Marsh Grass

Grass is never easy to paint, at least not for me. I don't do many landscapes for that simple reason. Most people think that painting people is the most challenging and difficult. But the elements of a landscape cause me more grief than flesh and fabric. Grass doesn't grow in a mass, it grows one blade at a time. And yet our eye doesn't see every individual blade. As a painter, I strive to portray what we see, not necessarily what is. Grass also doesn't grow evenly. The individual blades grow in clumps, on uneven ground, and at different rates. Portraying all of this requires layer after layer of painting and working and reworking the canvas. Challenging, yet satisfying. Hakuna Matata. 

Digging the Rigging

One of the obvious challenges of this piece is going to be the rigging. I got a decent start on it today. I dare say I will be able to paint rope by the time I finish this painting. And in painting all of these details, I have the opportunity to seriously study what is there and ponder the complexity of it all. My admiration for sailors increases with every painting session.

Blocking In

Sometimes when I approach a painting I work one area at a time, finishing some details before moving on to the next area. While I did do some detail work in the background trees, I am mostly blocking in all of the basic shapes before I move forward on this piece. There will be a lot of detail work and getting the background correct is paramount. I don't want to put hours into detail work to find that I messed up a major shape. So for this piece, I'm working large to small, fine tuning as I go. 

Standing Watch

I created this painting for a show that will run through March at the Nehalem Bay Recreational Center. The show acknowledges and honors the Clatsop and Tillamook People of the Oregon Coast. They are working to regain recognition as an independent tribe and a portion of the proceeds of this show will go to support their cause. As I researched the history of the people and the direction of the show the image began to formulate in my mind of someone standing watch, waiting for the hunters or warriors to return. The watcher may be the tribal chief. It could be a mother anxiously waiting the return of her husband or her sons. It may even be the Great Spirit watching over all of the people. I think to some degree we are all standing watch. And I find comfort in knowing that there are those who stand watch for me.