Easel on Down the Road to Illinois

When I got in the car last week, I was not sure I would drive the 2 and 1/2 hours to Chicago. I had just received a text from one of my all-time best friends, Mary: the Skyway was closed due to 60 mph wind gusts. Now, I am a brave driver, with lots of trust in my car, but it is a dinky, little Honda Fit and I could just picture it plucked off the bridge, the way of Dorothy. I decided I would go as far as the bank (4 miles) and try and catch Mare on the phone. The wind was bending the trees along Blue Star Highway and pitching leaves and bits of branch in every direction. Allen (when consulted) said, "Execute Plan B!" But - dang it! - weather has not stopped me once in 48 states... how could I let it affect the easiest destination of all?

I made the drive just fine, keeping my eye on double-semis as I maneuvered the steering wheel to balance the wind's push. I headed directly to Mana Contemporary in the Pilsen neighborhood on the south side of the city. 30 years ago I lived spitting distance away in the center of an artists' enclave. It felt like going home.

The old freight elevator dropped me on the 5th floor in an large area with tables and chairs. There was a gallery on one side, an art library next to it. Hallways branched out in several directions. One of the tall metal doors was open and I glimpsed a huge canvas with giant gestural paint strokes. I found Eddie, one of my besties from Saugatuck, in his bright sculpture studio around the corner. I lugged my gear inside and saw a magnificent view of the Loop through a bank of windows on the back wall. The Sears Tower (I refuse to remember its new name) sat solidly in the foreground, clusters of buildings like blocks at its feet. Wowzer! Eddie gave me a big hug and introduced me to the artists that were preparing lunch on a stove in the corner. I joined them for their midday meal of deep-fried egg yolks on spinach and pasta. (Yum!)

While I enjoyed chatting with others in the same profession as myself, I was anxious to start painting. I have recorded the Chicago skyline in any number of mediums throughout my life and I know it takes vigorous focus to render it in a believable fashion. Plus, I was surrounded by artists of all kinds who were successful enough to afford a studio in this amazing community. My heart pounded.

I calmed myself by sketching on paper. These were non-organic shapes in a certain order. All I had to do was look! Soon, I painted the outlines on canvas, carefully stretching the Sears Tower from top to bottom, not unlike the lighthouse I painted in Maine a year ago. I kept the colors to warm and cool grays, mixing with only ultramarine blue, burnt orange, yellow ochre, medium red and white. When the buildings were filled in, I splurged with cobalt blue and a medium yellow to swing the clouds around them. Done... for now!

It was with great relief that I piled my stuff into my car and headed west towards LaGrange. Mary and Mark live in a delightful home, simple and surprising design playing lightly throughout the rooms. We ate chicken vesuvius, drank red wine and laughed by a roaring fire. The next day I was flying to Austin to visit Peter; I would leave my car at their house for the weekend. Visiting my son bookends "Easel on Down the Road", as a trip to see him was the first in this series.  

And so, I had a superior experience in Illinois, the state where I was born and raised. Exceptional people provided me with space, comfort and convenience. I filled up on friendship and food. As I near the end of this project, I realize that if love is the wealth of life, I am very rich indeed!

Alaska, the 2nd half

Alaska was: gentle, kind, rugged, wet, foreign and yet familiar. The smell of pines took hold of my nose the moment we stepped through the airport doors. Mountains ringed us wherever we went. The drive from Anchorage to Soaring Eagle Lodge was stupendous; we snaked between mountain ranges and along rivers the color of turquoise. Cotton clouds clung to distant volcanoes. I could hardly remain calm as I looked at all the unique beauty, waiting to be painted.

The second half of our week mirrored the first in its adventure content. Traveling with Allen is not like traveling alone. I feel safe, for one thing. And I do stuff I might not otherwise. Like ocean fishing. We boarded a 30' aluminum boat as the sun rose. It held 6 of us comfortably, that is - until we slammed through the waves to get out into open waters. Captain Mike was a grouch! It didn't help that I had never fished in my life, much less for halibut. He swore under his breath when I asked for a lifejacket demonstration. (Well, they could have been different than those we use on Lake Michigan!)

Actually fishing, however, was exhilarating. We put 3 pound weights on the line to hold it near the bottom and drifted. The captain twisted octopus around the fish bait in order to keep it on. Reeling one up - holding the pole in one hand and turning the crank with the other - was difficult, to say the least. My noodle-strength arms really let me down. Eventually, Mike showed me how to put the pole in the rod-holder on the side of the boat. Maybe he was not such a bad guy after all. Once  the fish flopped on the deck - so odd looking, like a Picasso painting, with its side also its top, two eyes in asymmetrical balance - I closed mine rather than watch the captain club it. In the end, we all caught our limit. Allen and I flew home with almost 70 lbs of fish! Entertaining is definately in our future.

On our last full day there, we took a National Parks Fjords Cruise out of Seward. I was positive that it would be cancelled because the seas had been too high to go the day before. My heart soared as we boarded. I wanted to see glaciers up close and personal. We claimed half of a table on the port side, top deck, and I immediately set up watercolors. The captain stopped and circled areas where there were whales in a cove and then sea lions lazing in the sun, an eagle perched high atop a grassy rock, otters twirling in the water. Her slowed pace allowed me time to do simple pencil sketches and then watercolor them. I was in heaven.

That evening we returned to the cabin for the last time. We ate and drank well, preparing for a good night's sleep prior to a red-eye. The next morning when I opened the curtains, I could hardly believe what I saw. Mount Iliamna was out in all her glory - one giant white shape against a clear morning sky. Wow! Up until then, the volcano had been mostly hidden in clouds and hardly available to paint. But here she was - real and magnificent! I glanced at the time, looked over my shoulder at Allen, then whipped out my watercolors. I was takin her down! woo hoo! In less than 10 minutes I recorded the basic essence, a powerful presence, revealing herself at last. Ah!

Now I am home and Alaska feels like a long time ago (though less than a week). This trip was unlike any other; it was a true luxury to spend time getting to know the "last frontier" (even just a teeny bit)! And now, I have only two states left to paint. Part of me is thrilled to be almost done. The rest of me will be sorry when "Easel on Down the Road" is over.

Alaska - Part I

I am sitting in a little cottage between Allen, who is reading on the couch, and a roaring fire. We look out upon a green lawn that ends abruptly at a bluff overlooking Cook Inlet, which - at this moment - is a wall of white-grey mist. Yes, September is the rainy season in this part of Alaska! Who knew. If we could see through the fog, the Chigmit Mountains, part of the Aleution Range, would be rising on the distant shore. But, never fear, every night since our arrival, the mountains have materialized right around sunset. Last night they appeared long enough for me to do a small watercolor of them.

For this "Easel on Down the Road" trip, I did not pack my oil painting supplies. I brought many sizes of high quality watercolor paper instead, and spent some real money on a sable brush. Yesterday Allen fished for halibut while I roamed the area, looking for good sites to paint.  The clouds hung low and thick as I left him at the Fishing Charter office at 7 am. But, just north of Homer, the road rises and a pull-over provided a magnificent view of the glacier-covered Kenai Mountains poking through.

On our first full day here, we kayaked around Yukon Island, part of the Alaskan Wildlife Preserve. The harbor in Homer is full with heavily-rigged fishing boats. We cut through Kachemak Bay on a small water taxi with 10 other hopefuls. Once there, Allen folded into the rear of a two-person kayak, I plopped in the bow and we were off! Our guide was a 30-something, soft-spoken man with deep brown eyes, an auburn pony tail and a big hipster beard. He provided a wealth of information, detailing the history and geology of the area and directing our attention to the amazing wildlife: otters, seals, waterfowl, jellyfish, whales spouting in the distance. The rock formations were breathtakingly unique. Our silent slice through time was exhilerating. We hardly noticed the rain!

On this, our 4th day in the state, we are taking it easy, having walked off a big breakfast (this place came stocked with lots of good food) on the beach that is well below us. We embarked halfway between low and high tides, scrambling over wet rocks and dark "sand". Much of the Kenai Peninsula is comprised of coal. (Our kayak guide told us they were lucky it was not a high quality coal, or this place would be ribbons of ruins by now.) The first bald eagle we saw sat high above us on a dead tree. Our presence seemed to make little difference to him. The next, who was just down the shore, changed perches as we passed below him. We saw more as we continued, most of whom were large, immature eagles, fishing in a stream that runs into Cook Inlet.

During the rest of this week I plan to continue finding vistas to watercolor. Upon return I will decide which piece will be the basis for the oil painting of Alaska. Yet to come: my first attempt at ocean fishing and then a day excursion to see the Kenai Fjords and ocean wildlife on the other side of the peninsula. Stay tuned...

Nebraska - #47

Nebraska - the Cornhusker State - smack in the middle of the country, the heart of the great plains, boasts Kool Aid as its official soft drink. It is my last state in this, my final extended road trip, and I was prepared to be underwhelmed.

When I crossed the border from Wyoming, the hills stretched into smooth, flat fields. I stopped halfway through the state in Kearney, as I had found a modest house on a quiet street in which to stay. After consulting the map, I visited a park that took up a large green rectangle at the edge of town. Yanney Heritage Park is indeed huge, consisting of 80 acres, born of a cornfield.

A sidewalk runs along its outline, so Charlie and I took a long walk to see what we could see.  A river fans out into a pond and people were paddle-boating around, sharing the water with giant white swans. The lawns were beautifully manicured and we saw a look-out tower, a senior activity center, work out stations and an outdoor amphitheater, where the final dress rehearsal for "Tarzan, the Musical" was being performed. Further along, a wooden bridge spanned the river and the views going both directions were nice, but all along, I thought I would like to paint a giant sky over farmers' fields because that is how I think of this state. And, then, there it was - a red barn tucked into a line of trees - the perfect Nebraska landscape!

The next day was slated to be hot so I got going early. I packed up my art gear on the rolling cart with plenty of bungee cords and set off at a brisk pace. Perfect clouds rose above the farm and I scribbled off a quick sketch and took some photos to catch their transitory path.  The wind was very strong so I left the palette on the ground to mix colors. I almost never mix ahead of time, preferring to react to what I've put on the canvas. But I found it was easy to do so: a light and dark green, a light tan, a medium purple, my favorite aqua blue and a rich dark brown. It turned out that having them ready made the whole process more streamlined. On this, one of my last states, I learned something new! I guess that is beauty of what I do - every situation presents an opportunity for growth.

It was a lovely day at the park! I took Charlie off-leash and he was happy to guard me with a few tough barks when strangers stopped to say hello. Though it was hot, the wind kept us cool. All in all, I enjoyed my time in this state. It felt uncomplicated and straight-forward. I am now happier than ever to be returning to Michigan and my home. If anyone (who doesn't already know) wants to guess the three final states, there's a reward in it for you! They will all be done in time for next summer's show at the Saugatuck Center for the Arts. See you there!

Wyoming!

Sometimes I think fate has a real role in life. Things seem to pop up when you need them - challenges or rewards... life lessons in disguise. Like the universe gives you what you can most benefit by (or, at least - grow from) when you need it the most. And other times, I am quite sure that life is random. Things happen and you make choices - it is how you deal with these that defines your reality, and your "luck".

Monday was a day I felt rewarded. This has been a long trip; my Michigan departure was a lifetime ago. I caught a cold in Seattle, so I am tired and my snot is green. My first night in Wyoming was particularly tough. The 2nd floor apartment was not ready - no sheets on the bed and no key that fit the lock. Honestly. It was hot out and I had driven at least 5 hours from Salt Lake City. I went around the corner to a bar with a fenced, green lawn for dogs and kids (nice!), cold Budweiser on tap and a truly fabulous burger. The people were very friendly in Encampment, this dusty cowboy town (population 450), once a center of copper mining. Upon return, however, there was still no key. Well, okay, the door locks from the inside. But sleep was next to impossible - stale smoke smell, over 80 degrees with a broken fan and light from an orange street lamp that angled perfectly into my eyes. Every time I opened them, Charlie was looking at me from the other twin bed, like, "What the f?" 

I clearly was not going to invest two nights in this place and was quick to decide where to stay next. Laramie is 84 miles east - a college town with clean, comfortable hotels. And, the best part is the route there, through the Medicine Bow National Forest on the Snowy Range Scenic Byway. These mountains are part of the Rockies that spill over from Northern Colorado and I was excited to see what they had to show me.

I was not disappointed! Rolling green pastures flanked the road as I left town. Closer views of the purple mountains appeared around each curve. Some of the pull-outs on the ascention had vistas right out of the beginning of "The Sound of Music". Oh, I felt like singing! Soon, I pulled into the Mirror Lake trailhead and could get no farther than 50' because of snow blocking the road. I tramped over it, towards the water, in my flip flops. The view was astounding. Right before me were 12,000' peaks, perfectly reflected. WOW! I quickly assembled my supplies and set up. It was 9 am. 

What pure pleasure to paint there! I had all the time in the world and no distractions. Charlie was free and happy, able to eat snow to his heart's content. The day was so bright that the shapes were clearly defined and the color - indisputable. That sky! My heart sang. So, this is why I am traipsing all over the US! 

I worked with a clarity and vigor that I had not felt in a while. After my canvas was covered with the first layer of oil paint, I pulled out watercolors. I just had to keep recording. The cool mountain air cleared my brain and calmed my nerves. Life suddenly made perfect sense. Am I lucky? Yes, and well rewarded too.

California was not what I expected

I have been to California before. The drive up Highway 1 is exceptionally beautiful and I have yearned to paint those vistas. Family and friends - old and new - offered places to stay. But, in all honesty, it was easier to cut across the top of the state in this month-long journey than to go even as far south as Napa Valley. I looked for lodging in the upper fifth and found what appeared to be a cabin in the Shasta National Forest. There is more to California than its coast! My drive down the shoreline from Oregon had stunning views of huge rock formations and I pulled over frequently to do sketches and take pictures. Then Highway 101 went right through the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park and the giant trees rose straight up to the sun on either side of the winding road. Wow.

Just north of Eureka I turned on highway 299 and took the Trinity Scenic Byway east, into the mountains. My heart was light - I was really looking forward to two days of painting in a cabin in the crisp mountain air. At Burnt Ranch I turned on Underwood Mountain Road. The uphill climb was steep and quite narrow. It made endless turns, with rocks spilling across in places. I thought it could never support the passing of two cars. Occasionally, the view opened up and mountains folded over themselves into the distance. The longer it took to climb away from civilization, the more concerned I became that if I were to drive off the edge (which appeared entirely possible), no one would know. I was long since out of cell phone range. Luckily, it was plenty light out and I gripped the wheel and continued, trying to remain positive. The 27 mile drive took me over an hour. Finally, I started descending and soon a gate appeared, and then a house and then another. Phew! I pulled into the correct address with great relief. There was a business card thumbtacked to the middle of the front door. I knocked. A dog barked, then a skinny older man with watery eyes answered. "Anne?" he asked with a smile. I had arrived!

I drove my car around back and met him at an open gate. Horses kicked up dust on the other side of the fence. The small house where I was to stay was in the back yard along with several outbuildings in various stages of decay. The sun was strong, even at 6 pm, and I was dismayed to see precious little shade. Inside, the heat hit me like a wall and the mustiness brought up a sneeze. Walter pointed to the air conditioner. I smiled and said thanks. This place was teeny - one room with mismatched twin beds, two folding chairs, a tiny fridge and a small table covered with flowered contact paper. The bathroom was clean and furnished with essential oils and new soap. I understood that these folks had good intentions but right then and there I decided to leave after one night. This "cabin" was not in the woods and I could not imagine returning to it after a sticky day of painting. Luckily, their internet worked and I spent some real money on a hotel for the next night in Redding, CA, about 85 miles away. Until then, I would make do.

Charlie and I crowded into the slender bed. The air conditioner kept us cool enough to sleep and in the morning, I did a quick drawing of the horse corral, then loaded up and left before the heat could penetrate. I was counting on finding a landscape between there and Redding. I took the only way out - that same winding road - and near the end, found a spot to pull over and set up. It was 10 am and already 78 degrees - time to paint!

I tucked into a receding chunk of shade and hurried to catch the dramatic lighting on nearby trees. Charlie sniffed around long enough to get a million little sticky buds clinging to his fur, then settled down in the car. The temperature was bearable and there was little wind, plus the mountains held lovely secret shapes. I worked on mixing different shades of blue and purple with which to depict them. Soon, I heard a deer fly; there is no mistaking that buzz. Then several chimed in and I knew I did not have much time before they decided to circle. And so they did! I continued to paint, thinking that I would go until one bit me and - surprisingly - none did. Their "song" was not conducive to focused work, however, and I packed up after two hours. The drawing was good and the colors were a start. I will have to see what I can make of it when I get home.

Easel on, Oregon

I think "yurt" summarizes my Oregon experience exceptionally well. For one thing, the word itself rolls right off the tongue: yurt, yurt, yurrrrrrt. Also, it is a super cool structure and (dare I admit) quite comfortable. When I was first searching for lodging in this state (on Airbnb - they should underwrite me), I skipped the yurt. It was not on the coast and, well, I have never been much of a camper. Luckily, I returned to the listing because the location was both rural and only 40 minutes from the ocean, not to mention - in my price range. What the heck!

The thing about this quest is that I never know what I am getting into until I arrive. In Oregon, I really lucked out. Bradley Vineyards rise up a gentle slope, the bright green vines welcoming with wavy wands. I parked next to the Tasting Room, a small wooden building fronted by a rose garden. The yurt was a short walk through trees. It is, indeed, a "tent", in that the sides are canvas and the "windows" roll down and zipper shut. Otherwise, it is a lovely little house. It has wood doors, a wood floor and wood walls around the bathroom and bedroom. The rest is open with a big circle of sky at the top, wood stays pointing up to it in a grand gesture. The outside walls are reinforced by lattice, as are the windows.  There is electricity and plumbing, a kitchen with sink, refrigerator, microwave and coffee maker.  The living room boasts a big couch, chairs and an old record player with albums. Now this is my kind of camping!!

Not only that, the views were absolutely beautiful! After unpacking, I sat at a picnic table and watercolored a farm across the valley. The breeze was soft and fragrant. Cows grunted and lowed from a nearby pasture.

The next day I woke up to a cold yurt - only 50 degrees! I plugged in two electric heaters and quickly whipped on clothes. Today I would find the perfect coastal landscape. As I walked to the car with my lunch and Charlie, I met Bonnie. She and her son own the winery. She said that the lighthouse closest to us was nice but on sand dunes; to find rocks I needed to go South. I took note and drove to Reedsport, where 38 meets 101. There, I stropped at TJ's Bait Shop. I wanted another opinion on where to paint. The older gentleman did not look at me as he answered, "If I were a painter, I would go North, to the Sea Lion Caves." He was wrapping something with electrical tape. When I asked where to get the best cup of coffee, he offered me Folgers from his pot in back. Nice!

It was a beautiful drive north along the coast. I saw a sign for the Caves and parked in a "pull over" before the entrance. Lo and behold,  there was a stunning view of the ocean with rocks far below. I set up my easel on the grassy ridge and got to work. A young man on a riding mower stopped to see what I was doing. I asked if it was public land and he said no but it was fine for me to be there. I spent three hours focusing on the landscape, then packed up shop. The wind off the ocean was cold!

That wraps up state number 44. I can hardly believe I have only 6 left. California promises to be interesting. Here I go!