Lake Erie, OH

We have come to the beach to swim. There is the usual chop and steep break at the shoreline, and a brisk wind is blowing up the beach. The water is cold. Even the kids who have come to swim are popping out after just a few minutes. The temperature on the beach is pleasant, at least ten degrees cooler than at Mom’s house. I wish we could stay here for the afternoon, but we haven’t brought any lunch with us.
Casting around for painting subjects, I am once again attracted to the line of trees along the right-hand shore. The cottonwoods stand forward here. A line of cumulus clouds is stacking against the shore, a sign of the thunderstorm expected tonight.

Cleveland, OH

Rick’s mom’s house is set on a lovely wooded lot, with lots of maples in the backyard. I’m particularly attracted to the line of trees that border the meadow next door. Golden-green grasses show through the trunks of the trees. I try to capture the pattern of grasses and trees, creating a dark fence out of the trunk patterns.
I am challenging myself to make more interesting color combinations. Shadows need some variety in the darks, and I’m even tempted to add a touch of white to get them out of the black range. What about a little zinc white? I don’t carry it, but maybe I should try it out. I am painting today with Lead White Replacement, which is working beautifully in the hot weather. It seems less chalky than Titanium White, but I’ll need to try it in the Oregon chill before becoming attached.

ROWENA PLATEAU, OR

After days of rain, I am escaping to paint in the Columbia River Gorge. The forecast is for "mostly cloudy, 6 mph winds." I arrive at the high, open plateau in full sunlight and a brisk wind. More wind than I feel like battling with my easel. So I set up in the shelter of the van's open doorway, and paint there. Uncomfortable, but wind-free.

Pretty quickly, the shadows on the cliffs across the river have disappeared. I clean up my paints and take a short walk out on the plateau. Wildflowers are everywhere; balsamroot, bachelor's buttons, yarrow. They scatter across the meadow in clumps. The path winds around, gently downward, offering a variety of views of a shadowed gulch and the Columbia River. I take a small side trail, to find a small outcropping filled with swallows. they dart in and out of nests nearly at eye level, swooping after invisible bugs above my head. I raise the camera, but quickly give up, as their snap changes in direction make it impossible to predict where the swallows will be when the shutter opens.

My knee complains, so I head back to the car and drive along the highway toward Mosier. the view at a pull-out snags my attentio. Out come the paints, again in the shelter of the van, for this view of inclined cliffs in the Columbia Gorge.

SUNRIVER, OR

The clouds have moved in, and with them, a stiff wind. I am glad to not be skiing or bicycling today, as the wind across the open spaces, even on a gentle day, can mimic a steep uphill climb. I paint a small painting, conscious that the light has changed. The colors of grass and trees are closer in value, and more violets are visible in cloud and shadow. Stepping on the deck to retrieve the bicycles, I find that the birds are silent today. It is a wind to drive all creatures to shelter.

SUNRIVER, OR

The shadows of the trees swing around during the day, so I have caught them in yet another long slanting array. I am enjoying designing the plantings. But I make mistakes. Had to chop down two trees in last night’s paintings and plant some bushes in their place. The painting looks much better.

Is it my imagination, or is the grass getting greener with the warm afternoons? It is still bitter cold at night, and I would think that enough to keep the grass dormant.

SUNRIVER, OR

We moved to a new room, with views of the swampy waterway. The view is lovely, so I set up my paints in front of the door to the deck.

Despite having a water feature to paint, my arrangements aren’t coming any easier. Trees need to be moved, shorelines curved, grasses reshaped. If I could stand anywhere, I could make the landscape work as it is. But I am restricted to one viewpoint of about 120 degrees.

In the afternoon, I paint out on the deck. Ducks and geese are calling, chuffing, conversing. I wonder about a goose’s social life. Is it filled with best friends and bullies, geese you get along with and geese you don’t? Is someone always getting the best food, and someone always left behind? What do they have to say to each other?

Later in the day, the redwing blackbirds take over the conversation, calling to one another from among last year’s cattails. A mourning dove from the other side of the building fills in the rests. Somehow these sounds speak to me of peace and quiet, more peaceful than absolute silence would be. The message feels subliminal, primal, something ingrained. Maybe a place where birds feel safe to sing is a safe place for humans. Something within us knows that, without having to reason it out.

SUNRIVER, OR

Even colder today. Too cold, Rick says, for painting from the car. I look out the window at the golf course and puzzle over composition possibilities. How can I rearrange these elements? I decide on a hint of a pathway, with trees receding in the distance, and a semi-portrait of the most interesting tree of the bunch. Again, moving things around to suit myself.

Both paintings end up similar in color, with a strong sense of sunlight. I may want to re-balance the big tree, or detail the foreground a little, but otherwise this painting looks finished.

Winter is a hard time for me to paint from life. I love the snow, and love to be out skiing. But painting is so sedentary, and therefore not enough movement to keep me warm. I find myself clinging to the warmth indoors. It makes travelling less appealing. More and more I am drawn to the tropics, to warm places, and to water of all kinds...water with movement. I wish I had a river I could paint away on.