Day 4: An Angled Companion

Late to bed and late to rise, it seems 8:30 is my internal waking time. I've elected for no alarms, and so without noise outside either, I've been opening my eyes completely rested and ready for the day. Yesterday's morning coffee, and several other times as I stretched my legs from the easel, I was met with the eyes of a young buck not more than 30 feet away. It seems this acre is his too. I'd seen him each other day once or twice, but yesterday he was closer and maybe less hidden as he strolled through the trees or lay in a patch of sun throughout the day. He's sporting a one-horn rack, one side cantilevered over his right eye like a jaunty hat line, pointing the way for him to make a constant circle so maybe he's trapped on this acre.
I spent the whole day in the studio, pushing the 20x30" piece that I started yesterday, and my comfort levels, then pushing more. It went to the ledge then over it, and I've hauled most of it back up with good result. I'm hoping to have it mostly finished today.

Had a good long chat with Roy, the Lacawac man responsible for the renovation in the Ice House last year. He gave me some history of the place from a personal perspective as he'd known Arthur Watres well. He's been the only visitor on a consistent basis as he comes and goes for work in this immediate complex. A couple of young girls (college?) were here for a few hours for a research project, and several cars went by during the day on the way to the pond dock for sample readings. The boats at the dock invite a ride on the water but I am reluctant to do so alone; looking forward to doing so this Saturday when the family comes visiting for an overnight.

Am expecting my sister and Mother to visit today for a few hours. A big investment (7 hours round trip) for the opportunity to egg me on, to see this location, and to consider it for a future family event.
The sun is out again today, no clouds at all. Planning to explore Heron Lake and the Ledges tonight.

Day 3: Dreamt Brushstrokes

Got a lot done yesterday, engaging some discipline to keep going when the day seemed done. Because the trees hold back so much light here, by 3pm it seemed dark in my studio where I'd been working on a 30x30 that I'll call "Lawrence Oak" based on a tree I pass every work-day; it may well be a maple, so I'll have to check that out.
Having taken some photos yesterday morning at the bridge over Ariel Creek, near where it engages Lake Wallenpaupak, I returned to the site at 5pm with a 20x60" canvas, primed and sketched out. I hauled a small kit down the steep grassy slope to the wet field below, and set up my easel within an array of deep animal tracks and scat. My companions were a couple of jays that make a constant ruckus in the opposite river bank. The painting went well and as I worked the sun hit the shore on the opposite side of the lake which I could see through the trees on either side of the mouth of the creek. I'll head out there this morning to keep going. My intent is to push some detail into this piece while keeping sweeping brushstroke, which I think I an do at this scale.
As I fell asleep last night, I dreamt brushstrokes, which I found annoying as I was tired and ready for sleep. My evening prior had me reading and studying my Group of Seven book, mining it for a lesson or two on restraint.
Near sunset I had returned and packed up the studio for the night, and was enjoying a hot cup of tea on the porch when a perky hiker about my age came by. She seemed happy enough to be snagged as a walking companion and we strode the rocky paths at a nice clip for about an hour, chatting about like-aged kids, real estate, art, and being middle aged. Her path continued as the sun was going down so I headed back before my return would become darkened. Feeling as I'd earned it well, my steak and mushrooms dinner with a glass of wine was welcome, with a laptop-sized movie, and then more reading.
Seems I'm getting the hang of the social media thing, having put some relevant hashtags on my Instagram. All evening and this morning I had unfamiliar Instagrammers looking at my feed, most from this region. It did give me the creeps a bit as a paranoid thought about having broadcast my general location making me vulnerable. My camp/hunting knife was by my bed all night.

Ariel Creek site:

"Lawrence Oak"

Day 2, Sun

Hadn't known I was so tired. Slept 10 hours for the third night in a row, waking once at 4:30. Did I give myself permission to oversleep? The virtual absence of anyone else's needs and schedule intersecting mine must be a key to this state. In any event, I am rested. The sun is out steadily (having not shown itself through the cloud cover for more than moments at a time yesterday) and so I will go for a drive and look more closely at a spot that caught my eye on Sunday. Yesterday's painting was a struggle as I have not figured out the best studio-lighting-to-easel orientation yet. It's a 30x30" linen, and I'll attend to it again after some fresh air. It is more evident to me now that I've been spending my painting's requisite drying times attending to household chores; without those in front of me, I may start a second or even third painting and work on them all together. Not sure if I can work that way. I took a small canvas and paint kit down the road yesterday around 4:00 to catch the bit of sun hitting the lake. From the road the air through the screen of trees seemed a grey-green with an grey-apricot haze here and there. So windy and cold that I abandoned the effort after a quick slap-down of underpainting and a few photos. Call me fickle; I like to be warm when I paint.

Some spilled tea near my cell phone must have stuck to its lens resulting in this ghostly image of the studio. I like it!

Lacawac Residency, Studio Log: Day 1

Wind is shivering the grounded leaves below a colorful canopy, and though this morning is chilled, the report is for a glorious day and rest of the week. I have not been alone for years. This residency - two weeks to make paintings and otherwise as I like - looms on this Day 1 morning like an anticipated joy ride, likely with as many ups as downs. I arrived yesterday at 2:45. The Ice House was open, clean and cozy. The Carriage House was open too, with lots of table and chairs strewn about, projecting some recent activity there. The Lacawac liason, Heidi, met me on the road then gave me a brief tour including a short hike down to the lake and a rapid-fire report on the highlights to be had - especially sunrise on the lake as beavers are there at that time - made sure I had keys, and reported on what to expect for other's coming to the lodge area over the next week. It seems I'm to be mostly alone for the week save for the hikers passing by. We said our good-nights and then I set to unpacking the van and setting up my studio. Pushing a large table to one corner of the house (area is about 10x15) and putting all chairs to the other end, I put my easel facing two corner windows, and set out my paints. Two days ago I purchased a contractor's grade, adjustable 3-panel LED light stand, and it seems to put out the right kind of light to augment whatever comes in through the trees, and might extend my painting day. During my 2-1/2 hour drive here yesterday, the sun finally made its appearance 15 minutes before I arrived. It's overcast now, but I'll go for a drive soon to seek and intercept some first morning sun. If you want to read about the Lacawac Field Sanctuary, its history and programs: www.lacawac.org Here is my studio, and the old entranceway to the lodges:

Sharing some thoughts that I expressed in a LinkedIn chat room about art making when its hard to do so. It felt good to put it in writing. This having followed a spurt of posting portfolio work from early 80's to late 90's, and seeing a thread between works that had seemed disparate. "There was a time, about 20 years ago, when I was making, exhibiting, selling my art and I had a good momentum, and was building a good platform both aesthetically with abstract works, and philosophically. Finding a way to continue that while raising a family proved difficult though, and despite a good run at simply redefining what I made (size and material wise) according to shrunken time and space, I was unable to continue for the long haul. Although I know many who have managed to keep a balance and have success at both career and the complex system that is home and family building, my energy to do so just wasn't there so I chose to focus on the latter. Picking up the baton now is proving difficult. I've made the space and have increasing time, but what I've realized is that I cannot pick up the same baton that I put down because I am simply not the same person, don't have the same perspectives that I once did, and my body has changed in ways that don't matter until I try to hold a brush for an extended time. Although I will admit to some embarrassment at having done so, I've returned to the representational landscape as a familiar "comfort food" just to get working again, hoping that in hindsight I may well see or make a connection that makes sense." Postscript: A bonus to the posting of portfolio work was a thought about how landscapes as an art form were an early, daily experience, through my mother's own watercolors of the Canada wilderness. No wonder I'm drawn to the Group of Seven.

Reclaiming Spaces

There's a layer of bright red plastic tile board gleaming through a crack in my new studio wall, the latter layer having been revealed after taking down our old kitchen. Under the nasty white formica counter walls was a beautiful fir clapboard, nontheworse for wear once we took the mastic off, gave it a cleaning then a coat of stain. That it doesn't match anything else in the room is no matter. It was sound, nice looking, and required less work to leave than to change, especially once we noticed the red tile underneath; can of worms, that!
Above the clapboard was a mish mosh of plywood which we've covered with homosote for a huge expanse of bulletin board. Below that, attached to the clapboard, is a deep shelf made of a thick board recycled from the old bar, and handmade brackets from the same stock hold it up. All this hovers over a big old wood drafting table, which came to us via a sculptor friend, now deceased, many years ago.
I approach this space with mixed feelings. It's going to take some time for it to feel like mine - the comings and goings of the family though this wide hall will prevent a kind of art-making privacy that I've known in the past, but I'm hopeful that it will inform my work in a positive way. I'd like to think that the streak of red peeking out at me will remind daily that what was once hidden can be seen again, what was old can be new; that having my own space again will provide an opportunity to reclaim a part of me that's been on hold, and that doing so will reveal some exciting horizons.

paint and pancakes

Paint and pancakes. Neither one was on my dinner table at the same time in the past months, but they may as well have been for the fast paced activity on that surface. Coffee, homework, tools, calendar, bills, receipts, a meal, a catologue, a napping cat, all rotating in quick succession; my eyes seeing a kind of harmony in it under the more obvious dissarray.

The momentary high that we all felt at "moving in" to the renovated space has moved on, replaced by the dread of miscellaneous small jobs crowding for attention now. A bit of spackle here and there looms a daunting task, more so somehow than the larger project ever did!

A few unfinished cupboard shelves hang agape, staring down at the pantry goods awaiting their home. I avert my eyes as I make breakfast, reaching for flour, cinnamon, baking soda from the crowded countertop. For now it's conveniently hiding the area still needing a finish trim.