And the Next Blog Post is...

I’ve been blogging since 2016, and to me, that’s amazing. I had no idea I had that much to talk about. When I opened up my art studio here in Asheville, I was told in the beginning that blogging was important, so I’ve tried to be consistent but recently I’ve had a had a hard time coming up with an interesting topic. I’m an artist, not a rocket scientist or a biotech engineer, so what I do in my art studio (talking to clients, hanging new paintings in my art gallery, talking with other artists in Asheville’s River Arts District, coming up with new ideas for new creative endeavors), while a lot of fun for me, does not seem like it would be interesting to anyone but myself. Is answering another question about what the “shiny stuff” is on top of my paintings “blog worthy”? I don’t know. But I suspect that just because something is an “everyday” and “normal” task to me as an artist, does not necessarily mean those things are not blog worthy. So…

“…what would YOU like to know?”

So rather than wracking my brain for something that I think might be interesting to a reader, I’m going to just ask the reader what would be interesting to them. I am an artist…an oil painter…I made up a technique I call “Dialuminism”. Dear reader, what else would you like to know? I’ll still come up with topics I would like to explore, but I really do want to regularly be asking gallery and website visitors what THEY would find interesting.

Anyone want to start??

"Mullaghmore": The Story Behind the Painting

“Mullaghmore” (34” x 54”)

A few years ago, Joy and I had the privilege of visiting some dear friends in Ireland. They had moved from the central part of the country to Donegal (on the northern coast). While there, we visited historic villages and castles, forgotten and remote coves, did some amazing hiking on Europes tallest sea cliffs and rented bikes (discovering that riding a bike in the rain can be fun!). This was all in addition to spending some very pleasant hours chatting with our friends.

“I discovered I was just another ignorant American…”

One of the things they wanted to show us were the waves. Not being a surfer, I had no idea Ireland had much in the way of waves. I grew up learning to swim at Malibu and Zuma beaches in southern California, so I thought I had a pretty good standard for measuring what “surf-worthy” waves were. Oh my. I discovered I was just another ignorant American.

The beach we were taken to was called Mullaghmore and aside from the really beautiful setting on the rocky northwest coast of one of my favorite countries in the world, this place had waves. Like MONSTER waves. Like 60’+ waves. I couldn’t believe how powerful the sea was when it decided to seemingly let out all it’s wrath on the rocky coast of Mullaghmore. I also couldn’t believe anyone would want to get out INTO that water (it is really, really cold). The emotions in my head upon seeing the sea that day there included awe and (honestly) fear. These were truly monster waves. So powerful and majestic and raw.

So when Joy and I spent a few days on the coast here in North Carolina a couple weeks ago, I thought of Ireland. Even though the waves at the outer banks were minuscule compared to Mullaghmore, just seeing the power of the sea again made me want to create a painting that encapsulated that power. Asheville isn’t known for it’s waves, being eight hours from the coast, but as I’ve expressed before, sometimes what makes something a good idea worth doing is determined simply by the desire to do it and the fun it creates inside the heart of the creator. This wave, entitled “Mullaghmore” was worth it for me.

Sometimes, just "having fun" is a good enough reason

“Into Mystery” (36” x 28”)

If you’ve read much of this blog (THANK YOU!), you’ve probably heard me talk about why I paint what I paint. If you are an artist and you want to do that as a full-time job, you have to sell your work. This is not rocket science, right? There definitely is a place in the world for art that shocks and disturbs, but that doesn’t sell easily to tourists visiting my studio in Asheville’s River Arts District, wanting to bring home something that reminded them of their visit to the mountains of North Carolina. So, MOST of the time, I paint either generic scenes (that could remind the viewer of ANYWHERE) or scenes that are reminiscent of this part of North Carolina.

So, if you were to visit my studio (and you’re welcome to do that!), you’d find landscape paintings that are set in various themes having to do with our area. That said, about 10% of what you’d see would not fit that criteria at all. I have some seascapes and some underwater ocean scenes. Why? Because they were fun to paint (I like the ocean too). And then this week, I just finished a piece called “Into Mystery”, which is based on photos of Arizona’s Antelope Canyon. The challenge of painting a location like Antelope Canyon is that I had to figure out some way creating the thousands of lines that have been carved into the sandstone by immeasurable years of wind and rain. My goal here was to create those sweeping lines with texture. This piece was carved, smoothed, covered with metallic leaf, colorized with oil paint and finished with a single layer of resin. Personally, I’m really happy with this one. It was a real challenge but I feel happy with the results.

This painting, if nothing else, highlights my skill

because it was really difficult.

So, how does this piece appeal to some random visitor to Asheville, looking for something to bring home as a souvenir of their time here? Well…it probably doesn’t, and that’s okay. This painting, if nothing else, highlights my skill because it was really difficult. And if putting my skill out there front and center is all this piece does, that’s fine. It’s done it’s job. And who knows…we do get Asheville visitors from out west! So hey, if you’re from Arizona, give me a call! I do free shipping!

The Best Painting Delivery Ever...

Hitting the “reset” button

A couple months ago, I was commissioned to paint a rather large painting. Because I normally pay for shipping charges for my clients (a tangible way to offer my thanks for their business), I knew this piece would be pretty expensive to send to it’s new home in Denver, CO. When I actually checked the FedEx website for pricing, I was pretty shocked at the several hundred dollars price tag for shipping, and so…I looked at Joy and asked if she was up for a road trip.

I don’t know about everyone else, but this year especially, with all the stress of a business that was closed down for three months, trying to stay clear of Covid-19, and constantly dealing with the chaos of the upcoming election…e really needed a rest. Creativity demands to be fed with peace and adventure. You cannot expend what you don’t have inside your heart and mind. Well, that was my way of justifying taking a road trip to Colorado (and adding a few extra days onto said road trip, as long as we were already there!). So we packed up the painting securely and strapped it to the top of our car, then headed three days west.

After helping my clients install the piece, Joy and I headed north a couple hours to Laramie, Wyoming, and we spent nearly a week exploring the mountains, canyons and lakes in the area. Our daily routine was to hike a few hours and then scout out a cool place to plant our camping chairs, have a picnic and spend several hours just sitting and reading. Enjoying the absolute quiet. Listening to the autumn breeze as it rattled the leaves of the golden aspen trees all around us.

It was amazing.

We talked about it afterwards and we both could actually feel ourselves soaking it it. My gosh. I felt like a dry sponge immersed in sweet, clear water.

So whether or not the need for peace and adventure was actually a “need” or a “want”, I don’t really care. I’m content to let someone else figure that one out. It felt amazing. And by the time we were headed back home to North Carolina, I could hardly wait to start painting again. I’ve never felt that way about any other job I’ve ever head, so I think the time in Colorado and Wyoming was definitely worth it.

Story Behind the Painting: "Sundown over the Blue Ridge"

Last summer, my wife Joy and I hiked to the top of Max Patch, a barren mountaintop right at the crest of the Appalachian mountains. It’s about an hours drive from our house in Asheville but we LOVE going here with a picnic dinner to watch the sunset. You can see for nearly a hundred miles from the summit of Max Patch. It’s amazing. 

So last summer, we spread the picnic blanket, lit the candle (great way to class up a mountaintop date), pulled out the rotisserie chicken, potato salad, three bean salad and a bottle of wine. And Pims (Per Joy, you have to have Pims for desert when on one of these mountaintop dates).  

It was a perfect evening. It was a hot, sweaty day down in Asheville, but up here, Joy had a sweater on. Picture a nearly cloudless afternoon, watching the sun set over the horizon. With every moment, the sunlight grew more and more golden, then orange and then just hovered on the horizon and then…show’s over. We sat there and chatted, enjoying the cool breeze until it was starting to get dark. 

Picture a nearly cloudless afternoon,

watching the sun set over the horizon…

A couple weeks later, I was at the studio painting and a guest came in asking for a commission. They’d found a photo from (wait for it….) Max Patch and wanted me to paint it for them, which I very happily did. This was one I wish I could have kept, because it wasn’t just a nice painting (in my opinion), but it recalled a memory. I’m always telling people interested in a commission to look through their photos from their favorite vacations. I can paint them! And that memory infused that artwork with power. Crazy huh? If my artwork can have the power to call someone in this (at present) crazy world back to a place of joy and peace, that’s almost spiritual. I love that! 

Anyway, for me personally, that’s the power this particular painting has for me.

Cure for Covid blues

As an artist in Asheville’s River Arts District, a goal of mine is to journal in my blog on a weekly basis, and I love it when the subject matter is supplied to me by a visitor to my art studio. So, thank you Ian and Jackie from Jacksonville, Florida, who commented (as best as I can remember, something like this:  “You obviously enjoy depicting scenes of tranquility and peace. But this year is anything but tranquil and peaceful. What do you do in your head to keep painting these scenes?” 

A gift of complete rest from toil.

Oh man. That was a really good question. This year (especially this year), I have to take time to rest my body, mind and soul. The ancient Hebrews had a concept of Sabbath and I really love it, though I didn’t used to. I grew up thinking that “sabbath” was all about keeping rules (i.e. you couldn’t do anything fun that day). But originally, the whole concept of absolute rest was a gift — a gift of complete rest from toil. I really like that, and especially this year, and especially as an artist, I absolutely need that body, mind, soul rest. And this past week, I had it. 

Joy and I had the privilege of renting a cabin on a lake in northern Pennsylvania with our daughter Camden, her husband Joseph and their two awesomely cute and amazing children. And because of COVID, we couldn’t do anything except sit around the cabin, go for walks, ride bikes and go fishing. For a full seven days, I was teetering right on the edge of absolute relaxation and complete boredom. It was awesomely renewing. I’m addicted to the whole concept of sabbath now. Complete rest. Body, mind, soul rest. Picture that feeling of stepping into a hot tub on a 34 F night: AHHHHHHHHH. Oh yeah, that is what I’m talking about. Rest. Peace, down to the core of your soul. What a wonderful thing. 

That “Sabbath rest” is why I can keep painting what I paint. And I’m wondering if there is a way to include a few minutes of that kind of rest into every single day I live and create. I think I need to try that out. 

Where Does it Take You?

By way of confession, (it’s good for the soul) I admit it’s been way too long since I’ve blogged. This period of time is just really irksome. I’m tired of this virus lurking around. I’m rattled at how divided we’ve become as a country. It just seems like whatever we talk about with our neighbors and/or Facebook “friends” is so often framed in an attack or defense mode. I’ve been coping with the stress by just trying to ignore it all. Writing helps. Painting is my thing though. Anything creative will capture my whole attention and I then don’t think about politics or deadly disease or racist comments from various personalities on the radio. I have found that writing, creating an oil painting or listening to music will carry me to that place of focus and brain-rest. 

One of the things I have remembered during this really weird and stressful time is something my dad taught me when I was a kid and though it had to do with music (he was a musician and piano teacher), it very much affects the way I process all the arts. When I was around twelve years old, I was listening one afternoon to a tape of a collection of classical music (yes, I was a classical music nerd) and he asked me a question that I didn’t know how to answer. “Where does that take you?” I had never thought of that before. He asked me if I knew anything about the piece of music I was listening to and when I said no, he felt it was his God-appointed duty to enlighten me. He explained that the piece was entitled “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Fawn”, by Claude Debussy. He had me rewind the tape to the beginning of the piece, and told me to close my eyes and imagine the scene Debussy was describing with the music, then he turned the tape back on again. 

“Where does it take you?”

I’d never, ever listened to music like that. I usually just listened and decided whether or not I liked the piece simply based on my personal preference. I never thought in terms of “where does it take me”. My imagination was ignited and it was so much more fun than just listening to the piece. It became almost a meditation tool. I saw a fawn by itself int the dark woods, rays of sun stretching through the dark foliage. I saw streams of water, heard the birds, felt the breeze. It was amazing.

That afternoon affected the way I listen to a lot of my favorite music now. I once painted my version of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, listening to it over and over and over again, until I imagined what it “looked” like, not just what it sounded like. Where does it take you? This question changed how I listen to music and how I view artwork. When I look at a painting now (and it could be almost any painting — landscape to abstract), I really want to take the time to just stare at it and allow it to draw me in. And I ask that question: where does it take you? 

If you know anything about the way I paint, you know I purposely design an oil painting to draw people in, to engage the viewer. I don’t want it to just look nice on someone’s wall. Especially in these stressful days, I want every painting to take the viewer somewhere, somewhere nicer than here at the moment.

So take the time. Let the art — music, poetry, painting, whatever — let it take you. Where do you go? Where does it lead? Try it, and if you have a minute, comment right here and let me know. Thanks!!

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.