The Next Generation

Here it is folks, the next generation:
Recently I delivered work to a show at Simpson Gallagher Gallery in Cody.  I really should write about how important and cool the show is, but I’m more excited about the little man you see behind the easel, and the camping/painting trip we took after delivering the work.  Of my three boys, he is the one that has the focus and stamina and desire to paint.  I’d promised him this trip a couple months ago, and he continually asked about it like a child waiting for Christmas.

We painted and explored and built big fires and made s’mores and painted some more.  And it was the best three days I’ve ever spent out in the field.  Here he is, starting a pastel in the cool morning:

 

Is he talented?  I’ve asked myself that from time to time, but in painting, there are really no “prodigies” like you see in the music.  So, the more important question is this: is he focused?  Just look at the picture. He’d been standing there for an hour at that point, and he’s only about half-way.  When I was worn out on the last day, he insisted that, despite the heat, we hike back up the hill so he could finish his painting.  He’s focused.  And he asks questions: “How do I mix grey?” Or, “how do I mix the color of….”  He is curious and determined, two ingredients that if properly mixed, will shake up the world.

On our breaks from painting scrambled to waterfalls- with the mountains at nearly 200% of average snowpack, there was a lot of water coming off the mountain, and my son really wanted to make it to the base of one.  The first day we were stopped short by the many creek crossings in bone chilling water.  The second day we scrambled up to to this waterfall:

Seemed like a good idea, until I turned to Jasper and asked, “Did you just hit me in the head with a rock?”  At which we both realized that the waterfall itself was spitting rocks!  We retreated, scrambling over cascades and down the creek bed.  The sound was deafening: the roar of water with something harder to determine, a churning sound.  Imagine filling a dryer with rocks and turning it on, and you get the idea.  Look closely at the image:

Those are rocks being churned and spit by the water.  You could hold your hand in the water for a few seconds and it would fill up with rocks.  Incredible!  We laughed and hooted and howled at the power and wonder of it all,  and well… acted like a couple of boys.  Which, I guess, is the best part about going on a camping trip with a nine-year old.

 

Knee Deep in Lunacy

My studio has heat, controlled lighting, paintings that need attention, and frames that need finish.  Add to that deadlines, and e-mails, and, well, I really should clean up that mess…  the next thing you know I’m grabbing my pack and running out the door.  Every career should have an escape option.  Except it’s really cold, and the snow is deep.  All the more reason to get out there!

As I drive south toward Yellowstone I think about my recent stint on the stage, as Renfield, a very scary lunatic.  I often wondered how the part came so easily; it was right under the surface, waiting to come out.  Troubling.  It should be a little harder to tap into my inner lunatic.  And yet, here I am, heading to Yellowstone to stand in the snow and paint.  Knee deep in lunacy.  A connection, perhaps?

A confession:   I was preparing to teach a winter plein air painting class the following week, so this trip really wasn’t an impetuous dash from the comforts of my studio.  That just sounds more romantic.  The real purpose was to scout out painting locations.  Except that I’ve painted Yellowstone in winter enough that I really didn’t need to scout out locations.  So we’re back to the lunacy thing again.I take comfort in knowing that I am not the only one.

The following week I had five students in the class, and I’m happy to say I didn’t lose one of them.  It was a joy to share my favorite spots in my favorite season with other enthusiastic nuts, I mean, artists.  We had a great time. Ah, there is joy in suffering, and fantastic painting opportunities to be had in winter! Imagine finishing off a painting session, heading back to the Lamar Buffalo Ranch to watch a pack of wolves run down the hillside in the fading light!  Ever hear wolves howl?  Otherworldly.  You feel it deep within, and want to howl back.

Take a look at  this beast:  So much power and fortitude.  Add to that the abstract quality and deep mood of the winter landscape:Is it all starting to make sense?

Sometimes I think all of our digital comforts and controlled lighting do us a disservice; they help us to make pictures when what we should be doing is making art.  Art comes from experience, and experience shouldn’t come easily.  I don’t have a virtuosic talent.  I scrape out a meager living, and I’m generally frustrated with what I produce.  But I know how to howl.  I know what it is to feel awe.

So I’ll keep mixing paint, even while standing knee deep in the snow.  A toast to those students that were willing to brave the cold to paint with me.  A toast to all of you that leave any comfort in search of a deeper experience.  I’m at peace with my inner lunatic.  Go find yours.