musings from the studio and beyond ~
dawn chandler’s reflections on art and life. . . .
of sunrise clouds and sunset boats….
What really delighted me when I looked out on this scene was how the evergreen line of Stamp Act Island was dark, but the distant shore beyond it was illuminated with sunshine.
The main cloud which initially caught my eye just radiated its pink and gold confusion across the lake. The point that I ultimately captured was when the water just below the island was golden, while gentle waves near me were picking up hues of pink.
Just as I was finishing up my painting, my aunt came down from the house, “I just had to see what you were doing!” She then admitted, “when you first went down, to paint, I looked out to the water and thought ‘now what on earth is she going to paint? There’s nothing of interest going on out there….’ And then I watched as that cloud — and the water — turned pink and gold! I’ve never seen anything like it! I’m so glad you got it!”
I’m glad, too.
Much of the rest of that morning I spent on a long walk through pine forests, exploring the rail trail into the town of Wolfboro. Although I brought my paints with me, there wasn’t time for me to pull them out that during my walk, so instead I took a lot of photos, eventually turning to them back in New Mexico, as I did a couple weeks ago when I recreated this inviting shady scene from the trail, just below Wolfboro.
Later in the afternoon (post nap & swim, but before the late-afternoon jigsaw puzzling session lubricated with sherry) I returned to the lakeside, this time at the other of my aunt’s docks, to observe the late afternoon sun on my cousin’s boat. Boats and buoys are intimidating, as they have such perfect geometry, (as does the square dock in the mid-distance of this scene). I struggled for a bit trying to get the boat and buoy the correct brightness (I kept making them too dark), but eventually got them at least pretty close.
What I would have given to ship this boat off to Texas last week…..
Links to Dawn Chandler’s posts about her New Hampshire plein air painting trip below living free and coming home cool tools of a traveling painter of painting tidal rivers and tool sheds….. of sunrise clouds and sunset boats…. of lakeside chairs, vermont gardens, & the contemplation of a new hampshire river…. Thank you for reading
of painting tidal rivers and lakeside tool sheds
Walk for maybe ten minutes from my aunt’s front door, across the academy yards, past the post office, past the Congregational Church (with a wave down the lane to the Unitarians), past the town hall and bandstand, and make a quick right turn into Me & Ollie’s for a coffee-to-go (resisting, if you possibly can, the small snack packages of crack-like addictive granola), cross Water Street, walk past the couple of dozen pretty little shops with flowers in their windows, cut down through an urban canyon of red brick, and find yourself, coffee in hand, at the Exeter River. Here you’ll find a little paved path, dotted with occasional park benches and lovely shade trees, coursing along the waterway.
It was from one of these inviting seats that I decided to create my first New England plein air oil painting. I wanted a seat in the shade, so as to minimize glare on my painting and palette (glare, as you might imagine, makes it much harder to see what I’m doing), and found one near the town-end of the river. My gaze took me across the river to the far bank, where, under a tall dark stand of pine trees sits all alone a little square brick one-story building, with an American flag out front.
I remember the first time I really noticed that little building. It was 1976 (I was 12) when my grandmother and I were driving along the Swasey Parkway and she pointed it out to me across the river. A group of women were teaming up that year to sew a Bicentennial quilt for the town of Exeter, with fabric squares of historic scenes from around town, and my grandmother’s square was to be of that little house. “That is the Powder House and was built in 1771 to store gunpowder, which is very explosive. It’s out there all by itself so that, if the gunpowder blew up, no one would be hurt.” Since that day I’ve always thought of the Powder House as belonging to my grandmother and me.
This early morning though, the Powder House was barely discernible against the shaded forest, though toward the end of my painting session, the flag was just catching the light. The hardest challenge of the morning was getting the shade of the distance trees right — not too dark and not too light. Also not too bright, as more distant colors tend to fade, though here the difference in contrast between the foliage of the mid-ground to that of the background was hardly contrasted at all. Also I needed to get used to these water-mixable oil paints, as they are slicker in texture than regular oil paints, and therefore handle a little differently.
Note the limited palette of just four paint colors: Ultramarine Blue, Alizarin Crimson, Hansa Yellow + Titanium White. In addition to seeing how a painting progresses, I love, too, seeing the transformation of colors on the palette.
The other big challenge was painting that flag pole. I had not brought a fine detail brush with me, and so attempted to capture that white line with the flat edge of one of my regular brushes — which is a bit like trying to do fine embroidery with a toothpick. Amazed to have pulled it off as well as I did! I find it’s this tiny detail that adds charm and interest to an otherwise rather boring painting.
Later that afternoon found me an hour north of the Exeter River and just a few yards from the shore of Lake Wentworth, in the shadow of my aunt’s summer house. I don’t know when the house was built, but she’s had it since the 1950s, and has kept it more or less the same these 60 some years. Yes, it has wifi, but blessedly no television (If you want to keep track of the Red Sox, you need to tune in to the radio). During my brief visits to The Lake, my primary occupations are, in no particular order of importance: swimming, reading, jigsaw puzzles, card games, conversation, naps, walks, knitting, kayaking, letter-writing, eating, sipping, and — most recently — painting.
And so my first painting at The Lake was of my aunt’s tool shed — mainly because, when I found a seat in the shade, the tool shed sat right in front of me. Though the day had been quite temperate, about the time I sat down to paint, the wind shifted and plunked down a stiffing mass of heat and humidity. Eventually it would shift again as I was painting, and bring with it a lovely cooling breeze and, eventually, a few rain drops.
What really drew me to this unusual view though was the light shining through the windows of the tool shed, and spilling onto the floor and work bench.
Of the seven paintings I created on my New Hampshire sojourn, THIS is the one my aunt (87!) chose to keep for herself (for I let her pick one — a small token of my deep appreciation for her letting me invade her lake sanctuary). In selecting it, she said, “I like this one, for I’m particularly proud of my tools!” As another woman who is also proud of her tools, I can relate!
Links to Dawn Chandler’s posts about her New Hampshire plein air painting trip below
cool tools of a traveling painter
of painting tidal rivers and tool sheds…..
of sunrise clouds and sunset boats….
of lakeside chairs, vermont gardens, & the contemplation of a new hampshire river….
Thank you for reading
living free and coming home
The rail trail path near Wolfboro, New Hampshire.
I’m in a live free or die state.
No, I don’t mean ideologically (tho’ that, too). I mean physically — in the Live Free or Die State. New Hampshire.
In the years that I’ve been writing this blog, my love for New Mexico is evident: simply survey my paintings and you’ll find no state more frequently depicted than the Land of Enchantment. I’ve made New Mexico my home for some 20+ years; it’s clear I’m infatuated with it.
More recently, I’ve spoken of of my love for Vermont. Indeed, I’ve written so affectionately about The Green Mountain State that some people — knowing I’m from the East — have assumed I’m from Vermont. (I am not. I’m proudly from New Jersey, another of the original colonies that is dear to me).
But I don’t know if I’ve ever written here about my abiding affection for New Hampshire.
Exeter, New Hampshire was my mother’s childhood home. Though born in Belmont, Massachusetts, at the age of 10 she and her family moved to New Hampshire, where my grandfather took a position teaching history at Phillips Exeter Academy. He taught there all the rest of his life, until his retirement in the 1960s, when he and my grandmother simply moved down the road, a short two or three-mile drive from the academy and town center.
The Exeter River, New Hampshire, as seen early one August morning from one of the town bridges.
Exeter was where my mother was raised, where she married, and where she and my father — along with her parents — are buried.
Though she lived 42 years of my life in New Jersey, it was New Hampshire that my mother called home.
And it’s a place that I call home, too. A place I’ve been returning to nearly ever year for over half a century. Where I feel safe in my family’s memories. I know that my vision of New Hampshire is through the opaque filter of nostalgia, tinted deeply with rose and warm sepia, and little, if any, shadow. My vision is filled with light and warmth and every visit pulls me back into memories of simpler times; memories — some of which aren’t even mine, but rather are conjured from black-papered albums of faded photographs….
The farm at Bow.
Elders in rocking chairs.
Shucking corn on the back stoop.
Fields and forests where now box stores lie.
Softball and picnics at the Unitarian Church.
Hockey in a make-shift backyard rink.
Pocket knives and corncob pipes.
A rusted can dribbling water onto a whet stone.
Stone walls.
Woodpiles.
Woolens.
Wool rugs.
Aluminum foil Christmas decorations.
Vases of tea roses and snap dragons.
Green beans cooked in cream. Common Crackers with melting pads of butter floating like boats in bowls of fish chowda’. Lawrence Welk. Red Sox. Aromas of baking bread and hermit cookies. Orange pop. Apple sauce and gingerbread. Jigsaw puzzles. Hot attics and damp cellars. Wooden trunks. Lakeside conversations. Creaking stairs and kitchen table card games.
The smell of pine.
The smell of pine.
The smell of pine.
The smell of ocean.
Three games of solitaire at the kitchen table at my aunt’s New Hampshire lake house. Note my winning game on the left. It was my only win that morning whereas my aunt (above) and cousin (below) won numerous times. I’m pretty sure they cheat. 😉
I come to New Hampshire to connect again with my roots, and walk with my mother’s family’s memories of good lives well-lived. To be reminded that all good things eventually come to an end but all bad things, too. And that the hard edge of even the most troubling news is somehow softened with a cup of tea and shared laughter.
In my years and years of visiting New Hampshire, this most recent visit is the first time I brought a plein air paint kit. I’m so pleased that in my busy visit I somehow found time to do a bit of painting. Not nearly as many paintings as I would have liked, but a few. I’ll be sharing them here over the next few posts. Come — meet me back here for a painted glimpse into my New Hampshire….
Links to Dawn Chandler’s posts about her New Hampshire plein air painting trip below
cool tools of a traveling painter
of painting tidal rivers and tool sheds…..
of sunrise clouds and sunset boats….
of lakeside chairs, vermont gardens, & the contemplation of a new hampshire river….
Thank you for reading
the colors of my world….
These were the colors of my world today at 4:30a.m….
and these these were the colors of my world today at 8:30a.m….
And somewhere in between the two, the colors of my world were these….
{ ~~ blissful sigh ~~ }
OHhhhhhhh, BLESSED DAY!!
For today The Pup and I returned to our mountain trails, to our most favorite aspen grove, to the early morning melody of rushing water and forest birdsong!
How — WHY?! — have we waited so long?
How can it already be mid-July before we strapped on our packs to amble together down the trails of the Santa Fe National Forest for the first time this year?
Well, to be fair…. we HAVE done a little bit of hiking this year — but not up in the high Santa Fe forests.
And I’ve done a good bit of traveling this year — but not up in the high Santa Fe forests.
And so it was with a good bit of giddiness that I awoke at 4:00am determined to hike today in the high Santa Fe forests.
And so it was that at 4:30am I was busy in my studio prepping my plein air paint palette.
And so it was that at 5:30am I was guzzling thermos coffee, the pooch in the back of the car, as we careened up the ski valley road.
That at 6:30am we were bounding down the trail with our packs.
And at 7:30am we were home again in our favorite aspen grove….
Here are more of the colors of my world today… colors blooming everywhere in the Santa Fe forests….
‘Hoping they’ll be the colors of my world again tomorrow, too….
figuring: words and value and color and play
One of the many things I love learning from other artists is what their daily studio practice entails. What rituals they embrace to get into the flow of creativity.
Often when the subject of creative flow and ritual, comes up, writer Stephen King’s name is mentioned. Stephen King has authored nearly 100 books (!!) Maybe this is how and why he’s able to be so prolific:
There are certain things I do if I sit down to write. I have a glass of water or a cup of tea. There’s a certain time I sit down, from 8:00 to 8:30, somewhere within that half hour every morning. I have my vitamin pill and my music, sit in the same seat, and the papers are all arranged in the same places. The cumulative purpose of doing these things the same way every day seems to be a way of saying to the mind, ‘you’re going to be dreaming soon.’
— Stephen King, quoted in Manage Your Day-to-Day.
So it was with particular interest during my class last month at the Sedona Art Center that I listened to Robert Burridge as he described his daily studio practice. His involves writing his “morning pages” (à la Julia Cameron, whose book The Artist’s Way was pivotal for RB).
Next, he goes into his studio and spends a few minutes pulling random words or phrases out of the dictionary and quickly painting the meaning of each word.
6 words.
3 minutes per word.
18 minutes total.
Black and white paint only.
Ready?
GO!
Here are mine:
The words and phrases captured above?
Gather. Kiss. Claustrophobic. “I love being an artist!” Calm. Immigration.
(Can you figure out which goes with which?)
(Also, note that I didn’t have pure black paint with me, so instead I mixed a blackish color by combining Payne’s Grey with Burnt Umber.)
What’s terrific about this exercise is that it doesn’t give you any time to overthink. You come up with a concept and BOOM! Get it down! The goal, of course, is to visually explain a meaning as simply and quickly as possible.
After 18 minutes of this, you’ve got a creative flow going.
However, I’ve just jumped ahead of myself…
Recall that the focus of this class was on the abstracting the figure.
And so for two full days of class RB arranged for two models to pose for us.
Each of these figure drawing sessions started with several one-minute poses, then five-minute poses, ten-minute poses, and eventually 20- or 30-minute poses, with the models adorned in costumes in the longer poses. Per traditional figure-drawing classes, RB urged us to note first, the gesture of each pose — the main movement or thrust or line of the figure.
Despite my efforts of late to embrace a Buddhist-like disattachment from the ego, I admit I was stoked when, several hours into the figure drawing exercises, RB walked by my table, surveyed my drawings, and said approvingly, “I can tell this isn’t your first rodeo.”
Maybe it’s those handful of Monday evening’s spent at live figure drawing sessions this year. Maybe it was that, just before leaving for AZ I found again my favorite figure-drawing tool. Maybe it was the fact that these models really know what they’re doing and what makes for a fabulous pose. Or maybe my muse was just in a ebullient state. All I know is that I was on a roll when it came to drawing the figure that week.
With the longer poses, we moved from drawing the figure to painting the figure with black/white/grey, paying special attention to lights and darks — essentially what is being illuminated by light, and what is in shadow.
And finally, we moved on to color.
While there are all kinds of color theories and color wheels out there, RB has developed his own, highlighting combinations that especially appeal to him. His combinations center on contrasting color pairings, with two more related colors added to give emphasis or POP. So four main colors, all of which could be tweaked with white and black.
While no one was required to use RB’s color-whee during these exercisesl, one of my goals was to play and experiment with color, so I was happy to make use of his wheel with small, playful studies (see top image). Again, we had a time limit, to get us to work quickly and loosely, without overthinking. (Apparently a goal for many of the artists there that week was to “loosen up” with paint.)
After experimenting with these small color abstracts, we returned to the figure, focusing on gesture, light and dark, and now introducing color.
And here’s something that was kind of surprising to me: At the end of each day I was EXHAUSTED. Just SPENT. Here I’d brought my computer and all kinds of “office work” projects to work on in the evenings after class. But… Nuh-Uhh. No. Way. Not. Ever.
It was surprising because I, obviously, paint for many hours most days back home. But here in the classroom as a student, it was intense focusing, with no distraction (except for the bowl of chocolates some evil classmate placed inches from my work station…). To be able to focus so keenly for so many hours was incredibly tiring mentally.
And yet… When I got back to my room, all I wanted to do was paint some more. I was so creatively energized by the day’s exercises, I just had to immerse myself in more creative play. I had ZERO energy for Xcel spreadsheets, but still plenty of energy for pushing around color.
So I did… in my sketchbook, with watercolor pencils:
And even ventured outside one evening to push around color in a more “traditional” manner….
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creative change: shaking things up