Pastel study for “Upham Farm”
This farm, which sits on the corner of the vast Upham Tract, a hundred-acre undeveloped parcel in our town, has remained unchanged since it’s construction, with the current owners still managing the land as their father, grandfather, and great-grandfather always have. I pass it daily, but have only recently chosen to paint it, focusing on this one out building.
Long New England winters give way to light, cool colors in April and May, with one of the hallmarks of the season being the Forsythia, with it’s perfect yellow bloom, that lasts only a few weeks.
This scene in Vermont, where it seems Spring comes a bit later than for elsewhere in New England, illustrates the blast of colors we all wait for, that comes only after the snow melts, after mud season, and as warmer weather comes–and stays.
“May” 48 x 36 oil on canvas.
Just completed large 60 x 48 commission for a couple in Virginia, with ties to this location in Fairlee Vermont. Following several charcoal studies and a pastel color study, the completed work was sent for review.
The subject of a composition can be anything, created with the artist’s use of drawing, light, and color. Often, for me, color is as much the starting point as the scene itself. In this quick pastel sketch, I chose the intense yellowish-orange light of morning, surrounded by varying shades of lavendar, rose, and violet.
The scene, of a local farm not far from my house, is cluttered with stuff–trees, equipment, trucks–and it’s a very dark red structure. It faces north, and I pass it nearly every day, early in the morning, and it’s the morning sunlight coming over the east hills that warrants being captured.
Working with a couple from Virginia on a large commissioned piece of a scene, and a place, that is a special place in their lives–past and present. It is always an exciting challenge to develop a piece that is both the representation I bring to scenes I encounter, while putting into the place the aspect of “place” that is special to the commissioner.
After several charcoal studies–all of which could be compositions with the potential to merit being turned into a painting–I chose the charcoal above, as it contained the aspects of the scene that initially struck me (and the couple I’m working with). This charcoal, and the pastel color study below, will be reviewed and discussed (against the 4 other compositions provided) to determine the direction for the final oil.
“Meadow Bound” | Private Residence, New Britain, CT
36 x 32 limited edition Giclee canvas print
Received a couple of flattering emails this week that a piece sold a while ago, “Summer Blue” was spotted on this week’s edition of “Chronicle.” A friend kindly shared the link and a photo, which is shared here. You never know where a piece may end up once it’s released to a gallery, and sold. In the case of this piece, and this home in Concord, MA, it seems a perfect fit. To view the episode, click here.
I often think of the answer given to me, years ago in art school, when I asked a painting instructor the rookie question, “when do you know when a painting is done?” The teacher–an older, wiser, slightly eccentric guy–didn’t hesitate with his reply. “When you can’t paint anymore.”
Seemed like a flimsy, artsy answer at the time, but over time, I’ve grown to understand.
From the time you make the first mark, to any point in the process after that, the painting can be “done” at anytime. When starting a piece, like the one here, the beginning (for me) is a loose, sloppy exercise in getting the idea down. Everything after this stage is pushing the boundaries of completion. In my own work, the more I paint, the less I feel I “have” to paint, to finish a piece. Getting the desired color, composition, shadow, etc., to achieve the desired outcome is a process of pushing forward while simultaneously being ready and willing to stop.
On a recent trip to the Lake Sunapee region of New Hampshire, I got talking to a longtime resident of the area, and asked if he was originally from here, and was told he’d only been a resident since the mid ’70s, originally from Connecticut. “Which, I guess,” he said, “makes me a Flatlander.”
There is a territorial quality to places like the hill towns and lake regions of New Hampshire, the Vineyard, Nantucket, and the Cape where, it seems, only birth and lifelong residency spares you of the slightly derogatory “Flatlander” label, or earns you the title of “Islander” or “Cape Codder.”
This piece, “Flatlanders” 48 x 36, embodies that spirit of being in the same place your entire life, a time frame necessary to either earn, or avoid, colloquial labels.
There’s a time of year, late Summer to early Fall, when local farms mow their meadows and fields, providing hay for cattle and horses. As a child, the hill behind my house was mowed each year, with now antique equipment that spat out square blocks of hay my brothers and I would quickly gather to build forts and shelters to play in, until the farmer came back, picking up all the bales. That hill is now forest, as are many of the old meadows of New England. But those that remain, still go through this summer-ending ritual.
This piece, “Last Bale”, 30 x 24, of a local farm in Wilton, NH, captures the simplicity of the landscape following the baling and harvest, and in this case, of a single bale-for some reason-left behind.
