Opening day

A happy crowd at the VB Brewery in Victor.

Our student show yesterday was a lovely success—a great turn-out, lively chatter, and lots of wonderful desserts that went surprisingly well with beer. Two paintings have sold and one silent-auction piece (raising money for the Open Door Mission) has exceeded its minimum bid so will sell by the end of the month.

Who knew that Carol Thiel was a twin? (I insisted she and her sister pull out their licenses to prove it.)

I missed my own opening at Bethel’s Aviv Gallery on Friday. I’d called my doctor on Thursday to ask him for an inhaler because I was having trouble breathing. By the time I got back into Rochester, my right leg was swollen and stiff. Combine the two with recent gynecological surgery and your doctor naturally suspects a deep vein thrombosis. This earned me a trip into the emergency room at Rochester General. By the time they concluded that it was coincidence and I’m actually healthy as a horse, it was 8:48 PM and my opening ended at 9.

If you forget a knife with which to cut the cake (which was drooping in the heat) you can always use a pocket knife... as long as it's not yours, since it will get full of frosting and crumbs.

My deepest apologies to Richmond Futch, Jr. I’d promised him I’d be back from mid-Hudson in time for my opening.

Ilsa Koski, Kim Gorall and Nina Koski. Speedo the Hermit Crab goes to a new home.

Frankly, those few hours on a gurney were the most restful of my week. No way to work in an ER, so you might as well close your eyes and doze off. My greatest ambition today is to read a dumb novel and and enjoy the scent of the lilacs outside my window.

Ancient Roman beer bottle.

There are still a few openings in my 2014 workshop in Belfast, ME. Information is available here.

Sunset at Olana

Clouds over the Hudson, by little ol' me. $795, framed.

 A select group of New York plein air painters—my pals—have been in the Catskills painting this week. On Wednesday, Nancy Woogen and Johanne Morin saw a bear swimming in a lake, a rainbow, and a painted turtle laying eggs. I saw only one of those things (the turtle) and was awed by it; they must have been gobsmacked.

Sunset over the Hudson, by little ol' me. $795, framed.

Last night, I was leaving the grounds of Frederic Church’s Olana at dusk, having painted the sunset. I was completely alone. I sometimes have an intuition that there is wildlife close by. I slowly coasted the lanes out of the historic site, hoping to glimpse a bear. No dice so I sped up to 55 MPH as I entered the road—only to narrowly miss a bounding doe.

To amuse myself, I attempted to paint just like Jamie Williams Grossman. That really didn't work so well; we're too different, but it was a fun experiment and I think I might show my students how to start indirectly like she does.Here are our easels, side by side.

We’ve been surrounded by crazy numbers of tourists as we’ve painted this week. Nothing unusual in that for me, except that it usually happens on the Maine coast, not in an untamed wilderness. Plein air painters have a different relationship with nature than most visitors. Tourists hike up trails, they linger on sunlit rocks, and then they head down to their cars to drive to the next vista. Nothing wrong with that—I love hiking myself. But it is unlikely that you will come face-to-face with nature that way.

Painting at Olana! Oh, my!

Meanwhile, we’re in our corner, struggling with our paint. Most of the time, that’s an introspective thing, and we’re concentrating on the canvas. But because we are essentially still, and we’re there for a long time, the woodland has a tendency to sneak up on us. Still, at the end of the day we get in our cars and drive away, the windshield separating us from the wilderness as it does everyone else.

This week’s painting has been made more difficult by heavy pollen after this cold winter. My asthma, which has been well-controlled for years, is rampaging. Yesterday, I capitulated and called a doctor, and not a moment too soon.  I’m wheezing like an ancient church organ.

Still, I have allies—a group of tremendous friends who helped move my pack today. I couldn’t have done it without them.

There are still a few openings in my 2014 workshop in Belfast, ME. Information is available here.

Untouched Eden

Rocks at Kaaterskill Falls, 10X8, oil, by little ol' me.

I am going to leave it to my friends to argue about whether Kaaterskill Falls—at 260 feet—is the highest waterfall in New York, but it’s certainly a contender. And no busloads of tourists are going to roar by and disgorge occupants for 15-minutes visits, either, since you have to bushwack up the side of a mountain to get to the cascade’s base.

The trail is typical for New York parks. Not developed, but safe enough.

Nevertheless, it’s a pilgrimage site for anyone interested in the Hudson River painters, for it is an iconic image for them, defining wilderness to the romantic 19th century mind. And not just painters got in on the act. William Cullen Bryant wrote an ode to the waterfall that ends in youthful death.

MIDST greens and shades the Catterskill leaps,
From cliffs where the wood-flower clings;
All summer he moistens his verdant steeps
With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs;
And he shakes the woods on the mountain side,
When they drip with the rains of autumn tide…

Not the smartest footwear.

The last time I hiked in sports sandals (on the T Lake Trail in Piseco, NY) I sprained my ankle, so I was loathe to climb without proper footwear. Jamie Williams Grossman loaned me a hiking pole, however, and  I gingerly set out after my fellow painters.

Kaaterskill Falls, 10X8, oil, by little ol' me.

My pack is still too heavy, but the climb itself proved to be no problem. I made two sketches before it was time to leave. There are at least a hundred more there, awaiting a return visit.

There are still a few openings in my 2014 workshop in Belfast, ME. Information is available here.