Painting with plants - the palette of color is as individual as the painter, I mean gardener. I like to mix cool crimsony reds with hot warm red for just the right amount of clash. Clash to me is like slightly discordant sound, or bending notes. We see things fresh.

Then a dash of cornflower blue or periwinkle to pop the red-orange and the yellows. Spiky this and smooth that, a spill of frosty blue-green foliage to calmly lead you into the splash of color. The smallest hint of symmetry is just enough. For me, disarray feels more like improvisation. And you know how much I like jazz.

This might sound fancy, and of course I would like endless yards of gardens. But I keep it small so I can paint.  Mine are four humble barrels along the street at my studio. Just a spill of color crayons to brighten someone's day as they walk their dog or dash off to work.

Ciao!

Some people have comfort food. I think I have comfort tools. It's kind of like putting on your first turtleneck of the fall season. Some days, it just feels good to paint one of my favorite tools. 

Maybe it's nostalgia. Or the sense of "can do" possibilities. This little spout always makes me feel good. Its solid primary shape in a primary color is like sensible meets toy land. 

To add juice to the play I put on The Essential Dave Brubeck. Talk about primary fun. The selection was chosen by Dave, and they know how to swing. As you may guess if you know my paintings, I'm fond of the tune "Tangerine."

I love the way the woods reveal themselves. Old growth forest can feel spare and clean, nature at its sculptural and healthy best. Gnarly mountainsides, looking velvety green and come-hither from a distance, might become impenetrable manzanita upon closer approach.

Cool air and warm sunlight on pine needles release a smell of spicy warmth that is nature's version of maple syrup on thick pancakes, sure to unlock great memories of hikes and adventure.

Walking in the rain brings its own world of scent and mystery, flowers glowing brightly under woody umbrellas of overhead trees, bobbing their heads to the rain's high-hat and bass.

I guess the link to all is to go out and discover what is nature's face today.

While the days are still warm in the sun and cool in the shade, and  colleges are announcing move-in day, it just seemed right to take my paints to water's edge to celebrate summer.

Besides, who can resist scintillating light dancing through watery turquoise, shadows that beckon in ultramarine and violet, and the sight of young water birds, having left mom's back, showing off a summer's worth of swimming class.

6" x 8" oil on panel    sold

It's a blast painting glass. All that sparkle, all that spatial back and forth, there is so much to play with. 

My latest playground was doing a ten-day artist-in-residence at the Tallac Historic Site on cool blue Lake Tahoe. In the warm sunlight and crisp mountain air, under a canopy of old-growth Ponderosa pine, the only thing sizzling was my paint brush. And all those BBQs at Camp Rich next door.

I set up my show in their beautiful gallery space at the Valhalla Grand Hall, and created a makeshift studio of about nine square feet in one corner - shades of my first studio. That one was under our raised-up bed in our nano-apartment. It got the job done.

While I painted, I had visitors of all ages from all over the US, Europe, Russia, and China. They arrived on bike, scooter, and foot, in hiking boots and flip flops still wet from the beach. 

People are fascinated by watching people who still make stuff. I gave impromptu lessons on color mixing and achieving value (lights and darks) to painters and to a guy who carves wooden ducks and paints them. I gave pep talks to aspiring painters who had been damaged by insensitive art teachers. What's up with that?! I gave hiking recommendations to everyone.

It was a great working getaway, housed in a slice of history, bathed in old-world charm, people trying to keep history and theater, music and poetry, forestry and the arts alive. I can get behind that.

6" x 8" oil on panel  sold    

It's tricky business navigating a painter's studio.

The fridge seems a pretty safe place to start. But its door holds caution signs. Inside appears an archeological dig of painting interests - various pieces of glass or board upon which still lifes are carefully arranged. In one corner is a pile of fruit leaves to be added to future stems. Tucked here are bits of colored candies saved to jazz up a painting. 

The freezer isn't much safer - with "Don't Eat" signs on cupcakes or pieces of pie preserved for use in upcoming  workshops.

In the bathroom one finds the shelves stocked with drop cloths, painting gloves, and halogen lights in place of towels and tissues. The coat closet houses stacks of picture frames.

The intrepid head back to the kitchen in search of normalcy. Opening a cupboard in expectation of cups and saucers, one finds an array of varnishes and sprays. In search of soup or canned vegetables, it is tins of oil paint that are revealed.

In a way, it makes perfect sense. The kitchen holds things that sustain. It's the definition of "food" that changes.

This cookie tells of good fortune, for the artist trying to live by brush and brain, imagination and challenge, persistence and, finally, friendship. 

This is my thanks to all of you who take the time to let art into your lives, to slow down and look, to allow yourselves a quiet moment with color and a way of seeing through someone else's eyes.

You have given me the good fortune of living a life of meaning and purpose in the way I find most fulfilling, slinging my brush through the paint and living beyond my comfort zone. You are my good fortune.

It's the small things. Taking the time to send a hand-written birthday card with a colorful stamp and everything! A good friend bringing flowers and a wish for good luck on the studio tour. Smiling at a stranger you pass on the street. Giving ample room at slower speed as you drive past a dog, someone walking, a bicyclist. Holding a door open for any ol' body. Making a phone call when an email would get you by. Offering a drink of cool water on a hot day.

It's the small things that can soften the blows of life. They separate us from the beasts and the beasts of burden.

And those flowers? I received four gifts in one: beauty, friendship, the chance to dive into the solitude of paint after a fun and busy studio-tour weekend, and... this painting!

Take the plunge.

8" x 10" oil on linen panel  sold

May 29, 2013

May 22, 2013

May 15, 2013

May 8, 2013

May 1, 2013

I recently gave a talk and demonstration for Placer County Arts in Auburn. It was a fun time for me and a treat to see so many people pursuing creative lives. 40 - 50 people showed up - I think - it was hard to tell as the group gathered out in the doorway as well. All I can say is, what a great group! Engaged, interested and interesting.

We covered Coltrane and Miles, art in the schools and its ability to teach motor skills, spatial relations, creative problem-solving and sharing, in addition to opening the door to fun. 

We touched on practicing the radical act of empathy and my perception that inspiration, like hair on men, is highly over-rated. It really boils down to just getting started. Like Jasper Johns said, "Take something, do something to it. Do something else to it."

Riffing on a subject I had done recently, this is my demo from that day. I like the way that the speed required made for something fresh, watery, and somewhat evanescent.

What was truly great was getting an email from someone a few days later. She said how she had a painting she had to do but didn't feel inspired. Then she remembered what I said about just start and then you'll have something to respond to. Presto! By the end of the day, she had a painting she was happy with. And proud of it!

Now that's inspiring!

8" x 10" oil on linen panel  $215    Art in the Morning special.

April 24, 2013

Like the rest of us, Winter had somewhere to go in a big fat hurry. Not to worry, there is still beautiful white stuff in the mountains. I know I've said it before, but nature is my way to hit the reset button - the break that heals and renews.

I spent a glorious day listening to the rush of water that, just minutes before, was something to slide and glide on. Recently disrobed of their familiar blanket, things were a bit timid in the color department. Low amp.

But green was to be found, stretching and giving a yawn. Small pockets of yellow flowers and patches of flox dotted the ground between springs and streams. Next week this meadow will be an entirely different color palette. And even more birds will sing to me when I visit.

Tweet. Tweet.

8" x 10" oil on linen panel  sold 

April 17, 2013

When I passed the produce bin, I just had to get these pears to paint. They have star power. Their billboard brightness, and deep ruby glow, bordered on the incredible. 

They are the Frenchy kind of pear. But I think they look Italian, full of operatic greatness and a spirit that won't be denied. Of course, I just started Italian class, so that may be having some influence.

What an ebullient and infectious language! Not unlike the glow of these pears. I haven't a clue what we're saying, but it sure is fun to mouth the sounds and make lingua-musica! Our teacher calls it Jazzercise for the mouth.

It certainly is a good overture to painting in Tuscany! Want to join me? 

6" x 6" oil on panel sold    

April 10, 2013

Being a fan of that fictional detective and orchid grower Nero Wolfe and his good-hearted smart aleck sidekick Archie Goodwin, I have always thought orchids to be difficult to grow - mysterious and temperamental, kind of  like a winter storm. Or a spring rain. 

But that must just be more fiction, because I have had this orchid for a year and I haven't managed to kill it yet! Not only is it alive in a cold and drafty Sierra cabin, but these are its new blooms!

I painted this today with both snow and spring rain at my studio window.

Life is full of mysteries. 

April 3, 2013

When I go outside I can smell if it is going to snow. Today I smelled spring. Humid, verdant. The smell of moist earth and melting snow.

The change of seasons, in so many ways.

It calls to mind some of my best role models - perhaps you have them, too. People who plant a seed, and watch it grow, hoping for the best while expecting the worst. They celebrate the rain and give an encouraging nudge to a new green leaf.

They expect others to do their best and offer the same in return. Grace under fire. They practice the common decencies, no matter who is or isn't looking.

When the moonrise comes to the top of the hill, they raise a toast to the day, a life well lived.

When the season turns to fall and the sun warms their backs, they will be ready for the harvest.

8" x 10" oil on panel sold 

The current trademark of the American lifestyle...on-the-go to high productivity.

Doing a show in Tucson, the weather was in the forties, with high winds and rain. With my easel on my back, I ditched my plein air painting plans and made for the hotel room, my alternate studio in a pinch. 

Cloaking all of that nice carpeting and upholstery with a drop-cloth, I set up shop. 

I love the way the clouds outside are reflected in the glass tabletop.

I guess this little icon and title works as a metaphor, too.

5" x 7" oil on panel  sold    Art in the Morning special

A. First day of spring!

B. Protein supplement.

C. Sculptural forms.

D. All of the above.

5" x 7" oil on panel  sold   

In out up down start stop top bottom charmed and strange... life is the art of balance. Which I have to say, for me it's more of a teeter totter. 

In pursuit of my cup of wisdom. 

6" x 6" oil on panel  sold    Art in the Morning special

After a tough day of catching bad guys or x-c skiing with his largeness,  Tahoe's favorite detective likes to park in front of the fire for his version of an American classic. 

A sharp cheddar grilled cheese and a bowl of hot Campbell's Tomato soup. With a tall glass of ice cold milk on the side, and Owen's latest, favorite art book propped on the table next to him... mmm-mmm good.

Of course, he always grills an extra for that big guy with the wet nose.

Time for a lunch break?

5" x 7" oil on panel sold    Art in the Morning special

I took some time out for cloud therapy. It's a peaceful place.

6" x 6" oil on panel  sold   

Sometimes a gift is in a shiny dark box wrapped in golden ribbon. Sometimes it is a relationship wrapped in four decades. It can be found in someone believing in you, taking a chance on you. It can be a package under a tree or an experience of a lifetime. 

To bring laughter from a loved one is always a gift, and never heard through email.

A gift can be found in the quality of one's memories or in how one's life is shaped by a meeting. 

Time given is always a gift, and sometimes all it takes. 

= Everlasting Love

I just couldn't let these pears go quietly into the night. Their red was so red, their yellow so yellow, their green so green. And all was shiny and beckoning.

The thing that made them remarkable also made them hard to paint. No color was willing to play second chair. It became something of a discordant symphony. I could have called this one "Boxing Tonight!"

Tweak here, brush there, scrape it all off. We went several rounds like this. Having lost this bout, I turned out the lights and, with gloves hanging from my neck, went home. No one said it was easy.

While I didn't have a raw egg for breakfast, I did return to the studio the next morning. Dancing on the balls of my feet, I was determined to grab this painting (remember those pretty pears?) by the throat and show it who is boss. All while keeping it fresh. 

I was bounced off the ropes a few times and thrown to the mat. But in the end, I was standing and she was shining, looking pretty as a picture.

I swear I heard a bell ring.

8" x 8" oil on panel  sold

January 23, 2013

My "Get Well Soon" card to everyone who is feeling under the weather this season. 

And a shout-out to doctors with their black bags, dispensing the miracle drug Aspirin.

6" x 6" oil on panel  sold

Bursting with rosy blush and rippling promise, these pears look ready to model for a painting by Rubens. If so, it would have to be when he was in Italy. 

Their ebullient color in warm light, and cool shadow, makes me think they are part of a lively late afternoon on an Italian terrace - surrounded by animated conversation and fresh pasta tossed with olive oil and roasted veggies.  

Below, is the lake. Across, are the snow-capped mountains. Yet to come is the crisp dessert wine to make the fruit complete.

Molto bene!

6" x 6" oil on panel 

The low contrast suggested twilight to me. Two birds, lifelong mates, captured in conversation with a high thread count.

A party in paint. Lemon, lime, fizz and sizzle, hot color on a cool day.

Channeling chestnuts and Jack Frost, Bing and that light-footed guy with a red bulb on his nose, we made a thermos of hot chocolate and headed out the door. It was time to set aside type-A tendencies and play in the snow.

Doing that kick-glide thing across fresh white stuff, under the shoulder of nature's silent grandeur, is just about the best therapy on earth. 

Seeing the white glimmer on glade and mountain and stream, hearing the river babble, and planting my bamboo poles into the deep stuff to leave behind pockets of turquoise glow, gives me flashbacks to some of the best times I've ever had. Today was no exception. Now it's time to think about roasting hotdogs for dinner in the little red wood stove. Organic. No nitrates. Makes it a health food, right?!

 8" x 10" oil on panel  sold