Burdell at Dusk

I am captivated by Mount Burdell, the small mountain in Novato at the northernmost point of Marin County. I hike there, sketch from a distance, and have painted it many times. In a way, it is my version of Monet's Rouen Cathedral or Cezanne's Mount Ste. Victoire. With the ever changing light, there are always new colors that spring up in my mind. Recently when watching a setting sun, I imagined how the various colors that make up sun light and shade, when expanded into their own "patches", could become powerful shapes on their own.

When I originally sketched the view, I included the Buck Institute, a dramatic modern architecture on the side of the barren hill. A friend suggested that I include my original sketches in posts to show how the final paintings veer from the sketches. As you can see from the thumbnail to the right, I eliminated the Buck building (not that I didn't like the bright white glint of the setting sun off the triangular facade, that will come in another painting), and emphasized the color possibilities in light and shadow.

You can also see how the perspective has changed: flattened and slightly raised on the vertical. As is often the case in my work, both the original sketch and the finished piece each have unique qualities.

Lower Colorado

As with many of my paintings, this began as a casual observation. I was in an airport waiting area and glanced at a series of geographical photographs of the Southern California area, particularly the Colorado River. One caught my eye and I began to sketch it as an aerial view. Back in the studio I did a series of larger, looser sketches in pen and pencil, overlaying tissue layers with "corrections". Actually, "adjustments". From there, the painting evolved.

I liked the serpentine curve of the river as it cut through the hills, and developed a palette that highlighted the coolness of the water against the warmth of the land at dusk. There is a subtle repeat of the "s-curve" of the river in the highlights and shadows of the hills.

The inverted apostrophe (or "yang shape") that forms the highlight of the isthmus in the center is totally unintentional, but maybe subliminal. I have spent a great deal of time in graphic arts studying typography, always fascinated by the loops and whorls of letter forms. As I look back, many aspects of my training and experience are surfacing in my recent paintings: strong graphic shapes, bold, delineated colors, and here, with Lower Colorado, typographic elements as well, with the "S" and "apostrophe" references.

One note: the title carries a minor coincidence. I had originally titled Lower Colorado while sketching, and a few weeks later I saw a show in Southern California of Richard Diebenkorn's Ocean Park series. Lo and behold, one of his early paintings was titled the Lower Colorado. Diebenkorn has always been a favorite, this is my homage.

At Last.

The Etta James song is the perfect title for this post. For a variety of reasons, it has taken months to complete this painting, Lower Spokane. This was originally sketched in Spokane, WA in May of last year, when the torrential runoff from the winter snow melt had the Lower Spokane river raging through town. It was a dreary, overcast day: the water, sky, and surrounding hills all seeming to blend together into a monotone of gray.

Needless to say, I had to do something about that, and the colors and patterns started to unfold. The more I painted, the more I added (and subtracted, with the "washing out" technique), until I finally reached a point where I was happy with the overall surface and energy, hoping to capture the raging water culminating in the billowing foam and spray in the foreground.

I've had a lifelong love of Japanese prints, how perspective is raised, and subsequently "flattened": one of the hallmarks of modern two-dimensional art. There is ample evidence of that influence in this painting. Now, it is time to move on to the next one.