The Story Behind…"Gentle Showers on a Summer Afternoon"

Have you ever hiked in the rain? Well, we can now say that we have. Understand, this was not the original plan, but one thing about doing ANYTHING outside in the mountains of Western North Carolina in July is that those plans always need contingencies for an afternoon thunderstorm.

The morning was gorgeous. North Carolina is known for it’s blue sky, and the locals are really proud of it. “Carolina Blue” they call it. And in the mountains above most of the summer humidity, that blue sky is truly gorgeous. So that Saturday morning a couple summer ago, we packed our backpacks with sub sandwiches, lots of water and Pim’s. I’ve written about Pim’s before. Many thanks to the British for that wonderful, awesome “biscuit”. So good. It’s to the point now that it’s just not a proper hike without the Pim’s.

We headed northeast to a trail we’d not taken before (towards Roan Mountain on the Tennessee border) and began our walk. Wildflowers were EVERYWHERE and the air was perfect — warm but not oppressively hot and a wonderful breeze was coming from the west. By early afternoon, a few clouds began gathering over the high peaks and by the time we stopped for lunch, we were getting a few (just a few) rain drops. And then…

“…we looked back across the valley and I kind of gasped…

And then the thunder started, so we spent about an hour hiding under some overhanging rocks by the stream we were following, rating the thunder on a scale of 1-10. We ended up wet and kind of cold (but we still had our Pim’s so all was not lost). After the rain shower was over, we decided to head back to the car as fast as we could because we saw more rain coming in the distance. When we got back to the car though, we looked back across the valley and I kind of gasped. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo. And then…I painted it.

I think the moral of the story is that even when something uncomfortable or frightening is happening, I need to look around and see the beauty around me even then. Sometimes it’s exquisite. Sometimes it’s worth painting!

Your Opinion Please...

Okay so, I have a question and I’d be really curious about YOUR answer (ALL OF YOU READING THIS). True confessions…I love to explore, and then I love to paint what I find on that exploration. Most of what the visitors to my Asheville studio see on my gallery walls is the result of me painting what my wife Joy and I discover while exploring the western North Carolina mountains.

I was told years ago that what I paint and display in my Asheville studio should be (since it’s western North Carolina we’re talking about) Western North Carolina scenes. If that is really the case, I can be happy with that guideline probably forever. I love this part of the country. I love our gentle mountains. Places like Grandfather Mountain, Gorges State Park, Smoky Mountains National Park, and pretty much any vista seen from the Blue Ridge Parkway — there is far more than one lifetime of potential paintings right here. But…

In your opinion, should I stick mostly to local scenes or when I travel to various parts of the country (or various parts of the world), would you like to see paintings inspired by those places? I love painting. Period. I could probably paint my navel and be happy (but it would not sell). Trust me on that. I need to paint sellable paintings since selling my paintings is what I do to pay my mortgage and buy food to eat. And I like food to eat. I need what I choose to paint to (eventually) be sellable. So do I paint what excites me even if it’s a scene that is set far from an Asheville, North Carolina locale, or should I play it safe and continue to mostly paint local scenes?

That’s my question. And your response here would be SO much appreciated.

What's in a Compliment?

When I was a kid, I used to love looking through Time-Life books when I was bored. My parents had a whole set of them and my favorite one of all was about artists. I was mostly interested in impressionism. I had no idea why. I liked the colors. And yes, I really was that big a nerd.

It wasn’t until I was in high school that I learned that the impressionists like Monet and Renoir knew something about colors I knew intuitively but had not really had the time or maturity to have thought it through. What made the colors they used “pop” was their use of complimentary colors. So when most of the kids in my tenth grade art class were staring out the window or counting the dots in the acoustic tiles overhead (I saved that activity for algebra class), I was wrapped in attention. The teacher was explaining what seemed like the secrets of the universe. “This is how colors work”…amazing.

So, here’s the secret of the color universe…

When using primarily one color for the main subject of the painting, use the opposite color on the color wheel for the shadows or accents. The photo of the painting I did (at the top of the page) uses primarily green as the primary color, correct? What color is on the opposite side of the wheel? Maroon and purple, right? So look at the accent colors I used in the background and in the pathway…maroon and purple! Voila!

I literally think through this while painting every single piece I paint. I want colors to stir the viewer. I want colors to grab you and slap you silly. That is done not just with bright colors, but with complimentary colors.

I want colors to stir the viewer.

So what’s in a compliment? Everything (when you’re an artist).

I think there’s a life lesson here too. It’s getting more and more popular to demonize “the others” (people who are not like us). But my best experiences with relationships have ended up being with people who were both like me and completely unlike me. Opposites. What an amazing thing it would be if people from my own culture would seek out different cultures and people and languages and work together to create a more beautiful cultural experience than would ever be possible when that culture is “monocultural”. What a shame. I’d never create a painting with just warm colors. If I didn’t use some cool colors as well, that painting would not be beautiful at all. Again, maybe it’s just my opinion, but we may all have something to learn about life from our tenth grade art class!

My Christmas Present to Joy

“One Plate, Two Forks” (24” x 24”)

My fingers are cramped, my shoulders may well be permanently hunched and my brain is fried from the most tedious painting I’ve done in a long, LONG time. Do you feel sorry for me? Ahhhh, don’t. I was still having fun because I love painting. But really — this is probably the last photorealistic painting I’ll ever paint, so I pulled out all the stops. And this was my Christmas gift to my wife Joy, so…it had to be the best I had in me.

This painting, “One Plate, Two Forks”, is based on some photos I randomly decided to take on an early summer afternoon several years ago, when Joy and I first moved to Asheville, North Carolina. I had not yet started an art studio so technically my “art career” had not even begun. Joy and I were exploring downtown Asheville and we were both getting tired of walking. We mutually decided we needed coffee and maybe a snack, and so…we walked back to the car and drove up to the Grove Park Inn. This place has a “Vintage National Park Lodge” look to it, with huge stone fireplaces in the cavernous lobby (you seriously could fit a medium sized tree in one of the hearths!). Anyway we made our way out to the terrace restaurant overlooking downtown Asheville and the surrounding Blue Ridge Mountains. It was really a perfect afternoon.

My understanding was that we were going to get coffee and cherry cheesecake (we’d heard it was amazing). Let me clarify that expectation: My understanding was that we would both get our own cheesecake and our own coffee. But then, after we sat down and looked at the menu, Joy announced that just a coffee was fine with her…(long pause)…”I’ll just have a couple bites of your cheesecake if that’s okay”.

If that’s okay.

I’m no idiot. That statement is code for “I’m going to devour half your piece of cheesecake Steve”. After emotionally recovering and readjusting to the new reality, I agreed.

“One plate, two forks, please.”

It’s recently been pointed out to me that she deserved the whole cheesecake. That is an understatement. She deserves ten thousand times ten thousand cheesecakes and more. Do you know the shame and wonder of being fully known and still loved and believed in? I do. Being fully known is not a goal of mine, mostly because when I get to some parts of my life, I want to surrender to the black hole of shame, but that is just another form of narcissism. I’ve learned (and am still learning) that being known and still loved can either lead to shame or profound humility and thankfulness. I have chosen that second path for myself. I wish I were unbroken and that it made sense that I’m loved by Joy, but being broken and being loved still is profoundly life changing. The only response I can think of is to put down the self-absorbed shame and to honestly give my whole self to the one who knows me and loves me. What an amazing thing.

So, you definitely do give up something (sometimes a WHOLE lot) when you share yourself, your grief, your joys, your experiences, your time, and yes, sometimes even your cheesecake with other people.

Deep in the Heart

As an artist, I love pleasant surprises. In my book, pleasant surprises are kind of like the salsa on top of your taco. Is it a taco without that salsa? Well, yes — but not nearly as fun to eat (in my opinion). So that as the background, I’ll continue with this story.

This story involves an experience I had a couple years ago while visiting my kids. Three of my four children live next door to each other (literally three houses in a row). I absolutely love that. Grandchildren run around from house to house in our “St.Claire Village”. It’s so awesome for Joy and I to trek out there and work. I pack up the car with all my panels and paint so my business continues. I love that because I love painting, but I also love these little people barging into my studio all the time asking to see what I’m doing. I love when they ask if they can have some paper and crayons so they can draw too. If this is describing a pretty idyllic setting, I would agree. The only down side is that it’s in Texas. Sorry Texas. I love you but when I visit, I’m comparing you to the natural beauty of the North Carolina mountains and well…let’s just be honest. Flat, hot and dry is (in my book) really boring. I hope no Texans ever read this. The way they talk, Texas may as well be the Garden of Eden. Texans crack me up.

So visiting my family in the Dallas area is always a mix of thankful joy (seeing my children and a grandchildren) and sadness (leaving the natural beauty of Asheville). So a couple of years ago, Joy and I were visiting in the late spring and we decided that once we hit the Texas border in Texarkana, we’d leave the highway and just drive the “gray line roads” (those really minor roads on the map that are depicted in gray ink rather than heavier black ink) just the the sake of exploration. Joy is so patient with me! This is what it’s like living with an artist — the experience (even if it adds two more hours on an already fifteen hour road trip) is sometimes worth it!

So once we got off the main highway and were driving around north Texas on a wonderful narrow road, we found ourselves meandering through what can only be described as a “freaking beautiful” landscape. The fields were verdant green and everywhere you looked, there were these diminutive blue flowers blooming on the ground. I learned these are called “Bluebonnets” and Texans are very proud of them. Honestly, I can understand why. They are absolutely beautiful, and I had to admit, the scene before me was very “Garden of Eden” like. It was such a pleasant surprise and so worth the extra time driving. For the next several hours, we just explored and everywhere, the flat landscape was covered with a carpet of blue. Texas can be exquisite. There. I said it, okay? it’s TRUE.

So of course, a couple of weeks later, when planning our route back to North Carolina, we decided to see it all again from the other direction. We were so excited. We were going to take even more time and pretty much spend the whole day on that otherwise three hour drive. (Do you sense a “but” is about to come right about now? Uh huh.) BUT, the bluebonnets were all gone now and the fields were less green. Definitely no longer verdant. So, we cut back to the highway and continued on the long, boring drive back to Asheville.

What strikes me about this whole experience was how thankful I was that we took that time to explore. That extraordinary beauty was real. Short lived, but real. Texas was amazingly beautiful. FOR TWO WEEKS. I’m so glad I saw it. Fleeting as it was, I had to paint what it was I saw that day so that I can remember not to take the beauty of this planet for granted…to drink in and enjoy the awesome people and scenery (the grand and tiny) during the course of every day I’m here. That lesson is worth dedicating a painting to I think!

"How do you know you're done with a painting?"

I love the balance between oil painting (a very introvertive exercise) and talking to various people that wander into my Asheville studio (a very extroversive exercise). I’m constantly switching between my introvert and extrovert skill sets. Though it can be exhausting sometimes, it feels very healthy because I’ve found that when I’m pushed and stretched, I grow. One of the ways I grow is by thinking through the questions I’m constantly asked. Most of the questions are the same “What am I looking at?”, “How do you do this?” ,“What’s the shiny finish coat on these”, “Are these photos?”. But now and then, I get a questions out of left field and THAT is invigorating! Those questions make me really think.

“…my goals is that the eyes of EVERY viewer is lead around the piece along exactly the same pathway.”

One question I got recently from some really cool folks from Ohio was “how do you know when I painting is done?” THAT is a really great question! So for any other people interested, here’s my answer:

My paintings are created in many, many steps. They each take about a month to complete, longer if they’re large. The oil paint is applied to a many-layered textured background that I’ve covered with metallic leaf (ultra-thin sheets of metal). THEN I begin colorizing the metal surface with very, very thin layers of paint. Each layer of paint deepens and intensifies the color. Each painting may get at least ten layers of paint, sometimes more.

I keep applying the paint until two things happen:

1) The color is saturated enough. I want the colors to be intense in most cases, so I just keep applying the paint until I get the intensity I’m looking for. Every layer I apply intensifies the color of the painting by about 10%.

2) The values are correct. This means that there are areas that are VERY dark and areas that are VERY light. The very light areas get very little paint. The dark areas get many layers. Value is important, because value is what leads the eye around the piece. I always want to make it very easy to find the focal point of the piece (the first thing you stare at) and then my goals is that the eyes of EVERY viewer is lead around the piece along exactly the same pathway.

I would love to say that when these two points are addressed, then I know the painting is done. But honestly, I usually get a second opinion. When my wife Joy (also an artist) concurs that it’s done, THEN it’s done. Getting the knowledgeable input of another artist can be humbling. I like to think I know exactly what I’m doing, but that’s a fantasy. I really need the input of other people. That’s the great thing about working with other artists. That’s why I love having my primary studio in Asheville (with over 220 other artists).

So basically, it takes skill you’ve developed over time and humility (that is constantly developing) to really be able to tell when a painting is “done”.

Creatively Inhaling...

“Broadway”, Arches National Park

One of the things I tell people that is really important for an artist is to “breathe in” emotionally and spiritually. Art comes from the heart and soul of a person, and if you’re creating all the time (exhaling, figuratively speaking) without “inhaling”, you’ll pass out (or burn out). So a week ago, I took my own advice: Joy and I took some needed time off. And this was my favorite kind of time off: EXPLORATION TIME. We spent time exploring southwestern Colorado and southeast Utah. Wow, what a contrast in geological features! We stayed a few days in the truly beautiful little town of Telluride, Colorado, hiking and wandering around the incredible Rocky Mountains (sometimes above the tree line), and then just a three hour drive west, we spent time in Moab, Utah hiking around Arches, Canyonlands and Capital Reef National parks. What an amazing and crazy part of the country! The landscape is so awesome, playful, grandiose.

…this was my favorite kind of time off: EXPLORATION TIME.

Walking through slot canyons in Capital Reef (see photo below), the emotions going through my head felt familiar. Then I realized what those awesome red sandstone cliffs reminded me of: Gothic cathedrals I saw in France. No, we saw no red sandstone cathedrals in France, but your eyes (and your heart) does the same thing. When entering a massive cathedral, your eyes are drawn up, up, up. I suspect that was on purpose. And you feel small and in awe of something powerful you felt even more than you saw. THAT was exactly what happened to me in those slot canyons. Eyes drawn up, up, up. The awe I felt bordered on worship (and maybe crossed the line a couple of times). Creation is awesome and amazing. If my faith tradition is anywhere near accurate, what that creation says about the mind that did the creating is unspeakably grand. I think it’s good to feel small sometimes. Awe is something I don’t think I feel enough of.

Capital Gorge, Capital Reef National Park

Joy and I back home now, and I’m happily finishing up (and starting several new) paintings. What a job this is! I’m so thankful. On the drive back, I started laughing out loud. I was driving back from an awesome vacation, all excited about getting back to painting. It's so amazing to be doing something I actually LOOK FORWARD to getting back from vacation to do!

More Fun than I Know What to do With

A few weeks ago, I posted that I had just gotten into a gallery in Sunnyvale, CA. They asked if I would consider painting vineyards. The plan was to send one original painting out there for the gallery, and then four prints of the other pieces. The thing is, prints of my work just have not worked well at all in the past. My art is sort of weird. All art likes light, but mine especially comes alive when lit, because the whole thing is painted on metallic leaf (a reflective surface), so the light reflects back through the pigment I’ve applied, “backlighting” the paint. Prints are nice, but they just look dead compared to the original. Well…I found a great source for high definition prints on metal and the quality is amazing. They too reflect light. So this changes everything.

“…these five pieces are the nicest pieces I’ve painted to date.”

So I’m having hi-def photos taken of all five vineyard paintings, sending one original piece and four metallic prints to the Sunnyvale gallery and the other four originals will be for sale (along with the prints) in my studio. That is the assignment, and…I’m almost done with the five pieces. It’s so, so tempting to show a photo of at least one here, but I’ve still got to pour the resin on the faces, and that will amplify the colors so…it’s worth waiting for. I’m so very pleased with how these are turning out. I feel like I’m going to pop. Vineyards are just really beautiful. The combination of undulating freeform hillsides with the linear layout of the rows and rows of grapevines makes a really interesting composition. And to me, vineyards are just romantic. They’re beautiful.

So honestly (in my opinion), these five pieces are the nicest pieces I’ve painted to date. That statement cracks me up though, because that’s how I feel about EVERY piece I paint. But these ESPECIALLY make me really happy. It makes me really excited about whatever I paint next, because lessons I learn from crafting these pieces are all put into practice in the next piece (no matter what the subject matter of the next painting might be).

Sorry. I’m kind of gushing here. I had to write this down just to try to get it out of my system. It’s not working though. And…I guess that’s a good thing.

“Are You Self Taught?”

I was asked the question the other day, “Are you ‘self taught’ or did you get training somewhere?” I’m actually asked that question a fair amount, so I figured I’d answer here: Yes and Yes. That’s my answer. Just as a rule of thumb, I think it’s a very good thing to get trained in a craft or skill by someone who knows that craft or skill better than you. That’s probably true of most things. The concept of being mentored, trained, even parented…that’s generally just how things work best in my opinion.

For artists though, there seems to be a personality type that wears that “self taught” label like a badge, and I think often times, that’s just because they are arrogant. Sometimes, I think that badge is code for “I figured this all out by myself”, “I don’t need anyone teaching me to do this better”, “I am above input from others”. Maybe. I have to grant the possibility that there really are geniuses out there who need no help or shaping by others. I don’t think there are many people like that though.

What I’m not saying is that if you want to be a professional artist, you should just find an art school and enroll. Not all art schools are created equal. Some schools are excellent, teaching technique and the rules of art. And once you know the rules, over time, you learn how and when to break them. But honestly, some art schools could be compared to a driving school that takes your sixteen year old and sticks them behind the wheel and just says, “okay, drive. There is no ‘right or wrong’ way to drive, just proceed as the spirit leads you.” Imagine the catastrophe.

“No one sees a strong foundation, but the higher you would like to build a structure, the more important a foundation is."

So, learning the rules and techniques are just wise, and can save a lot of time and frustration. “But” you say, “art schools are crazy expensive!” Yep. But there are lots of ways to get the cost down. I won’t take the time here to go down that rabbit hole, but feel free to email me if you’d like input there. The other option would be to find an artist whose work you admire and ask them to mentor you. That’s how they did it “back in the day”. Really, you just need someone to teach you the rules, and then give you input on your work. This takes a good deal of humility, but unless we really think that what we do and create is above critique, that critique is absolutely invaluable. I still get some folks visiting the studio who think it’s their God given assignment to critique my work. And sometimes, I gain something awesome by listening (not all the time, but sometimes).

I went to Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California. That was an awesome experience. What those four years gave me was akin to a foundation. No one sees a strong foundation, but the higher you would like to build a structure, the more important a foundation is. Since college, I’ve invented my own technique. No one taught me that technique. I made it up all by myself, which is very gratifying and it’s awesome when you invent a technique because no one can say you’re doing it wrong. :) Well, sales or lack thereof tell you if you’re doing it right or wrong. I’m constantly playing and experimenting now…”self teaching”. But that’s all based on the foundation of color theory, composition and basic painting/drawing skills I learned in classes.

So, those are some thoughts from me. What are some thoughts from YOU? I’d love to hear what you think (especially if you’re an artist!)

New Art Gallery on the West Coast

Downtown Pleasanton, California

What a weird, unpredictable couple of weeks! I usually do not like unpredictable at all. I like planing my life as best I can. I know that’s impossible sometimes, but still…I try. But I’m so thankful that “unpredictable” isn’t always a scary thing! Let me back up and explain.

A couple weeks ago, the phone rang and I almost didn’t answer it. I totally assumed it was a robocall. Instead, it was a real live, breathing human! It turns out this guy is an artist who'd visited my studio, and in the course of our conversation, he said I should get into a gallery on the west coast; that he sells very well in a few galleries there. I explained that it’s a very difficult thing to find a gallery that fits you well when you live across the country. For example, a local gallery owner friend of mine once told me that she usually gets over a hundred artist requests for gallery representation in her email every week. She just deletes them without even reading them.

So, it turns out this complete stranger said he’d try to hook me up with a gallery he’s rep’d by in Pleasanton, California (in the Bay Area). I mean, who does that? A week later, I got a phone call from the gallery owner who had spent time looking over my website and studying my technique and…he was really interested. After he had a discussion with the gallery manager about what he thought, they sent me a contract for representation. And…I signed it. This is exciting to me for several reasons:

1) I’d love to expand my reach to the west coast.

2) I’d love a tax deductible reason to visit the west coast.

3) I was asked if I could come up with several “vineyard” themed pieces. This TOTALLY excites me. I love the way the rows of grape vines add a geometrical element to a natural landscape. A vineyard is beautiful and peaceful. This theme totally fits what I love to be painting. I can even sell the pieces in my Asheville studio (we have vineyards here too — heck, they’re kind of ubiquitous, you know?)

“…I’d love a tax deductible reason to visit the west coast.”

4) What the gallery has asked for is one large original piece and several prints. So, because of this, I’m going to venture into the world of metal prints. These are a relatively new technique of dye sublimation on a metal surface, creating awesome colors and really emphasizing contrast. I like that, because my paintings are painted on a metal surface. The reason I’ve done very, very few prints before is that compared to an original, the print on paper or canvas is just flat, dead looking. These metal prints glow. I’m excited to try them out and see how it goes. This could open up a lower price point possibility for someone that wants one of my paintings but can’t swing the price of an original.

So, I guess the moral of this story is: When the phone rings, (unless it says “United States” or “Unknown Caller”, answer the phone! You never know who’s on the other end.