Watch Me Paint: World-Class Art, World-Class Instruction
Ravenous Wolves, oil on canvas, 24X30, $3,478.00 framed includes shipping and handling in continental US. The Vineyard, oil on linen, 30X40, $5072 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US. The Wreck of the SS Ethie, oil on canvas, 18X24, $2318 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US. “Midnight at the Wood Lot,” oil …
“How much does a Maine windjammer cruise cost?” people sometimes ask. It depends, but having watched the months of preparation every Spring, I’d say they’re worth every penny.
In response to last week’s post, people asked me to write about framing your work. Even if you never plan to do it, you’ll understand why good framing is expensive.
The ice is not out in the north interior yet, so my little waterfall held back ice in a small pond. Painting it made a good diversion as I waited for the eclipse.
The Whole Enchilada was my penultimate painting before we finally evacuated from El Chaltén, Patagonia, at the beginning of the worldwide COVID lockdown.
Termination dust—the first snow of the year at high elevations—had appeared on the mountains. Hosteria el Pilar would close for the season on April 1. This isn’t a business-driven, Maine-style winter closure, but an absolute necessity. The water lines must be drained and the rooms closed up before winter descends on the Southern Andes in all its fury.
Leaving my room, I was buffeted by wind whistling down the corridor. It was strong enough inside to wrest the door from my hand and slam it.
Jane Chapin, Kellee Mayfield and I climbed the nearest mountain to get a different view of the glaciers. We followed a trail, thinking we would meet up with our fellow painters. Not finding them, we hared straight up the steep hillside. About halfway up, I pointed out that I’d already had my quota of falling off cliffs this year, having tumbled down one in Parrsboro, NS the previous July. None of us had rappelling gear and we were suddenly in a maze of granite ridges.
“If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you, too?” is a famous parental question. I now knew the answer was yes. Faced with a choice of being left behind or staying with your buddies, you soldier on. The good news is that none of us fell, even descending into a wicked headwind. The view from up there was sublime. We hunched down behind boulders as the wind increased in force. All of us painted well, although there can be no detail when your easel is bucketing in a fierce wind.
Packing up, we realized we had no idea how we’d gotten up there. A mountain looks very different from the top than it does from the bottom. But Kellee and Jane are both half mountain goat, apparently. They found a route down, one that was actually easier than our route up.
Great landscape artists like Constable or Monet were doing far more than simply recording a scene. There is science, observation, and a great deal of thought behind their work.
No matter what your return policy is, your long-term goal should be to keep your client.
I’m not worried about you using these pigments; I’m worried about the children, involuntary workers, and those driven by poverty to work in unsafe conditions.
As a big believer in the hive, I invite your ideas and/or comments about how the virtual opening experience can be improved.
When we arrived at the Athabasca Glacier, there was a scouring bitter Arctic wind. I tied my pochade box on to the bumper, and in seconds it twisted itself loose. Admitting defeat, we took some reference photos and walked to the foot of the glacier. There are warning signs for pedestrians to stay off (although there are tours by gigantic snow-busses). I wouldn’t have trespassed in any case; in addition to my fear of falling into a crevasse, I could barely stand upright against the wind.
The Athabasca Glacier is one of the six principal ‘toes’ of the Columbia Icefield, one of the last great ice fields in North America. We saw it at its annual low point, where summer melt hasn’t been replaced with new snow. The path to the foot of the glacier is lined with signs showing the extent of the giant ice mass at different years. The long walk makes it clear that our climate is changing.
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In 2016, my daughter Mary and I set off across Alaska and Canada on a Great White North Adventure, which you can read about starting here. We arrived in Anchorage at the beginning of September and got home in mid-October. In between, we visited every province but PEI (been there, done that), and Yukon Territory. In retrospect, it might have made more sense to do this during the summer, since Alaska and Canada threw a mess of strange weather at us.