Tag: boats

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That sweet spot between art and nature

We’ve been hiking Beech Hill for so many years that you’d think our feet could navigate on their own. Apparently, that’s not true. On a glorious day in mid-April, my husband stepped wrong and wrenched his back. That has meant pain for him and small inconveniences for me. For one thing, he keeps our pace. Without him, I’m just ambling along listening to birdsong.

Doug also carries paintings down from their second-story storage unit. I’m no good at lifting. But eventually I got it done, and I’m happy with the results.

As I unwrapped the work, I found myself saying over and over, “this is my favorite painting.” That’s a great thing, because it means that, right now, I like my own work. Serious painters know that this isn’t always the case. We can get very angsty about our painting at times.

Wreck of the SS Ethie, oil on canvas, 18X24, $2318 framed. This is one of the few non-plein air pieces in this show.

Plein air is where my heart is

Most of the work in this show is plein air. That’s no surprise, since plein air immerses both the artist and viewer into the spirit of the place it was painted.

“My clients don’t care whether I painted it en plein air or not,” a friend once observed. I’m not sure that’s true. Plein air feels different than studio painting, since it involves fast analysis of light, shadows, texture and color. I’m not dissing the studio painting; I’ve done plenty of them. But for the client who loves the outdoors, who wants to sit in that sweet spot between art and nature, plein air is going to resonate more strongly.

The best of plein air should carry a whiff of the painting experience. There is a vast difference between painting ferns at Paul Smith’s College, NY, and painting shadows in Sedona, AZ.

The Logging Truck, 16X20, oil on canvas, was painted en plein air on the side of a precipitous incline, with, yes, logging trucks barreling past at regular intervals. This is one of my favorite favorites.

This year’s show is almost completely Maine. The exceptions are a seascape from Parrsboro, NS and a harbor scene from Iona in Scotland. There are no paintings from Patagonia, Alaska, Texas, New Mexico, or Arizona, as much fun as I’ve loved painting in those places. I’ll get back to them later.

Place and painting have a complicated relationship. You don’t need to go far to find a beautiful subject. For most of us, there’s a painting waiting right outside the back door. (If you live where there’s not, I’d suggest you move for your mental health.) On the other hand, painting in other places changes your perception. If you’re any good, the light, shapes, rocks, trees, and houses will all be different.

For years I’ve pondered the relationship between God and man as expressed in the environment. (I once did a whole body of work on the subject, in fact.) There’s an old foundation in Erickson Field Preserve. It was a very small farmhouse; its barn foundation is on the other side. At this point the trail is the old farm track, and there are three small meadows strung along it like tiny pearls. In them are a few old domesticated apple trees and their wild descendants in the woods. There are lilacs, lily-of-the-valley, goutweed, narcissus, daylilies and more still thriving long after their humans have departed. I need to paint this story eventually.

Drying Sails, 9X12, oil on canvasboard, $869 framed.

But for now, I’m a gallerist. This weekend is also the first annual Rockport Donut Festival. Stop by on your way past.

Next weekend, unfortunately, I’ll be closed on Saturday and Tuesday. I’m traveling to Rochester for a memorial service and stopping on my way back to nail down the sites for my Berkshires workshop in August.

Carol L. Douglas Studio and Gallery
394 Commercial Street
Rockport, ME 04856
585-201-1558 Sunday: closed
Monday: closed
Tuesday: Noon-5
Wednesday: Noon-5
Thursday: Noon-5
Friday: Noon-5
Saturday: Noon-5
Or by appointment.

My 2024 workshops:

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Is that painting finished?

Drying Sails, oil on canvas, 9x12, available on my website later this morning.
Drying Sails, oil on canvas, 9x12, available on my website later this morning.

When Iā€™m wondering, ā€œis this painting finished?ā€ the answer is usually yes.

Camden Harbor before the day begins, 8x10, oil on canvasboard, available on my website later this morning.

Iā€™ve been carrying a small 8x10 around in my backpack for a few weeks, hoping to run into Ken DeWaard so I could ask him if he had a reference photo from that day. Itā€™s of the ketch Angelique, on the left, and Lazy Jack II. Iā€™ve got a good visual memory, but that was last summer or perhaps the summer before. Not only has the detail faded in my mind, any sense of what I wanted to ā€˜finishā€™ has disappeared as well.

I caught up with him Tuesday, when our respective painting classes ended up on the same beach. (If you havenā€™t seen this story from Owlā€™s Head, itā€™ll encourage you to keep your footsies out of deep water this summer.) Ken shook his head and said, ā€œI got nothinā€™,ā€ and laughed. ā€œIf it was earlier this summer, maybe.ā€ Such a day is indistinguishable from a thousand other painting days, unless it results in a painting one loves enough to keep. (We paint a lot of dreck along the way.)

I propped it up on a bench and pondered. Is it really not finished? Thereā€™s detail Iā€™d love to add, and the masts look chunky. But they so often do on windjammers, which were originally built not as yachts but as working boats. The color is coherent and evocative, and the brushwork is unified and expressive. Whatā€™s really left to add?

Owl's Head, Early Morning, 8X16, available.

The painting of Owlā€™s Head lobster boats, above, is another example of one I toted around until I realized it was done. I recently popped it into a frame and now I love it just as it is.

Iā€™m in a boat-painting tear, and itā€™s not always going well. ā€œIā€™m channeling George Bellows,ā€ I told Bobbi Heath as I hacked farther and farther into the weeds on a canvas that probably ought to go in the woodstove. As always, the problem started out compositionally, but the students in my Zoom critique class suggested that I get rid of a big green dumpster on the dock. That helped, but itā€™s still way too busy and way too brightā€”without Bellowsā€™ incisive wit and commentary. No reference photo will save this canvas. Itā€™s overbaked and underthought.

Meanwhile, I met Bjƶrn Runquist to practice our chip shots in advance of Camden on Canvas. ā€œThereā€™s a nice angle of Lazy Jack from that bench over there,ā€ I told him. Had either of us been smarter, we might have asked why I wasnā€™t painting that schooner myself. The answer, riding in my subconscious, is that sheā€™s a daytripper. You canā€™t trust her. You get her limned in, all beautiful, and she up and leaves you. Sure enough, thatā€™s what happened to Bjƶrn. Oops.

Coming Around Owl's Head, 6x8, is available through Cape Ann Plein Air's online sale.

It had rained, so Lazy Jack was running her sails up and down to dry them off. This is a subject that fascinates Ken DeWaard, so I try to avoid it. Occasionally, however, itā€™s irresistible, because it adds another compositional dimension to boats in harbor. Having learned my lesson, I finished the painting, at top, quickly, before I forgot what I was doing.

Iā€™m absolutely horrible at taking reference photos. I get caught up in the moment and the light. By the time I remember, itā€™s too late. Still, itā€™s something Iā€™ve resolved to do better. But taking the painting back into the studio and adding details has the potential to stomp on its beauty. When Iā€™m wondering, ā€œis this painting finished?ā€ the answer is usually yes.