Off your game? Who cares?

Bathers with a Turtle (Baigneuses), 1907-08, Henri Matisse

This week some friends were discussing Thomas Kinkade, whose work is being dragged out into the public sphere through a retrospective, which in turn has engendered a flurry of new stories about his troubled life. (Predictably, none are positive.)

I was curious about why his landscapes said nothing about his personal struggles. “He did not paint what he wanted to paint; everything he painted was to sell,” said Brad Marshall.

Steamboat Leaving Boulogne, 1864, Édouard Manet

Then we moved on to bad moments by great painters. Karl Eric Leitzel mentioned how bad Matisse’s Bathers with a Turtle is, which in turn reminded me of Manet's Steamboat Leaving Boulogne and Sargent’s Spanish Dancer, in which either the head or the arms of the figure are inexplicably stuck on backwards.

Matisse, Manet and Sargent were brilliant painters; the rare duds in their oeuvre serve to point out just how brilliant they are. “When painters are that innovative and pushing painting in such new directions, they will be unsuccessful at times,” said Brad Marshall.

Spanish Dancer, 1879-82 (preparatory oil study for the main figure in El Jaleo), John Singer Sargent

And that is where I want to be: not painting what I know will sell, but painting outside myself.

This week, Pastor Bill Blakely suggested that if “I Am,” is the Lord’s name forever (Exodus 3:14), then all the “I am” statements we use to define and limit ourselves are in fact blasphemous. Thomas Kinkade was trapped by his “I am a great artist” statement; it was dissonant with the world’s opinion. Instead of painting setting him free, it made him miserable.

There are still a few openings in my 2014 workshop in Belfast, ME. Information is available here.

Just another beautiful day in Rochester

Highland Park by Brad VanAuken

For a few years now, I’ve had an ace-in-the-hole view at Highland Park—a long view through which the spire at Colgate Divinity is just visible. I took my class there this week only to find that the trees have grown so much that we were left with only a shrubby meadow. 

Highland Park by Sandy Quang

Still, it was a delightful shrubby meadow and early enough in the year that the greens were still somewhat differentiated. That meant this could be an exercise in seeing the different colors within green, and at that, they excelled.

Highland Park by Anna McDermott

Last week I started a painting with a sepia value study, a technique I used to use all the time and which I abandoned. I decided to try this out on my students, and they ran with it.

Highland Park by Nina Koski

I don’t really know why I abandoned this, because it allows you to make compositional assessments without distracting yourself with color.

And last but not least, Highland Park by little ol' me. No, you can't buy it; it was a procedural demo and I wiped it out before leaving the park.

There are still a few openings in my 2014 workshop in Belfast, ME. Information is available here.

Opening day

A happy crowd at the VB Brewery in Victor.

Our student show yesterday was a lovely success—a great turn-out, lively chatter, and lots of wonderful desserts that went surprisingly well with beer. Two paintings have sold and one silent-auction piece (raising money for the Open Door Mission) has exceeded its minimum bid so will sell by the end of the month.

Who knew that Carol Thiel was a twin? (I insisted she and her sister pull out their licenses to prove it.)

I missed my own opening at Bethel’s Aviv Gallery on Friday. I’d called my doctor on Thursday to ask him for an inhaler because I was having trouble breathing. By the time I got back into Rochester, my right leg was swollen and stiff. Combine the two with recent gynecological surgery and your doctor naturally suspects a deep vein thrombosis. This earned me a trip into the emergency room at Rochester General. By the time they concluded that it was coincidence and I’m actually healthy as a horse, it was 8:48 PM and my opening ended at 9.

If you forget a knife with which to cut the cake (which was drooping in the heat) you can always use a pocket knife... as long as it's not yours, since it will get full of frosting and crumbs.

My deepest apologies to Richmond Futch, Jr. I’d promised him I’d be back from mid-Hudson in time for my opening.

Ilsa Koski, Kim Gorall and Nina Koski. Speedo the Hermit Crab goes to a new home.

Frankly, those few hours on a gurney were the most restful of my week. No way to work in an ER, so you might as well close your eyes and doze off. My greatest ambition today is to read a dumb novel and and enjoy the scent of the lilacs outside my window.

Ancient Roman beer bottle.

There are still a few openings in my 2014 workshop in Belfast, ME. Information is available here.

Sunset at Olana

Clouds over the Hudson, by little ol' me. $795, framed.

 A select group of New York plein air painters—my pals—have been in the Catskills painting this week. On Wednesday, Nancy Woogen and Johanne Morin saw a bear swimming in a lake, a rainbow, and a painted turtle laying eggs. I saw only one of those things (the turtle) and was awed by it; they must have been gobsmacked.

Sunset over the Hudson, by little ol' me. $795, framed.

Last night, I was leaving the grounds of Frederic Church’s Olana at dusk, having painted the sunset. I was completely alone. I sometimes have an intuition that there is wildlife close by. I slowly coasted the lanes out of the historic site, hoping to glimpse a bear. No dice so I sped up to 55 MPH as I entered the road—only to narrowly miss a bounding doe.

To amuse myself, I attempted to paint just like Jamie Williams Grossman. That really didn't work so well; we're too different, but it was a fun experiment and I think I might show my students how to start indirectly like she does.Here are our easels, side by side.

We’ve been surrounded by crazy numbers of tourists as we’ve painted this week. Nothing unusual in that for me, except that it usually happens on the Maine coast, not in an untamed wilderness. Plein air painters have a different relationship with nature than most visitors. Tourists hike up trails, they linger on sunlit rocks, and then they head down to their cars to drive to the next vista. Nothing wrong with that—I love hiking myself. But it is unlikely that you will come face-to-face with nature that way.

Painting at Olana! Oh, my!

Meanwhile, we’re in our corner, struggling with our paint. Most of the time, that’s an introspective thing, and we’re concentrating on the canvas. But because we are essentially still, and we’re there for a long time, the woodland has a tendency to sneak up on us. Still, at the end of the day we get in our cars and drive away, the windshield separating us from the wilderness as it does everyone else.

This week’s painting has been made more difficult by heavy pollen after this cold winter. My asthma, which has been well-controlled for years, is rampaging. Yesterday, I capitulated and called a doctor, and not a moment too soon.  I’m wheezing like an ancient church organ.

Still, I have allies—a group of tremendous friends who helped move my pack today. I couldn’t have done it without them.

There are still a few openings in my 2014 workshop in Belfast, ME. Information is available here.