Story Behind the Painting: Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat

“Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat”

I’ve had people ask about inspiration. “What’s the story behind this one?” I love that question. So for fun (and maybe mostly for my own entertainment, I thought I would recall some of these “stories behind the painting” here in this venue. So here is the first: “Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat”.

Last September, my wife Joy and I were gifted some time in the south of France by Joy's mom. We spent several days in Nice, and while we were there, my task was to find a really great beach. So I Googled "best beaches". Joy's only stipulation was that it would not be too crowded. That stipulation turned out pretty laughable, since this stretch of coastline is one of the most tourist-crowded coastlines in the world.

“…we spent time swimming in the most amazingly clear,

radiant blue water I've ever seen”. 

So instead of a crowded beach day, we settled on a walking day. And what I randomly found on Google maps turned out to be one of the highlights of our whole visit to France. There is a peninsula just east of Nice called Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat and there is a footpath around nearly the whole peninsula. This little footpath seemed to be entirely unknown by tourists since we were about the only people on it, and here and there, there were tiny little inlets and beaches (completely empty beaches). This painting is based on the photo I took of the exact spot we stopped to have our lunch and where we spent time swimming in the most amazingly clear, radiant blue water I've ever seen. 

I was resigned to share our beach day with 50,000 other visitors and instead, I shared a secluded little cove with my wife. What an awesome surprise. 

Q&A: SESSION TWO

“Pointe de la Cuisse”

So, this is the second of probably three posts answering random (REALLY RANDOM) questions I’ve been asked. By you. Thank you!

Questions and Answers:

Question 1: Choose one place in the world to travel to for inspiration.

Oh, I so love that question. It’s really easy to answer: Venice, Italy. When I was there, it was (surprise!) packed with tourists, but honestly, all we had to do was to walk a couple blocks away from the main streets (filled with tourists) and we were all by ourselves. It was amazing. It’s a winding maze of awesome 3’ wide “streets” with laundry draped like prayer flags over each tiny street. And at the end of each “street” was a little courtyard flooded with light, so no matter where we explored, we were lured through dark narrow “streets” by the light just beyond. Because of this, Venice is a city that inspires curiosity and exploration. And…they have awesome food and wine. :)

Question 2: If you could write a book about your life, what would the title be?

“Where Are My Keys?, by Stephen St.Claire. How’s that?

The big issue is that I have to work hard and very deliberately to think about something deep enough to etch it into my mind. Like “okay, I’m putting my keys on the dining room table” (and actually say it out loud). If I don’t do something like that, I’ll just shed the keys and not give any thought at all as to where I shed them. And it’s not just keys, it’s everything. And it’s not just recently, it’s since I can remember. I think my problem is a “focusing” problem.

I remember my parents saying things like “THINK! Steve. Think!” That assumed that I wasn’t thinking, but I’m ALWAYS thinking. My mind is always turned “on”. I’m dreaming, pondering and creating in my head. I don’t know how to stop. There are places I go and practices I employ to help my brain slow down and that’s really helpful. But it doesn’t “stop” it.

This trait (I think it’s pretty common in creative people) is irritating but it’s also helpful to me. My artwork comes from this churning brain of mine. I’ve learned to love this trait actually (though my wife is not quite there yet). Because I’m an artist, the fact that I’m always thinking, dreaming, debating in my head, planning and creating makes my paintings the natural and logical outlet for what’s going on in my mind. That’s why I love artwork. I’m sure I’d go mad if I didn’t have that way to get it all out of my head (at least momentarily).

What I'll Miss When This Pandemic is Over...

“Isolation artwork” is filling my floor. Keeping busy keeps me sane!

Last night, I dreamt that this whole wretched virus thing was over. I remember feeling a complete sense of relief, but I also felt some regret. Don’t judge me — it was a dream. But I remember feeling regret. When I woke up and realized I was just dreaming, I spent some time analyzing what my brain had been processing. I realized there are certain things and habits that have become part of my daily rhythm that I don’t think I want to give up when this is all over. 

As an introvert, I relished the idea of forced alone time the first few days of isolation. That elation lasted about thirty six hours and quickly turned to loneliness. I realized that even introverts need people. I found myself smiling and striking up conversations (from six feet away and mask on) with people I’ve past when I go on my daily walk around the neighborhood. When I see people now, there’s actually joy inside. As an introvert, this is a new experience for me, and I don’t ever want to lose that. I want to celebrate each time I can be in proximity to another person, because each one is a gift when you’re otherwise alone. 

I like the thankfulness inside for small things.

Because my art studio in Asheville is currently under lockdown, I’m not there at all. I miss my studio a lot but I really like the forced slowdown in my creative pace. Yes, I’m busy but I’m spending a lot more time now (because I HAVE a lot more time now) in dreaming and thinking and planning new paintings. I’m not just cranking out as many oil paintings as possible, but I am experimenting (again, because I have lots of time on my hands) and I’ve found myself learning and growing a lot as a result. I don’t want that to end. 

I like the thankfulness inside for small things. Who’d have ever thought I’d say a quick prayer of thanksgiving for toilet paper? I mean, really! I’m convinced I’m an amusement to God sometimes. :)

During this isolation (and because of this isolation), I’ve found myself thinking of someone and firing off an email or text message just to let them know I was thinking about them and thankful for them. I’ve rarely thought of doing that before now, but I miss the contact with people I just always took for granted before. 

And also, during this time alone, I’ve rediscovered the joy of meditation and prayer. Just to be clear, by “prayer”, I’m just mean that I talk to God like someone talks to their beloved friend. I find that this time of intense “apartness” leaves me longing for intense “with-ness” with God. Personally, that’s very helpful for me. That time with Him is the only place in my head I can go and get a sense of being filled back up, and my creativity is simply an overflow of that filling. I could never create if I wasn’t constantly attentive to being filled. 

So amidst the fear I feel these days, amidst the frustration that my Asheville studio is empty and dark now, amidst the sadness that walking around Asheville’s River Arts District (which should be busy with spring tourists now) is like walking around a ghost town, I feel a real sense that there are actually some really good things that have happened precisely because of (and not in spite of) this horrible virus. For that, I am profoundly thankful and hopeful. This pandemic will end one day and but it does, I want to keep some of the treasures I’ve dug up in the dark times. If they’re treasures in the dark, what the heck will they look like in the light? I would like to see. 

Entertaining Angels Unawares

A couple days ago, something really beautiful happened to me. Before I explain it though, I need to give you some background. Asheville is now pretty much a ghost town, with everyone staying in their homes afraid of the coronavirus. The entire River Arts District is closed, though I’m still in my studio (alone) because I have painting commissions I’m finishing up so they can be shipped. My wife Joy is in Dallas, Texas with three of our four kids and eight of our grandchildren because my youngest daughter is expecting a baby any hour now. Joy wanted to be there to help after the baby was born, so I ran back to NC to be here for the spring tourist crowds (HAH!) and to, like I said, finish up some paintings.

“I don’t want to take that if it’s all you have…”

So that’s the background. All that to say, everyone I love is in Dallas, Texas and Pittsburgh, PA and I’m feeling really, really alone and kind of creeped out by this whole virus mess and what is happened to the economy. This is really bad. So at 5:00 last Wednesday, I walked across the completely deserted streets of the River Arts District to where my car was parked, and as I was locking the studio door, I heard a violin playing. It was Chopin if I’m not mistaken. It was really beautiful. I figured someone was playing a radio or something, but it sounded “live”. I literally just stopped for a moment and listened. It had to be live. But it was 5:00 in a ghost town. No movement at all on the streets. No people. No sound at all except this lonely, lovely violin. So I followed the sound down the street, and sure enough, there was a black gentleman playing a violin on the corner. I stood reverently across the street (I LOVE Chopin) and as he finished, performing for an audience of one, I clapped. He asked if I had a dime or quarter for the song. I checked and all I had was a dollar bill. I explained that the dollar was all I had and that he could have that. “I don’t want to take that if it’s all you have,” he said. “Do you want some change back?”

Who says that? I told him that I wish I had more in my pocket. I told him that what he was doing (adding beauty into a silent, dark and scary world) was really important and very much appreciated. He smiled and kept playing while I walked back to my car.

Then I remembered out of the blue, a verse from the book of Hebrews (in the New Testament of the Bible) that I learned as a kid in Sunday school. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” No, I’m not saying I think I saw an angel. Although…who knows. If so, I pray God sends many more into our world right now in this dark time.

And so what his me was that I needed to imitate this man. We all should.

Create beauty now, even now, especially now. And share that beauty with people. That’s recreating Eden and we need a bit of Eden at the moment.

In Celebration of Art

As I was drinking my coffee early this morning, I was thinking about my day and what I had planned for it. I’m an artist; a painter specifically, and I work with oil paint. So thinking about my day meant figuring out which piece to work on first, and kind of plan in my head what I want to do with it. I went through each of the paintings I’m presently working on, poured another cup of coffee and thought, “you know, this whole “art thing” is really amazing. As a painter, I’m participating in a primal and ancient rite. Primal, because you give a one year old child a paper and crayons, and they know exactly what to do with them. Ancient because we’ve been creating since we identifiably became “modern” humans. As a species, we can’t seem to help ourselves. We have to creatively express what’s inside our heads. To me, that’s fascinating. And I call it a “rite” because that word evokes something mysterious and holy. A “rite” is the gate into the spiritual. And I absolutely believe art is spiritual. Art touches a part of us that is not just cognitive or physical. Art awakens a part of us that is the realm of the spirit and the heart. And that’s really incredible. How does art do that?

As a painter, I’m participating in a primal and ancient rite.

Art doesn’t so much make us think this or that as it evokes “feeling” in us. When you walk in through the doors of the Galleria dell'Accademia in Florence, Italy and walk down the long hallway toward Michelangelo’s David, you are captivated. You can’t help but feel it. David is extraordinary and he commands respect. Anyone who as been there and seen that incredible sculpture knows exactly what I’m talking about. When I visited Giverny, France and walked through Claude Monet’s home and garden, I felt it there too. The garden isn’t just plants, it’s artistically created, and it’s truly beautiful. It evokes calm and peace. Why does something I see evoke emotion? I don’t know how that works but I know it does and to me, that’s utterly fascinating.

I remember as a kid being taken to the Dorothy Chandler Pavillion to listen to Zubin Mehta conduct the L.A. Philharmonic orchestra. They were performing Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony and I remember crying. How does music do that?

We are incurably artistic beings, known for our intellect but really marked by our emotion and spirit. As I see it art is an ancient gateway, and whether you’re a year old kiddo with a red crayon, a poet, a gardener, a painter, a gourmet chef or a musician, you’re sort of entering another world when you create. You’re entering Eden (that paradise, that “better” place) and as you depict what you see or feel there, you bring Eden into this broken world. What a wonderful thing that is.

So close your computer and go grab a red crayon, a pen, a spade, a paint brush, a KitchenAid or guitar and let’s create something. Let’s bring Eden down, and walk there again in the cool of the day! Or you can fixate on coronavirus or the upcoming election. I’ll choose the paint brush. Care to join me?

"The Bridge"

Each year, I really enjoy challenging myself with an idea that is “over the top”. This year, I’ve decided to work with one of my favorite photos I took of one of my favorite places: Claude Monet’s lily pond in Giverny, France. When we were in France last September, we originally planned to see the Louvre, because if you’re an artist and you’re in Paris, you HAVE to visit the Louvre. But…the Louvre is closed on Mondays and that was the only day we had left in our trip. When I discovered this, I quickly Googled “Giverny” and found that the home and garden of my very favorite artist ever (sorry Leonardo et al) was OPEN on Mondays, I was very happy to add Giverny to our trip itinerary.

It was magical. If you love art, you would love Giverny. It was absolutely so amazing. But it was crawling with tourists. LOTS OF THEM. Every inch of the trail around the gardens and pond were packed. That’s okay. I was ONE OF THEM! I wanted to see with my own eyes the magical gardens that figured so prominently into so much of Monet’s artwork.

And then…a magical moment.

No one was on the bridge!

Just an 1/8 of a second later, and this photo would not exist. I feel like this was basically divine intervention. This moment was predestined. This was an awesome and wondrous moment! The challenge was to capture it with my iPhone! But being that it was a Mac product, that wasn’t a problem at all.

So this photo is what I’m painting. And I’m not done yet, but I’m getting very close. This piece will be a “one of a kind” painting, fully of wonderful memories for me. My goal is that it will be my personal “best of the best” to date. It’s coming home (from my current Texas studio) to Asheville, and will be in the most prominent position in my River Arts District studio. So…if you’r e visiting Asheville and are interested in seeing it, please know you’re welcome to visit!

"Can I Watch You?"

Me and my assistant, Asher St.Claire

People visiting my River Arts District studio in Asheville, North Carolina were surprised when I told them where I was spending my winter. My studio hours are reduced this time of year and my awesome and capable assistant Brenna welcomes visitors for me every Friday, Saturday and Monday until mid-March when I arrive back in Asheville until next winter. “Dallas, Texas?” they’d exclaim. “Why?” Well, it’s not because of the natural beauty of the state. I feel sorry for it. It does have a raw and very simple beauty but honestly, let’s not argue about it. The second best thing about Texas is the BBQ and that’s it. The first best thing is that three out of our four kids live here, right next door to each other and we live life with family all around us (including eight of our ten grand children). Every day, painting gets pushed aside by running outside and hugging these kids as they scooter by the house.

It is such a life source for Joy and I. Rather than distracting us from creativity, that closeness greatly enhances creativity for me, because my “tank” is so full here. Ideas are ignited and new concepts are experimented with. It’s just than rather than being asked how I get my shiny finish or asked to explain what aluminum leaf is, I get asked if I want to watch them try out their new beyblade. I love it.

My first set of 2020 commissions are about done now and my next set is ready to start next week. And looking ahead to the challenges of the rest of the year, I’m really excited about the results of experiments I’m tried over the last few weeks. These experiments have included playing with layering of paint (trying to keep as much light penetrating as possible) and more texture, applying a higher relief than I’ve worked with before. The result gives even more depth to each piece.

So despite the sweet distractions all day long, I am getting more accomplished here than when I’m back in Asheville, and that’s an awesome validation that this “winter art studio” idea was a good one!

An Impractical Idea

Soon to be “The Bridge” (36” x 48”)

As I was sitting in my studio as the new year was just beginning, I was mulling over the past year and thinking in terms of “what do I want to do different in 2020?” Most of the time, I’m blissfully content just doing what I’m used to doing, but that can be dangerous as an artist. Look at some of the big name artists in recent history and you’ll see what I mean. Someone starts painting a charming little cabin in the woods with a beautiful sunset behind it and warm lights shining in the windows. Nice. But then that person (not mentioning names here) becomes super famous for his cabins and soon, that’s all he paints. Sounds financially lucrative (just painting the same thing over and over again is easy) but it sounds really boring. Boring is not why I’m an artist. It’s not my ultimate goal in life.

“…I have to pay close attention to people’s comments and purchases…”

As a full-time artist in (I think) the most awesome community of artists anywhere in the world (there are over 220 artists in Asheville’s River Arts District), I am very aware of what people are drawn to as far as my paintings go. I come up with what I think is a great idea and if it sells, it WAS a great idea. Sometimes they don’t sell, so I strip off the canvas and start all over again. That doesn’t happen often but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t happen sometimes. But because when I finish a painting and hang it on the wall, I’m right there working as people come in and visit my studio (and view my artwork). I can hear their reaction to my artwork and that’s super helpful in figuring out what people are drawn to. Because I’m financially dependent on SELLING my artwork, I have to pay close attention to people’s comments and purchases, and for the most part, that dictates what I paint in the future. Some might call me a sell-out but that’s not the case. I love painting and I don’t really care what it is I’m painting. If I’m painting, I’m having fun. But for the most part, I try to be attentive to what people will actually purchase, and my prices are guided by the quantity of work I sell (supply and demand).

But every now and then, I make an exception to this rule. On New Years day as I was sitting in my studio mulling over life, a voice in my head seemed to whisper “make more exceptions to your rule this year”. Well, who am I to silence that little voice? So the afternoon of January 1, I prepped my canvas and pulled out one of my favorite photos I took in France. The photo is of what is probably the most famous Japanese bridge in the world: Monet’s bridge in his lily pond in Giverny (just northwest of Paris). I have spent more time applying the texture than I ever take. But for these “exception” paintings, time will not matter. This piece (pictured here) is now ready for the Italian aluminum leaf to be applied, followed by countless layers of oil paint.

This is not a “practical” idea, and I love that. This year, my goal is to complete at least three “impractical” pieces. How’s that for a New Year’s resolution? Watch out 2020!

The piece I had to paint: "Côte d’Azur"

“Côte d’Azur” NFS

When my mother-in-law passed away a couple years ago now, she placed some money (aside from what was in the will) to each of her children and asked that it be used for travel. For Joy and I (especially as artists), this was an amazingly generous gift, and the choice of locations to travel to was a pretty easy decision to make: Provence. I say it was easy because so many artists (like Cezanne, Claude Monet, Paul Cezanne, Henri Matisse, and Pablo Picasso) were drawn to this place and we wanted to see if Provence lived up to all the hype. It did.

As painters with an open art studio in Asheville’s River Arts District, we are constantly dreaming, creating, sketching out ideas (and throwing some of those ideas out) and painting the best of those ideas. And especially in the summer time, (our busy tourist season) it can become exhausting. By the end of July, I always start to feel the need to recharge. I absolutely love the fact that my job requires me to visually express my response to the natural beauty all around me. I’m mostly a landscape painter, and there is so much natural beauty here in western North Carolina. But as I said, by mid-summer I am beginning to feel drained. When we feel that way, we know we need to take some time and get out of the studio (if just for a day) and go hiking; to recharge that creative battery.

So when the opportunity arose for us to take an extended break from reality, we took it. For three amazing weeks, Joy and I wandered around Provence, exploring hill-top villages, bike riding, sketching, and sampling a lot of local bread, cheese and wine. :)

One of the absolute highlights for us though was to explore the Côte d’Azur (a fancy name for the French Riviera). I just think “French Riviera” sounds ridiculously snooty, whereas Côte d’Azur sounds exotic. It was. One of Joy’s goals was to swim in the Mediterranean (pretty much on her bucket list I think). So I read up on the best beaches in the area and it sounded like finding a small or secluded beach was impossible. But…

One of the days, I found what looked like a foot trail around a peninsula just east of Nice, France (where we were staying). There were no write-ups about it but on Google maps, you can zoom down and explore on “street view” to see what it looks like “on the ground”. It looked like a great place to spend the day on a six mile walk, so that’s what we did. What we discovered though was blue heaven. It was amazing. We found a little beach where we had our picnic lunch (all by ourselves) and then later, a little pebble beach for our first swim in the Mediterranean, again, completely alone. What I saw once diving down was unbelievable to me: the blue. I’d never seen water look like that. Never. I thought I knew what ocean water looks like…kind of a grey green color. But this was absolutely crystal clear, and when you dove down and looked out into the deeper water, I was met with the most intense blue I’d ever seen. The thought struck me “I HAVE TO PAINT THIS!” so I began diving down…over and over and over (probably 30 times or more), just trying to permanently engrave the colors into my head. And then, as soon as we got back state side, I began painting.

Today, that painting is done. And…it is going to hang in my home, because it (as closely as I can remember) depicts what I saw on that day in the south of France in the waters of the Mediterranean: perfection in blue.

"The Four Seasons on the French Broad River"

“The Four Seasons”

Growing up in Southern California, I never really experienced “seasons” per se. There was “foggy season” (May-June), “Fire Season” (September-October) and the rest was just hot. Living now in Asheville, North Carolina, I’m so loving the rhythm actual seasons bring to the year. Winter doesn’t last ALL that long, and it usually brings with it a few beautiful snow days. Spring is amazing. Absolutely awesome. Dogwoods are blooming and daffodils and tulips are going crazy. Summer is hot yes, but perfect for tubing down the French Broad River, hiking and camping up in the higher elevations. And then there is autumn. Oh my gosh. Autumn was always just a “theoretical” season growing up. Autumn in the Blue Ridge mountains of Western North Carolina is amazing. Autumn brings more visitors to my art studio in Asheville’s River Arts District than any other season of the year.

“…the power of beauty inspires the power of healing…”

The beauty of seasonal change is a big part of what I love about living in Asheville and working in my art studio. So I was really excited to have been asked by Mission Hospital to create a “Four Seasons” series for their Asheville campus. Each panel is 42” x 16” and each are covered with multiple layers of solar-resistant resin (so the surface is glassy-smooth).

This series was inspired by the many floats down the French Broad River that Joy and I make every summer, and it was great fun depicting each season, trying to think of the particulars about each one (blooming dogwoods in the spring panel and pink rhododendrons in the summer panel). My hope is that this series gives the doctors, nurses and patients at Mission the opportunity to “get lost” in each scene, and that the power of beauty inspires the power of healing. I think that’s possible!