An Artist in Italy (Part 3)

Alberobello, Italy

I’ve mentioned that one of the things I learned from my time in Italy last September was to look for the most popular places (most likely to be overrun with tourists) and NOT go there. For the most part, that was the rule. But…with every rule, you can make exceptions. We just really tried to make those exceptions with some wisdom. Sometimes, that worked. Like…Alberobello.

“…with every rule, you can make exceptions…”

Alberobello is an amazingly weird little town in Puglia (the heel of the boot of Italy). It’s filled with all these little beehive houses called “Trulli”. And let’s please get it right…when speaking of one of these, it’s “a TRULLO” and when you’re speaking of many, THEY are “TRULLI.” So the town is filled with trulli. They’re everywhere. Many of them have been converted to shops. We stayed in an Airbnb about five kilometers outside of town and IT was a trullo. THEY ARE COOL. The artist in me was so excited seeing these odd, old little stone structures.

“Gosh,” you say, “If I were visiting Puglia, I’d want to see Alberobello!”. Yes, you would and you should. You and thousands of other tourists. Thousands. But like I said previously, this was an exception worth making. I knew this awesome little town was super popular with tourists. So we stayed five kilometers away just outside of another little town called “Locorotondo”. IT was amazing…winding, narrow little streets and all the homes inside the ancient city walls were whitewashed. It was beautiful. AND see, here’s the thing…being so close to Alberobello was awesome for Locorotondo because all the international tourists filled Alberobello and left Locorotondo to Italian tourists (and Joy and I). See how this strategy works???

Locorotondo, Italy

So one thing that I learned in Puglia turned out to be really important to file away in the “never forget this” folder in my brain. Here’s the rule: Never, ever eat a melon without first washing it. I had no idea you were supposed to wash a freaking melon before cutting into it but that’s what happened. It was absolutely wonderful — one of the sweetest melons I’ve ever eaten. And…apparently was covered with salmonella. This kind of wrecked the next day, and the next, and the next. I’d read that usually, symptoms resolve themselves for most people after five days. Well, seven days later I was on the verge of going septic. I don’t ever remember feeling this horrible. Thankfully, I got onto a regimen of Cipro and within about twelve hours, I was feeling mostly normal. We went on to visit Pompeii and then had the last two wonderful days in Rome. I loved Rome. What a charming and beautiful city. But, that two day visit to Rome changed the next couple months of my life. See, after two years of being careful to wear masks in crowded public places (you know where this is going now, right?), and since everyone around us in the trains and buses weren’t wearing masks, all signs were that COVID was a thing of the past. YAY! I was lured into blissful complacency. Two days after arriving back home, both Joy and I tested positive for COVID and folks, it was NOT like a bad cold. Now (two months later), I am finally feeling normal.

“Never, ever eat a melon without first washing it.”

So I can’t wait to go back to Italy. I’ll be avoiding the overly touristy areas, washing melons (washing EVERYTHING I EAT), bringing a mask and eating the most amazing pasta anywhere on earth. Io amo l'Italia!

In my next post, I’ll share three of the paintings I’ve completed now, based on photos I took on this trip. I’m sure there are a lot more painting possibilities amongst my photos but they’re a good start.

An Artist in Italy (Part 2)

Pacentro, Italy

I was talking to someone the other day and mentioned I’d just gotten back from visiting Italy, and he then asked me about the crowds. “It’s so touristy!” he said. “I want to go somewhere less crowded”. I get that, but the problem is not that there are too many tourists in Italy. The problem is that all the tourists are looking at the same instagram feeds while planning their itinerary.

One awesome thing I tried when planning my itinerary was how to work around the “Instagram affect”. So I googled “Less visited parts of Italy”. I discovered one of the least visited regions (by American tourists) is the region just east of Rome: the region of Abruzzo. So I checked it out. It looked beautiful — Lots of cool hilltop towns and lots and lots of mountains begging to be hiked and explored. So then I googled “most interesting places to see in Abruzzo”. And that sort of planning made for a wonderful time for us. Planning the itinerary this way, we discovered one of my very favorite towns (perched on a mountainside) called Pacentro. It was a friendly place for tourists, but not overrun by tourists at all. I heard no English conversation at all. If there were visitors, they were mostly Italian.

The problem is not that there are too many tourists. The problem is that the tourists are all looking at the same Instagram feeds while planning their itinerary.

This town is ancient, with narrow, stone streets winding their way up the mountainside to the castle. In the old part of town (where we stayed), there were no cars allowed on the streets (hard to fit a car on a 6’ wide “street”!) Joy and I loved this place. In the morning, we’d open the windows and hear the jovial conversation of neighbors. When we’d come back in the evening, we’d grab something to cook at the local (very small) grocery store and then go back home and cook dinner. But then — in Italy, after dinner there is a ritual: the passeggiata. This is when the whole town walks around and meets their friends at one of the cafe’s for a coffee or a glass of wine. Joy and I walked across town to the small park overlooking a large valley below, and then slowly made our way back home, passing the main piazza filled with people sitting, chatting, and laughing quietly. Understand, this is not a nightly “party”. They’re not at all being loud. They’re just all seemingly enjoying each other. In Pacentro, I heard no TV on at all. As an American, if I were home at 8:00 PM, I’d be watching Netflix. Instead, these people were sitting around the fountain in the piazza, sitting on doorsteps, sitting in outdoor cafe’s — all just spending time with each other. This seemed really beautiful to me. I’m an introvert, but even I could recognize the beauty in this ritual. I loved Pacentro.

So the first and one of the most important lessons on trip planning was this: find the most beautiful of the less visited areas of wherever you’re traveling to. Planning like that scored big time for Joy and I. The last week of our trip, we threw out all this reasoning and lived to regret it big time. More on that next.

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!

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!

What does Diversity have to do with honest artwork?

The photo above is my view as I paint. Not bad, right? So this morning, I took a moments break between art projects I was working on and stared out at these trees. And it occurred to me that there are uncountable varieties of foliage just right here in this one scene. They are all broadly the same thing (they are all plants). Most in this photo are more specifically similar in that they are trees (but several varieties). The trees do not make the shorter shrubs look ugly, and the shrubs seem quite comfortable growing alongside the trees without feeling insecure because they’re not as large. Pardon me please, I know I’m anthropomorphizing here, but it really hit me this morning: Diversity when living closely together is really beautiful. That’s at the heart of what makes nature so beautiful as opposed to a man-made garden. Beautiful, natural reality is incredibly diverse, and if what horticulturalists tell us is true, a diverse natural environment will be a healthier environment. If that is the key to real beauty as I suspect, it makes me wonder why we (why I) personally gravitate to people who are just like me. I find my tribe (of my own ethnicity, religion and culture) and then I “otherize” everyone else. Doing that seems so natural to us as human beings. But if there’s a lesson to be learned from nature; if the way nature “does it” applies to us humans too, then I suspect the more we maintain our differences but live our lives immeshed with people who do not look or talk or think like us, the closer results will look like real, natural beauty. But the more we huddle with people that are just like us, the closer we get to what is mundane, boring and even ugly.

“To the extent I mimic in my artwork what I see in front of me here as I paint, to that extent my artwork will be beautiful.”

Imagine a summer hillside panorama — mountains covered with trees. Got it? Okay, now imagine someone hands you a jumbo box of crayons to do a sketch, what color would you grab to depict the trees? Green? Really? Look again. To the left, those trees are in shadow and are almost black. Behind them, the sun is shining bright on something that looks almost yellow. Beside that is a bright green maple tree. As you look farther off in the distance, the more blue green the trees look and in the far off distance, the mountains look light blue gray (although they’re covered with the same green trees that are right in front of you). And everywhere, there are thousands and thousands of wildflowers and uncountable shrubs of various kinds. This is wilderness. And this is what actual, honest real beauty looks like: Awesome diversity of life, living closely together, maintaining their own individuality, all a part of the whole of exquisite beauty.

To the extent I mimic in my artwork what I see in front of me here as I paint, to that extent my artwork will be beautiful. So I notice the intricate differences in shades of color as it moves from left to right across the canvas, and grab different colors of paint to minutely adjust those colors. (As a side note, I never even use the same color blue in a sky — the color of the sky even on a crystal clear day, varies from left to right and top to bottom of what you see. To make my scene look “realistic”, I have to use a variety of colors even to paint something as simple as a blue sky.)

I long to live in a world that is really beautiful. And looking out at nature, I really think God left some clues how to create a society that is really beautiful: Diversity of life, living closely together, maintaining their own individuality, all a part of the whole of exquisite beauty. That sounds so awesome. I can’t make anyone go along with me but if I myself can keep this lesson in front of me for a while and be shaped by it, I think I will be a better, happier (and beautiful??) person.

Questions and Answers

A few weeks ago, I asked my Facebook followers if they had any questions regarding my work as an artist. Wow. Facebook peeps like questions like that. So…here are some questions from y’all and here are my answers:

Do you paint in any other styles besides landscape and an occasional abstract?

Well, no. I don’t paint figures anymore, and no animals. And I don’t paint still life. At this point in my career, I know what sells and I know what I enjoy painting most. Thankfully, it turns out I can make a living painting what I love best (landscapes and abstracts). I enjoy painting so much, but it’s so awesome to actually sell my work to someone that wants to make it a part of their home. What an amazing thing! So I’m always balancing what I love to paint with what I think will sell. Thankfully, they’re usually the same thing.

Do you have periods of artist block as writers often do?

Not really. Painting is so much fun. For me, it’s “life-giving”. That said, I am a huge proponent of taking time to sit and think, sit and feel, sit and pray, sit and do nothing. I am a “navel gazer”. I think that when creatives have a “block”, they need to take that really seriously and take some “down time”. I look at creative expression akin to “exhaling”. If you don’t inhale, you have nothing to exhale. And then you die. I’m not ready for that yet. So I encourage people to be thinking in terms of “soaking in” and “wringing it all out”. I make a living “wringing it all out.” But if I’m not “soaking it in”, I have nothing, and that doesn’t sound like much fun to me.

Is there a specific place you have yet to visit that beckons to you?

Well, funny you should ask.

Daily, I feel the desire to explore more of Italy. COVID has messed with my plans to return there but from the time I left Italy three years ago, I’ve fixated on finding a way to get back and really explore a lot more. I was so taken with the place that I began learning to speak Italian. It’s my hobby, and has become part of my daily routine. And after three years of learning, I’m about as fluent as a three year old! Woo Hoo!

I love Italy for two reasons: the landscape (cool ancient villages perched on hillsides) and the people. I’m an introvert and from what I experienced, I think you’d be hard-pressed finding an introvert in Italy. But rather than irritate me, I find myself fascinated. They’re are such a social people and I really love that. Americans can be so independent and disconnected from each other. It was a beautiful thing to see people interacted like I saw there.

Whenever I visit someplace new, I always come away with ideas for new artwork. I can’t help that. When an artist sees and feels something amazing, they have to express that amazement. We do that with our artwork, and then hopefully sell it!

So…I think I should be able to write the whole trip off on my taxes, right??

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: Autumn Day on the French Broad River

“Autumn Day on the French Broad River”

In my art studio, I usually just quietly work on this or that oil painting. Some of the pieces have no story behind them at all. Some paintings are just based on an idea from my imagination, and some are based on a nice photo provided by a client seeking a commission. But if you were to visit my studio in Asheville’s River Arts District, some of the paintings you would see would have stories behind them and I’m taking this opportunity to share some of those stories.

This painting, entitled "Autumn Day on the French Broad River" is one that always puts a smile on my face. Joy and I love to tube down the French Broad River in the summer months. We park one car in the River Arts District and then bring our picnic (bagged watertight) in our second car and drive up the river about five miles, blow up the inner tubes and shove off. Talk about an utterly relaxing way to spend the afternoon. When I say "relaxing" I mean truly bordering on boring, as the river usually seems to be flowing at about a mile an hour. I love it. 

By the time I painted it, “summer” themed scenes would be harder to sell, so I “autumn-ized” it.

So, we were floating down the river and there was this really cool tree overhanging the water and I knew I needed a photo of it. But by the time I realized that fact, I was almost past it. Thinking very quickly, I grabbed one of the lowest branches and stopped our ponderous progress down the river. After wading out into the water, I got us to shore, then walked back up the river (with my iPhone camera safely ensconced in it's ziplock bag) and put in the river again. This time I was ready, and I got my shot. I was happy. Joy was rolling her eyes. 

I loved the composition but the only problem was that it was nearing mid-summer. By the time I painted it, "summer" themed scenes would be harder to sell, so I "autumn-ized" it. Easy. Rather than the greens, I applied golds, yellows and deep siena browns. The result was a piece I was really happy with. And it takes me back to that pleasant day in the river with my wife Joy. :)

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. 

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?