Fall is a season I wait for all year long, and when it finally unfolds it is an intense time. In southwestern Idaho , it is also a very temperamental time. The color can last anywhere from five days to several weeks depending on the weather. This year the weather has been good, warm days and cold nights have made the trees explode with color.
It's hard to paint today. I have a hard time focusing on the aspect that I want to convey. So many subjects are screaming for attention. I could paint half a dozen pictures by just turning in different directions. I settle for a hillside where a grove of aspen are grouped in front of some pine trees. As I paint I focus on the shapes but struggle with the color. Fall is difficult because your eyes tell you one thing yet, your brain has to realize that your paint has only so much intensity in it. I try to hold back as long as I can as I work in my mid tones until the very end when I can lay pure color to get the effect I'm looking for. After about an hour, I step back and look.
It's a nice piece but it's a pathetic representation of the intensity and beauty that I see before me. I realize that I will never be able to capture that beauty. Content and humbled, I pack up with a cheap imitation of creation.
Early in the morning, I arose today. I gently threw on a sweater and walked hand in hand with my wife. We walked up a hill, enjoying the caress of sea air against our faces, alone.
We walked along the shore as our footprints followed, keeping a close track, a silent guide to lead us back to where we have come. But I do not want to go back. I want to watch my wife peer into the tide pools with a child's buzz, which swirl apathetically with the tide, evoking memories of her own youth, raising stories that humor me.
I return the favor, naming giant rock formations, “I call that rock “Rabbit's Head” I say eliciting a slight giggle. We walk and talk as the waves keep their rhythmic tune.
If you were with us that day you would have saw two kids walking and talking and dreading the time when they had to go back.
A Hillside of Ochre, September 2006
I have heard about it, read about it, and watched television shows about it, yet I never quite understood while so many people always talked about the Grand Canyon. "I have scene Canyons before!" I would boast. "Hell's Canyon is Deeper!" I would brag. Sometimes it takes something as "Grand" as the Grand Canyon to shut up loud mouths. Speechless beauty, color that no camera could ever catch, and miles and miles of humility.
on location....or in the studio
One of the great things about being a painter is caring on the long tradition set forth by previous masters and none where as talented as Nicolai Fechin. While the average person would ask, “Who?” an art aficionado knows that Fechin was the closest thing to Rembrandt that we may ever see. Fechin, a Russian, received a six year scholarship to the Kazan School of Art. While much of the free world was celebrating the likes of Picasso and Matisse, Fechin remained trapped under the communist regime. When his work was finally allowed to be viewed by the free world in Pittsburgh in 1923, he won first prize beating out the likes of Monet and Pissaro. Finally, he immigrated to the free world and left his beloved Russia settling in Taos and eventually in Santa Monica. He died in 1955. For more info go to www.fechin.com
Idaho's high country is remarkable when the snows finally recede and the trails open. Today my wife and I hiked for two and a half grueling hours up a mountain to reach our destination. We left the trail behind and headed cross-country trough willows, over boulders, and across creeks to reach this pristine gem.
After hours of exhausting labor, with our eyes stinging from sweat and our feet sore and blistered, we gazed over the teal water and saw nature at it's finest. The roar of the mountain winds echoed inside the basin and welcomed us. We sat on a bolder admiring God's creation. It is not often people get to see such sights. Most don't live near 10,000 foot mountains and even less desire to hike at 8,200 feet in elevation, so high that your heart begins to beat inside your throat while your lungs burn from the thin atmosphere, to paint. However, with all these aliments I would not want to be any where else in the world.
Soon the time goes quickly. We know that we must head back down hill and back down another four and a half miles if we are to catch our boat ride home. I pack up soar and stiff and take one more glance back. I hear the winds reverberate as the navy water rises above my line of vision.
I think it is important to paint new subjects. I often try to keep my self fresh and challenged. Today, I painted a scene down in Southeastern Utah not far from the resort town of Moab. I was surrounded by beautiful red earth, yet I chose to paint in a secluded section in the Utah desert away from the crowds of the nearby national parks. It was one of the last pieces I painted on my Southwest trip, a trip that spanned three states and countless motifs.
This little sketch was one of my favorites. Perhaps it was the cheerful Utah Juniper that stood before me or perhaps it was the drastic change of vegetation and scenery or perhaps it was the simple joy of knowing it was 72 degrees and mid November.
Outside of Alaska, Idaho has the largest wilderness area and with all that wilderness comes some of the worst forest fires. This year is no exception. The hazy smoke looms over the Sawtooth Valley like a veil trying to blanket out the majestic peaks. One of those peaks is McGown Peak. It rest just under 10,000 feet and shines a surreal blue today.
I almost didn't paint this piece today. I was tired and it was my last painting before retiring. However, something told me to give it one last try and so I did. I set up a simple composition and painted this piece among the smoke, haze, and heat. Although it was the simplest and quickest painting of the day it was also the strongest. It's paintings like these that make art so enjoyable and drives me to want to experience the haze, smoke, and heat again.
Fall is a season I wait for all year long, and when it finally unfolds it is an intense time. In southwestern Idaho , it is also a very temperamental time. The color can last anywhere from five days to several weeks depending on the weather. This year the weather has been good, warm days and cold nights have made the trees explode with color.
It's hard to paint today. I have a hard time focusing on the aspect that I want to convey. So many subjects are screaming for attention. I could paint half a dozen pictures by just turning in different directions. I settle for a hillside where a grove of aspen are grouped in front of some pine trees. As I paint I focus on the shapes but struggle with the color. Fall is difficult because your eyes tell you one thing yet, your brain has to realize that your paint has only so much intensity in it. I try to hold back as long as I can as I work in my mid tones until the very end when I can lay pure color to get the effect I'm looking for. After about an hour, I step back and look.
It's a nice piece but it's a pathetic representation of the intensity and beauty that I see before me. I realize that I will never be able to capture that beauty. Content and humbled, I pack up with a cheap imitation of creation.
Early in the morning, I arose today. I gently threw on a sweater and walked hand in hand with my wife. We walked up a hill, enjoying the caress of sea air against our faces, alone.
We walked along the shore as our footprints followed, keeping a close track, a silent guide to lead us back to where we have come. But I do not want to go back. I want to watch my wife peer into the tide pools with a child's buzz, which swirl apathetically with the tide, evoking memories of her own youth, raising stories that humor me.
I return the favor, naming giant rock formations, “I call that rock “Rabbit's Head” I say eliciting a slight giggle. We walk and talk as the waves keep their rhythmic tune.
If you were with us that day you would have saw two kids walking and talking and dreading the time when they had to go back.
A Hillside of Ochre, September 2006
I have heard about it, read about it, and watched television shows about it, yet I never quite understood while so many people always talked about the Grand Canyon. "I have scene Canyons before!" I would boast. "Hell's Canyon is Deeper!" I would brag. Sometimes it takes something as "Grand" as the Grand Canyon to shut up loud mouths. Speechless beauty, color that no camera could ever catch, and miles and miles of humility.
on location....or in the studio
One of the great things about being a painter is caring on the long tradition set forth by previous masters and none where as talented as Nicolai Fechin. While the average person would ask, “Who?” an art aficionado knows that Fechin was the closest thing to Rembrandt that we may ever see. Fechin, a Russian, received a six year scholarship to the Kazan School of Art. While much of the free world was celebrating the likes of Picasso and Matisse, Fechin remained trapped under the communist regime. When his work was finally allowed to be viewed by the free world in Pittsburgh in 1923, he won first prize beating out the likes of Monet and Pissaro. Finally, he immigrated to the free world and left his beloved Russia settling in Taos and eventually in Santa Monica. He died in 1955. For more info go to www.fechin.com
Idaho's high country is remarkable when the snows finally recede and the trails open. Today my wife and I hiked for two and a half grueling hours up a mountain to reach our destination. We left the trail behind and headed cross-country trough willows, over boulders, and across creeks to reach this pristine gem.
After hours of exhausting labor, with our eyes stinging from sweat and our feet sore and blistered, we gazed over the teal water and saw nature at it's finest. The roar of the mountain winds echoed inside the basin and welcomed us. We sat on a bolder admiring God's creation. It is not often people get to see such sights. Most don't live near 10,000 foot mountains and even less desire to hike at 8,200 feet in elevation, so high that your heart begins to beat inside your throat while your lungs burn from the thin atmosphere, to paint. However, with all these aliments I would not want to be any where else in the world.
Soon the time goes quickly. We know that we must head back down hill and back down another four and a half miles if we are to catch our boat ride home. I pack up soar and stiff and take one more glance back. I hear the winds reverberate as the navy water rises above my line of vision.
I think it is important to paint new subjects. I often try to keep my self fresh and challenged. Today, I painted a scene down in Southeastern Utah not far from the resort town of Moab. I was surrounded by beautiful red earth, yet I chose to paint in a secluded section in the Utah desert away from the crowds of the nearby national parks. It was one of the last pieces I painted on my Southwest trip, a trip that spanned three states and countless motifs.
This little sketch was one of my favorites. Perhaps it was the cheerful Utah Juniper that stood before me or perhaps it was the drastic change of vegetation and scenery or perhaps it was the simple joy of knowing it was 72 degrees and mid November.
Outside of Alaska, Idaho has the largest wilderness area and with all that wilderness comes some of the worst forest fires. This year is no exception. The hazy smoke looms over the Sawtooth Valley like a veil trying to blanket out the majestic peaks. One of those peaks is McGown Peak. It rest just under 10,000 feet and shines a surreal blue today.
I almost didn't paint this piece today. I was tired and it was my last painting before retiring. However, something told me to give it one last try and so I did. I set up a simple composition and painted this piece among the smoke, haze, and heat. Although it was the simplest and quickest painting of the day it was also the strongest. It's paintings like these that make art so enjoyable and drives me to want to experience the haze, smoke, and heat again.