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.

Start, stop, start again, finally finish.

This painting took a little longer than originally anticipated. The actual painting time was not that long, but the image shown is not the original. In the first attempt, the blue "lakes" area was masked out with fluid so that I could wash in the greens in a flowing, smooth motion. Good idea, but the execution, or specifically, the masks, failed. They leaked and no amount of "washing out" could save the painting. So I started over, and this version is actually stronger than the first one.

This is an image that I came upon while driving through Coeur d'Alene, Idaho on the way back from Missoula, MT. Lake Coeur d'Alene is beautiful, and I imagined the lake at sunset, with the water itself in shadow. I started with a basic exercise in warm vs. cool, but to counter the color theory that warm colors advance and cool colors recede, I placed the warm in the background so that would come forward, and cool in the foreground for the opposite, to create some visual tension. All in all, I am always interested in creating an overall unified surface that is flat ( no overall perception of depth of field) yet energized.

The motion and flow of the colors are quite satisfying, and I can't wait to get started on something new, influenced by my recent trip to Maui. The natural beauty of Hawaii, while stimulating, is quite a challenge.

The Gate

One weekday afternoon several weeks ago, during a particularly slow bus ride home, I gazed out the window at the swirling wind and fog: a typical summer afternoon in San Francisco. Just beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, a lone sailboat was fighting wind and waves toward The Gate. The boat was inundated by the wind and waves and I made a mental note to sketch out the scene when I got home.

I originally jotted this down in my sketchbook in pen and ink, but soon realized that in order to capture the swirling motion of the sky and sea, I would need to work larger to achieve a fuller, freer drawing stroke. I also wanted to take a very grey, monochrome day and pump in some color. The palette is a basic split complementary of blue-violet, blue-green, and orange, with tints and shades of each color providing the swirling texture. Plus some additional colors to liven things up.

I purposely chose to paint on 140# Fabriano Rough, rather than my favorite Arches Rough, as the Fabriano is slightly thicker and holds up to more rubbing out of highlights. In the end, I didn't do as much rubbing as originally anticipated. In several areas you can see the pocked surface of this highly textured paper. I used a rubber cement mask for the sail and boat hull, and even though I put the cement down full strength, it broke down in a couple of areas under repeated washes, naturally on the sail portion that I intended to leave unpainted. Ah, the unexpected wonders or watercolor.

Sources

The actual painting time of the most recent image took less than a week, as all the elements fell together fairly easily. But various components were pulled together from a variety of sources, over several months.

This was originally sketched back in early June after I returned from a trip to Montana. The gentle "S" curve in the foreground was a pattern that I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye while driving from Missoula to Spokane, somewhere near the Idaho border. A fire road or trail cut its way through the side of the mountain, gently dipping out of sight with each rolling hill. The red roof shapes are taken from a hospital near where I live. After seeing them several times on my bus ride to work, I decided to incorporate them somehow. The "church" facade was taken from an image I saw of a Greek church nestled into the hill side. The foreground hills and colors are heavily rooted in the hills of Northern Marin. Otherwise the colors are a combination of complementary and split complementary, with a hefty dose of "making it up as I go along".

The next one will mark a return to the fronds of recent paintings, this time with the addition of a little abstraction and less literal interpretation. Stay tuned.

Let. It. Be.

One of the most important and influential things I learned in college was from Jim Storey, the head of the SFSU Design department. While teaching my class in Drawing and Visual Thinking, he said "if there is only one thing you take away from this class, it is to learn to put the pencil down 5 minutes before you think you are done." I've cherished that advice all my life, and while, in hindsight, I realize I haven't always followed it, I replay those words as if they were spoken yesterday. This painting is a case in point.

I actually began this painting before the one posted below, but for various reasons, just couldn't seem to bring it to completion. The colors and values evolved as each was applied, as the layers were built, and finally, in the last two sessions, it started to come together. I'm pleased with the rhythm of the design, very much like the rich color saturation, and at one point the other day, set it on the easel, sat back, and Jim Storey's words came to mind: now is the time to stop. Any more fiddling and it would be ruined.

I am also pleased with the direction this latest set of watercolors has taken. I have several sketches from a recent trip that hopefully will continue to explore this "imagined, fantasy landscape".