Rainy Sunday Morning Thoughts

I'm looking out my kitchen window, whilst sipping a cup of French roast coffee (a little burnt I think), gazing out at a gray, rainy, dreary Sunday morning in Asheville. No hiking today. No gardening today. I must make peace with being still. But that sounds a lot like boredom.  And for one day a week, I am absolutely fine with enforced stillness.

So there will be no exploring the hillsides and mountain trails of Western North Carolina. The Blue Ridge will have to wait until next week for me. Today, I am sitting, contented in my kitchen window, whilst sipping a cup of French roast coffee, absolutely enjoying a gray, rainy, beautiful Sunday morning in Asheville.

A Florida Sunday.
by Sidney Lanier

From cold Norse caves or buccaneer Southern seas
Oft come repenting tempests here to die;
Bewailing old-time wrecks and robberies,
They shrive to priestly pines with many a sigh,
Breathe salutary balms through lank-lock'd hair
Of sick men's heads, and soon -- this world outworn --
Sink into saintly heavens of stirless air,
Clean from confessional. One died, this morn,
And willed the world to wise Queen Tranquil: she,
Sweet sovereign Lady of all souls that bide
In contemplation, tames the too bright skies
Like that faint agate film, far down descried,
Restraining suns in sudden thoughtful eyes
Which flashed but now. Blest distillation rare
Of o'er-rank brightness filtered waterwise
Through all the earths in heaven -- thou always fair,
Still virgin bride of e'er-creating thought --
Dream-worker, in whose dream the Future's wrought --
Healer of hurts, free balm for bitter wrongs --
Most silent mother of all sounding songs --
Thou that dissolvest hells to make thy heaven --
Thou tempest's heir, that keep'st no tempest leaven --
But after winds' and thunders' wide mischance
Dost brood, and better thine inheritance --
Thou privacy of space, where each grave Star
As in his own still chamber sits afar
To meditate, yet, by thy walls unpent,
Shines to his fellows o'er the firmament --
Oh! as thou liv'st in all this sky and sea
That likewise lovingly do live in thee,
So melt my soul in thee, and thine in me,
Divine Tranquillity!

Personal Thoughts

"How do you decide what to paint?"

A young couple was visiting my studio yesterday and had commented that each of my paintings made them feel quiet and peaceful inside, and that although they each depicted a different landscape, that the resulting emotional impact was the same. I told them that that was the greatest compliment someone could pay me. And then they asked how I decide what to paint. And after pausing for a few moments (because I'm not usually asked that question), I realized the answer to that was simple: I want to go back home to Eden. Please pardon my philosophical/spiritual answer, but the question itself turns out to be a philosophical/spiritual question. Eden is in my ultimate goal. I can't help but long for it and depict it in my imaginings. My faith tradition teaches me that I was made for a Garden...a place that is filled with beauty, peace and safety. A place where people can be completely vulnerable and unashamed. And I can't help it -- this is what I'm depicting with my imagination in every painting that comes off my easel. Quiet woods, mountains reflecting in a serene lake, early morning sunlight poking out of the shade canopy in the forest...each scene I paint depicts a place I want to sit (preferably by myself or with just one or two close companions) and be quite, absorbing beauty as a dry sponge absorbs the water. I was made for that. I think everyone was made for that. That is why I paint what I paint. (See my FAQs for more)

The Conundrum Of The Workshops
by Rudyard Kipling

When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold, 
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould; 
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, 
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?" 

Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to fashion his work anew -- 
The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most dread review; 
And he left his lore to the use of his sons -- and that was a glorious gain
When the Devil chuckled "Is it Art?" in the ear of the branded Cain. 

They fought and they talked in the North and the South, 
they talked and they fought in the West, 
Till the waters rose on the pitiful land, and the poor Red Clay had rest -- 
Had rest till that dank blank-canvas dawn when the dove was preened to start, 
And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it Art?" 

They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart, 
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is it Art?" 
The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the idle derrick swung, 
While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each in an alien tongue. 

The tale is as old as the Eden Tree -- and new as the new-cut tooth -- 
For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of Art and Truth; 
And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart, 
The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was it Art?" 

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a surplice-peg, 
We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yelk of an addled egg, 
We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart; 
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but is it Art?" 

When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the Club-room's green and gold, 
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mould -- 
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their graves, 
and the ink and the anguish start, 
For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?" 

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the Four Great Rivers flow, 
And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long ago, 
And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly scurry through, 
By the favour of God we might know as much -- as our father Adam knew!

Favorite Hikes (Inspiration in the Making)...

Asheville Hikes

Hiking and exploring are a huge, huge part of how I regenerate when I'm "spent". Fresh air, exercise and immersion in nature -- that's where I go to recharge and I usually go home inspired with a new idea for my artwork. What does a mountain trail have to do with oil painting and my art studio? Everything.

So if you're visiting Asheville, here are a couple more hikes I am always recommending: Graveyard Fields and Skinny Dip Falls. Both are a wonderful way to spend the day and are both easy hikes (no excuses not to enjoy!).

Graveyard Fields

Graveyard Fields is a super popular hiking destination on the Blue Ridge Parkway (Milepost 418.8). The Yellowstone Prong is the water source for two waterfalls in a mile-high valley filled with wildflowers and surrounded by Blue Ridge mountains with 6,000-foot peaks. The area got it's name years ago from the tree stumps and surrounding trees that looked like grave stones in a graveyard setting. The trees were toppled by a huge wind several hundred years ago. Then in 1925, an intense fire burned the recently logged area, and the forest has been slow in recovering since. This provides a stark contrast to most hiking in the Asheville area.

Their beautiful hiking trail (Graveyard Fields Loop) is about four miles. Start from the overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway. There is a map on the sign at the parking area. Take the trail at the lower end (right side looking away from Parkway) of the parking area. This descends down a paved path through a thick patch of rhododendron, down some steps and to a bridge. Cross the bridge, turn right along the trail until you come to the first trail intersection to the right, and descend a long flight of steps to viewing platform for Lower (or Second) Falls. You can get a closer look from the boulders at the base of the falls. You can even slide down a portion of the waterfall!  This beautiful waterfall is just short hike from the parking area. It's a popular swimming hole to get splash around in the cool mountain water and slide down part of the waterfall. The rocks are slick and there are no lifeguards on duty. So be careful!

Skinny Dip Falls

Skinny Dip Falls are beautiful. Really one of our favorites. It's a refreshing swimming hole and soaking spot on a hot summer day with clear, cold water. And it's a beautiful waterfall setting to enjoy any time of the year without getting wet with multiple cascades and pools. Located on the Blue Ridge Parkway (at Milepost 417 at Looking Glass Rock overlook), it's easy to find at the end of a 1/2 mile hiking trail from the Parkway overlook.

Sorry, Skinny Dip Falls is not clothing-optional.  And In addition to a nice "jump off rock" into a deep pool (about six feet deep), there are several places to wade or have a seat in the cool mountain water.

Inspiration is Everywhere (some of our favorite hiking trails)

Recharging one's batteries (so to speak) is essential to me as an artist. Getting out and hiking is the best way to "reboot" my system. Get some fresh air and miles under my belt and creativity just flows naturally. Maybe everyone is that way but I've always had to get out and breathe, you know?

And because with an open painting studio in Asheville's River Arts District, I am sometimes the unofficial town greeter, and am asked about fun things to do (including hiking). So it seemed like a good idea to share some of my favorite hiking trails around here. 

Dupont Forest Waterfalls

This three-mile hike to two awesome waterfalls is the most popular waterfall hike near Asheville and one of my favorites. The moderate hike has a few hills but is perfect for about all fitness levels and families. Since it's so popular, weekends especially in the summer and fall bring big crowds.

Triple Falls
Triple Falls has three cascades with a total 120-foot drop. Just past an overlook, a trail forks off to the left and heads down to land on a large rock area below the top two falls and atop the third. It's a great place to relax or have a picnic, while you enjoy the views up and down the waterfall.

High Falls
From Triple Falls, continue about 1/2 mile on the High Falls Trail to the largest waterfall, a 150-foot cascade down an inclined plane of granite. En route, you'll see the River Bend Trail to the left. Take this detour to reach the base of High Falls (includes rock hopping along the river).  

Black Balsam Knob

A must hike along the Blue Ridge Parkway (milepost 420.2, about 26 miles from the Asheville exit on the Parkway) is the Black Balsam Knob area that includes some of the most spectacular mountain balds in the Southern Appalachians, including Black Balsam Knob (or Black Balsam Bald), Sam Knob, and Tennent Mountain. These treeless mountaintops in the Pisgah National Forest draw people from all over to soak in the sweeping views with an alpine-like feel. Almost entirely devoid of trees above 6,000 feet elevation, the summits are more reminiscent of New England than North Carolina.

Max Patch

This 4,600-foot mountain was cleared and used as pasture in the 1800s. Today, it's a 350-acre tract of open land on a high knob with 360-degree views. On a clear day, you can see from Mt. Mitchell on the east to the Great Smoky Mountains on the south. What a picnic spot! And great for star gazing and enjoying wildflowers. The summit is a short walk from the parking lot. Max Patch is part of the Pisgah National Forest. The Great Smoky Mountains, only 20 miles away, dominate the southwest horizon. To the west the terrain drops more than 3600 feet into the flatlands of eastern Tennessee. To the west 50 miles, rises the dark ridgeline of the Black Mountains. Endless ridges and peaks fill every vista.

"What makes this painting so sparkly?"

Questions, questions...

I'm asked by a lot of people why I paint local North Carolina landscapes (usually mountains, lakes, rivers and trees) on aluminum leaf, and I explain (at least daily) that it's because aluminum leaf reflects light. Painting on aluminum leaf, I can create a painting that is back-lit. This greatly intensifies the color.  How I came up with that is, well, the fault of a French architect in 1163.

When I was twenty years old, a friend of mine backpacked through Europe with me and during those travels (every American twenty year old should do this trip by the way) we found Paris, and the highlight was Notre-Dame Cathedral.

I was quite surprised to see how large the cathedral actually was. It is hulking and awesome.  Honestly, I didn’t know much about the Notre-Dame apart from the Hunchback that made the place famous.

One side of the cathedral was lined with cafes for people queuing up to go in the church. Interestingly, the chairs of the restaurants were almost all facing outside. I thought it was strange as I would probably prefer to face in towards whoever I was with. If I was alone, I would not face outside, I don’t like strangers in the queue watching me eat.

We got there during Mass ("hey, don't mind us Presbyterians --carry on, carry on"). It was magical. So utterly beautiful. And when Mass was done, I turned to leave and then I saw it: the rose window. Oh my gosh. I'd never seen color do what it was doing as the sun penetrated the colored glass. I remember thinking, "How can I get PAINT to do that?" At the time, this seemed like a ridiculous question because you paint on a canvas and how do you shine light through a canvas, right?

This idea went no where for many years until I saw the Orthodox church answer to stained glass windows: ICONS. Icons are painted on gold. P-A-I-N-T-E-D on gold. Well, I couldn't afford gold so I found aluminum leaf and a new genre of art was born, from a rose window in Paris and a Madonna and child on gold. You never know where a creative muse will lead you. You just follow it and see!

"No Boundaries"

The Great Smoky Mountains

Becoming a national park was not easy for the Great Smokies. Joining the National Park System took a lot of money and the hard work of thousands of people. Establishing most of the older parks located in the western United States, such as Yellowstone, was fairly easy. Congress merely carved them out of lands already owned by the government—often places where no one wanted to live anyway. But getting park land in this area was a different story. The land that became Great Smoky Mountains National Park was owned by hundreds of small farmers and a handful of large timber and paper companies.

A New Idea

The idea to create a national park in these mountains started in the late 1890s. A few farsighted people began to talk about a public land preserve in the cool, healthful air of the southern Appalachians. A bill even entered the North Carolina Legislature to this effect, but failed. By the early 20th century, many more people in the North and South were pressuring Washington for some kind of public preserve.

Efforts to create a national park became successful in the mid-1920s, with most of the hard-working supporters based in Knoxville, Tennessee and Asheville, North Carolina. Surprisingly, motorists had the biggest role in the push for a national park. The newly formed auto clubs, mostly branches of the AAA, were interested in good roads through beautiful scenery on which they could drive their shiny new cars.

In May, 1926, a bill was signed by President Calvin Coolidge that provided for the establishment of Great Smoky Mountains National Park and Shenandoah National Park. This allowed the Department of the Interior to assume responsibility for administration and protection of a park in the Smokies as soon as 150,000 acres of land had been purchased.

Since the government was not allowed to buy land for national park use, the former political boosters became fund raisers. In the late 1920s, the Legislatures of Tennessee and North Carolina appropriated $2 million each for land purchases. Additional money was raised by individuals, private groups, and even school children who pledged their pennies. By 1928, a total of $5 million had been raised. The Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial Fund matched what had been raised and donated $5 million, assuring the purchase of the remaining land.

But buying the land was difficult, even with the money in hand. There were thousands of small farms, large tracts, and other miscellaneous parcels that had to be surveyed and appraised. The timber and paper companies had valuable equipment and standing inventory which required compensation. Worse, in some ways, were the emotional losses to people who had to walk away from their homes. Lifetime leases allowed some people to stay temporarily, particularly if they were too old or too sick to move. Others could be granted leases on a short-term basis. However, they could not cut timber, hunt and trap at will, or otherwise live as they always had.

The facts about this place (to me anyway) are interesting, but the real interest is the nitty-gritty history of this place. People lived out their lives here. They composed their music here, wrote their stories here and crafted their poems here. And walking the trails, you can still make out the presence of the past if you listen...

There’s an old weather bettion house
That stands near a wood
With an orchard near by it
For almost one hundred years it has stood

It was my home in infency
It sheltered me in youth
When I tell you I love it
I tell you the truth

For years it has sheltered
By day and night
From the summer’s sun heat
And the cold winter blight

But now the park commisioner
Comes all dressed up so gay
Saying this old house of yours
We must now take away

They coax they wheedle
They fret they bark
Saying we have to have this place
For a National Park

For us poor mountain people
They don’t have a care
But must a home for
The wolf the lion and the bear

But many of us have a tltle
That is sure and will hold
To the City of Peace
Where the streets are pure gold

There no lion in its fury
Those pathes ever trod
It is the home of the soul
In the presence of God

When we reach the portles
of glory so fair
The Wolf cannot enter
Neither the lion or bear

And no park Commissioner
Will ever dar
To desturbe or molest
Or take our home from us there

-By Louisa Walker

Appalachian Trail

The Appalachian Trail is the longest "hiking only" footpath in the world, and extends from Georgia to Maine. Some of our favorite places to hike in North Carolina cross-cross the AT here and there. This painting is from one of my favorite balds near the border of Tennessee.

Living as an artist in Western North Carolina, the Appalachian Trail is never far, and is always an inspiration for my oil paintings. I simply never run out of creative fodder! In thinking about this awesome trail, and the amazing adventures found upon it, the landscapes, the trees, the rivers and the mountains, it seemed like I needed a poem to really do it justice.  (See some of my favorite hikes in the area)

Endless Ranges

The month of February I will begin

a trek through woods as wide as the seas,

from the foothills of Georgia 

to rock altars in the mountains of Maine,

a pilgrimage of whole hearted discovery.

I shall walk on this Appalachian trail,

following the blazes of white,

beneath the wide open sky,

gazing north, always north 

across wide rivers, rocky ridges, and green meadows.

Twenty-two hundred miles it is,

twenty-two hundred miles to reach the end.

From this point on I now must find the will

to go onward every day until Autumn’s chill,

with the last days my youth has left to lend me.

And in these lonely months of walking,

when I’m lost amidst fog draped mountain peaks

timeless truths I hope to find as I am quiet and just listen --

to the whisper of branches, the gurgling of the stream,

the roaring wind -- listen for The Voice. He is here.

This trail I trek not because I’m bold or brave,

but from fear of that days when I've grown old,

I will with regret, I’ll only quietly sigh

because of the unlived life that has passed me.

This is an adventure is not one I can ignore.

While I do not know if I shall succeed,

I do ask the reader -- listen!

Live your one-time Life. Really live!

And should you find your path twine across my own,

Welcome home. 

"The Rules" of Art

Art: The Process of Creating an Oil Painting

I recall an episode of Downton Abby where a certain gentleman made a glaring fashion blunder by wearing a white tuxedo vest. Obviously, he should have known better—should have known to wear the black vest. The family was scandalized and horribly embarrassed for him. I can only imagine.

Rules that dictate behavior in “high society” are often comical, and it’s easy to question their validity at all. Aren’t norms arbitrary and man-made? If society banded together, we could all just as well decide that it’s proper to wear orange vests to our dinner parties, and then that would be the right choice, right? The truth is, some rules are like that. And some aren’t. Some rules are really more conventions than rules. But the rules I want to proceed to discuss here – the rules of art, are far from arbitrary or man-made. We artists take our cue from nature itself. Nature – the way things work, the way things are put together – is what dictates the standards for beauty. I’d like you to study this photo:

This is a oil painting by John William Waterhouse entitled “The Lady of Shalott”. Look at the painting and notice where your eyes are led and where they rest. Are you haplessly scanning the piece, with nowhere for your eyes to land? Probably not. If you’re like most people, your eyes will immediately fall on the face, and then wander to the golden prow of the boat, and then follow the gentle curve of said boat, up the figure to rest once again at the girl's face. Your eye does this for a reason. The painter, John William Waterhouse, used a device called the Golden Section when he composed this piece. The Golden Section (also known as the Golden Ratio or the Divine Proportion) is an almost magical ratio. Mathematically, it is the ratio 62:38. This ratio is found all over nature, all over art, all over everything we deem beautiful. The Golden Section is the most aesthetically pleasing division of space. Looking up at the above photo again, start at the right side and trace your eyes over 62% of the way to the left. That point corresponds to the placement of the woman’s face. Start from the bottom of the photo and measure out 62% and you’ll find your eyes again stop at the woman’s face. Your eyes naturally fall on her because they are carried there by this intersection of two very important mathematical divisions. But there is another reason your eyes are drawn to rest upon the woman’s head. Waterhouse employed not only the Golden Section in the composition of his piece but also his knowledge of contrast. Your eye will always travel to where the lightest light and the darkest dark meet. There is a reason the Lady is wearing white and the sun is shining bright on the top of her head: this creates the point of greatest contrast in the painting against the dark background of the trees. The result is that your eyes are not scrambling but resting naturally at the exact point the artist predetermined to draw them.   I might also mention the use of complementary colors in this painting. Complementary colors are opposites on the color wheel and a complementary color is used to either balance the predominate color or to accent it. Look at the painting again. The predominant colors in this piece are muted greens but he also uses the complement of muted reds. In the water we see blues and violets and that is complemented with the golds and yellows. All this to say: this painting was not haphazardly assembled. Waterhouse worked within The Rules and created a masterpiece.  

...Good art is that it is always created with skill

The last thing I’ll say about good art is that it is always created with skill. There should be somewhat of a mystery about it. When standing in front of a beautifully painted piece of art you should be prompted to awe and wonder, asking the question, “how did he or she do that?” To be honest, much of the artwork in modern times leaves me asking no such question. There is no mystery and no obvious skill. Such art neither commands my respect nor holds my interest. Art that will be remembered throughout history is not that which ignores the rules, nor that which becomes tirelessly bogged down with the rules. No, art that lasts will be that which so internalizes the rules that it moves beyond them, synthesizing and remixing them into new focal points of beauty—new reinventions of that created order which was there from the beginning, but which is inexhaustible in its number of true expressions.

Process: Rocky Mountain Commission

I love working large. Large artwork is commanding. Whether it’s intended as entrance art to grab you as soon as you enter a house or just a large wall piece, a sizable painting is artwork on a grand scale. I am currently working on a large commissioned art project for some nice folks in Austin, TX. The composition is triptych, and is based on a scene of the Rocky mountains -- mountains and birch trees reflecting in a lake. I just finished applying the metallic leaf to the textured surfaces of the panels yesterday and I was ready to go home -- turned off the lights and went to the back of the studio to get my keys, and when I turned around, I saw the panels reflecting back the late afternoon sunlight and I had to get a photo. Sorry. I get excited about stuff like this. One day, I'll have to just do a painting with no paint at all -- just metal covered with resin. I think that would be cool. Anyway, this one is ready for paint now, and by the end of the day, I'll have that first layer of paint applied. 

Sometimes, when I get into a piece, it's cool to explore the background story. This scene from Glacier National Park required just a bit of research so that I'm not just painting a painting, but I'm depicting a place. I want to capture the "spirit" of that place. Throughout time, people have sought out Glacier National Park's rugged peaks, clear waters, and glacial-carved valleys; its landscape giving both desired resources and inspiration to those persistent enough to venture through it. Evidence of human use in this area dates back to over 10,000 years. By the time the first European explorers came into this region, several different tribes inhabited the area. The Blackfeet Indians controlled the vast prairies east of the mountains, while the Salish and Kootenai Indians lived in the western valleys, traveling over the mountains in search of game and to hunt the great herds of buffalo on the eastern plains.

The majority of early European explorers came to this area in search of beaver and other pelts. They were soon followed by miners and, eventually, settlers looking for land. By 1891, the completion of the Great Northern Railway sealed the area’s fate, allowing a greater number of people to enter into the heart of northwest Montana. Homesteaders settled in the valleys west of Marias Pass and soon small towns developed.

Around the turn of the century, people started to look at the land differently. For some, this place held more than minerals to mine or land to farm…they began to recognize that the area had a unique scenic beauty all to its own.

By the late 1800s, influential leaders like George Bird Grinnell, pushed for the creation of a national park. In 1910, Grinnell and others saw their efforts rewarded when President Taft signed the bill establishing Glacier as the country's 10th national park.

This painting has a way to go before completion, but I love the process: texture, aluminum leaf, paint and finish. More to come on this one...

"Summer Path Thru the Birch Trees"

Already Longing for Summer

Introducing...."Summer Path Thru the Birch Trees" (18" x 24") This was a revisiting of an older oil painting I did a couple years ago. This time, I went smaller and added more texture and trees. And rather than finished with a thick glossy coat of resin, I finished it with a softer, more subtle finish (satin varnish) which seals it all but still leaves all the texture visible. This composition reminds me of an awesome summer back when I was a young teenager. My brother had a best friend who had a family cabin and many, many acres of property on the north shore of Francois Lake in northern British Columbia, Canada. The deal was that he would spend a couple months there on the lake, and then we (my mom, dad and sister) would come visit for several days and pick him up. We meandered up the Pacific Coast Highway, visited my uncle on Bainbridge Island just off the coast from Seattle, crossed into Canada at Vancouver and drove north up the Fraser River Valley toward Francois Lake.

Francois Lake was a remote and awesome finger lake, very deep and very clear. The water was so pure that the locals had to ADD minerals to it so they could drink it and still get the minerals they needed to be healthy. Crazy. And the old farm (complete with rustic log house and cool old barns) was amazing. I'd never seen a place like it before. The old dirt roads and fields were mostly overgrown (it had been a while since it was a real working farm) but I clearly remember exploring along the road to the upper field, birch trees and wild flowers surrounding me everywhere. The sound of birch trees in the wind is unforgettable. 

Anyway, I can't paint a landscape featuring birch trees and not remember that spectacular summer holiday. We've since visited Canada many times (from coast to coast) and never tire of the spectacular beauty of that place.