains

Vermont - Green Mountain National Forest

The last New England Easel - VT

Vermont is gorgeous! Even in the rain. Tuesday morning I crossed the bottom of the state on Hwy 9 and found a diner tucked into the valley. I sat on a crookedy stool and read a local paper while waiting for the weather to clear. The coffee was strong and the people were quiet. I read a story about a covered bridge that was swept away in the storms of Hurricane Irene and finally replaced. I watched two biker chicks in leather chaps, flannel shirts and long braids come in and order breakfast. Mother Nature was making me slow down.

Good thing, cause travel is tiring. I needed to find a quiet place to paint without an audience. Back in the car, still heading east, I passed through Wilmington, a quaint little town. The Green Mountain National Forest was just ahead, then the state ends. Mist clung to the low hills and I crossed many a rocky stream that called out to be painted. The problem was - where? And then I saw a dead end road and pulled in. I parked and climbed down the hill. It was still overcast but I had found my spot, protected from the elements under the two lane highway. I began to draw.

The composition was challenging. I forgave myself for not fitting the mountains in and concentrated on the moving water. The gurgling was entrancing but I was dead tired. As the sky cleared and clouds blossomed, the light kept changing as if someone was clicking a switch on and off. Were the rocks pink or blue-grey? Argh! I put colors down, not really caring. This piece would never survive. I had a disaster on my hands but I continued, in the effort to cover up all white.

And then something happened. I got lost in the process and my exaughstion disappeared. The paint began to cooperate and I stared making sense of the space. Aside from the occasional truck rumbling above me, my location felt suddenly serene. 

After three hours I called it good and packed up my stuff for the last time this trip. I liked what I had done and was ready to head home. I had no definite place to stay that night so I just got on the road and drove. The late afternoon light was exquisite. Highway 90 across the state of New York provides the most awesome views of the Hudson River Valley. Now I understand why all those painters were drawn here so long ago.

"Live Free or Die" in New Hampshire

Now that's a slogan! I drove here yesterday from my cousin's cozy and fanciful home in Maine. It was a beautiful journey through hilly back roads. In the late afternoon I pulled into an old fashioned motor lodge on Hwy 302, near the foothills of New Hampshire's White Mountains. After cleaning up and unhitching my trailer, I cruised into town and found a local steakhouse where the people were talkative and the burgers - superb. A particularly interested gentleman gave me great advice on a working location. A rest stop just five miles up the road had ample parking, clean bathrooms and a view of the Presidential Range, Mt. Washington at its apex.

I drove there right after coffee this morning and was working by 9 a.m. I've never started that early while on the road. The day was cool and clear. People wafted by. Everyone was enjoying the incredible view and I heard from many that the summit was almost never visible... only 13-22 days a year! I reveled in my morning energy (many times I drive 1-2 hours before painting). Every aspect of this episode was completely gratifying.

I painted for nearly five hours - such a luxury - then drove into Southeastern Vermont in the afternoon, in preparation for a morning of painting near Wilmington.

Easel on Down the Road in Maine

I woke on Saturday, anxious to get back to painting. Allen's motorcycle was pointed home and I was headed in the opposite direction - Lubec, Maine. I had been told that the best Maine lighthouse was at Quoddy Head State Park, facing the islands of Canada and just ten minutes from one of my dearest friends and relatives, cousin Steph. 

I got to the park by eleven, expecting the place to be deserted, as I'd taken the only road north, turned on the only road east and stopped at the end of a long peninsula. But it was "open lighthouse day" and there was already a line of people waiting to climb to the top.

No wonder - the lighthouse is a beautiful, old, brick structure, built in 1898 (replacing the original 1808 building). It is on the easternmost point of land in the US, stretching into the Bay of Fundy. I made the wise decision to go inside the house and look at art by some of the best known Maine painters. Edward Hopper's reproduction caught my eye as a good way to solve the compositional problems of capturing such a monolithic form.

I was nervous. I hadn't painted for six days and I was a bit tired after the week's vacation and a two hour drive (the Honda felt like a luxury mansion compared to the motorcycle, though I missed the bite of wind and the rush of fear that riding it engenders). 

I walked partway down the hill, found the closest spot that was out of the cool breeze and unfolded my easel. Putting colors on the palette made me feel more confident. I began to draw with thinned paint. I ran the tower's spire off the top of the canvas, right of center, and let just a portion of the attached house show. (Thank you, Hopper!) Drawing took a lot of focus, as there is no faking a lighthouse. But, once it was done, I could relax and fill in color.

Throughout this process, people stopped to talk in a nice, easy-mannered way. Most began by asking if they could take a look. Some wanted to speak of their own endeavors and others were genuinely curious about my motivation and methods. I went from feeling like a performing monkey to enjoying the flow of humanity.

The whole thing went pretty well, given its challenging nature. I stayed three hours. I used a big paintbrush and once the canvas was covered, I packed up. No good can come of overworking a wet painting! I think the values are accurate and I hope I can retain the freshness once I clean it up a bit and throw in a tad more detail.

Motorcycle Interlude

When I was 4, my sister and her husband took me on the el to downtown Chicago to see the newly released "Mary Poppins" in a huge theater. This was the biggest thing that had ever happened to me. Halfway through the movie "Intermission" came up on the screen and music played and we went into the lobby and bought eclairs from behind large, lit windows. I mean - wowwwww.

Currently, I am experiencing an intermission from "Easel on Down the Road" that is knocking my socks off. In Maine, Allen and I consolidated our stuff, hopped on his motorcycle and, after one day of hiking in Acadia National Park, crossed the border into Canada (we were flagged and had to speak with an officer who looked up our immigration status) at St. Stephens. We spent the next day and night in Alma, on the Bay of Fundy. This is the view from our hotel room. I mean - WOWWWWWW!

We motored to Prince Edward Island the next day. The 8 mile bridge was the longest I'd ever been on. Near the middle, the seagulls looked big and the land looked small... on both sides. Today we took a sea coast tour of the northern loop on the island. Farms roll right down to the water's edge: round hay bales, horses, cows, potato fields... all able to gaze at the Northumberland Strait. It smelled like mussels, just steamed. We made our way to the lighthouse at North Cape.

 

Behind us were windmills. Ahead, the gigantic Gulf of St Laurence; we were at the northern-most tip of PEI.

Yes, this is one amazing interlude. We head back into the states tomorrow and I resume my painting quest the following day, happy to have had this exact adventure in the middle of "Easel".