“Commission” means someone is paying me to paint custom art for him. Them. Her. Shhhh, I think it will be a Christmas present.
Let’s call the customer Mister. You can decide if it is a man, a woman, or several humans. Mister decided on 20×20”, a square format. The canvas arrived, and I put a very thin coat of paint on it.
This is the version of the requested scene. Yes, it is Mineral King, and that is Trail Guy for size reference.
No wonder my laptop gets splatters on the screen.
Here is the beginning. The photo says “Yellow Tunnel” but Mister is requesting the tunnel to be green.
That’s as far as I got. When it dries, I’ll put in a better sky and a better West Florence (that’s the peak on the left side of Farewell Gap.)
In case you are curious, I painted the tunnel in the green season several years ago. (If it feels like three years, it was probably six.)
Heh-heh, it was actually just five years ago. I think I paint better now. Sure hope so, otherwise I am One Stuck Central California artist. Gotta keep improving. . . always. And don’t give me this “your own worst critic” stuff either, because if I’m not, how will I get better?
And that’s all I’ve got to say about that. For now.
These “Sold” posts are mostly to reassure myself that I’m not just drawing and painting for the fun of it. They serve a secondary purpose in reminding my tens of readers that I accept commissions (lest you think I am a prima donna who only creates what I “feel like” creating) and that I do sell my work (lest you think I just prefer to cover my walls with my own art.)
I distorted the proportions of West Florence and Vandever in this painting. I hope someone from far away bought it so that they don’t notice my “artistic license”.
Most of these sold at the Silver City Store, four miles below Mineral King. The sequoia paintings mostly sold at both of the stores which sell for me in Three Rivers (Kaweah Arts and Stem & Stone). One sequoia painting was a commissioned piece for a long time friend and customer, and another was to some new friends/customers.
If it weren’t for all those folks passing through town on their way to Sequoia National Park, I’d be sure that only my friends and relatives buy from me. It is thrilling when a stranger likes my art enough to part with their hard-earned pieces of green paper with dead presidents’ faces on them.
Tomorrow I’ll show you all the pencil drawings that sold. You’ve seen most of them already, so it will be reruns for you.
The plan was to finish the 10×30” commissioned oil painting of the two redwood trees. When I set up in the painting workshop, it looked too hard and too big and too daunting. So I indulged in some productive procrastination, opting instead to finish the plein air painting of the pumpkin field.
This meant that I added a few blossoms, detailed some foreground leaves, and signed the painting. Since it is too wet to scan, here is the photograph, which include shiny spots.
No, no, no, REALLY, it looks so much better in person! And it might be a bad idea to title it “Pumpkin Patch” since no pumpkins are visible. Besides, Mrs. Texas and I thought it was a field of summer squash for a few months.
Never mind. Let’s return to our twin redwoods, Sequoia Sisters, Sequoia Siblings, Aunt Tillie & Uncle Pete, Two Sisters. The last title is the real one, because my boss chose it. Who is my boss? Mrs. Customer, of course!
The upper mid section of greenery and trunk was lacking in detail. Mrs. Customer also requested to see some flowing water into the trough, along with a few wildflowers.
The water really flummoxed me because it flows in a little ravine, not right at the surface where it is visible. So, on the way up the hill recently, the idea of a waterfall came to me. On the way down the hill, we did a drive-by shooting of the waterfall. I’ve circled it and messed with the contrast so you can get an idea of what I am working with.
First, I had to paint out the fake-looking stream that I put down in order to force myself to address the issue. Buh-bye, little fake stream. You can see that there are boulders indicating a stream flowing into the trough. However, there isn’t room for a believable waterfall.
Oops, too small to see. Here is a close-up of the bottom left corner.
Allrighty then, let the water fall, and let the lupine bloom!
Will Mrs. Customer approve? (I signed it anyway. . . always hoping for the best.)
Why two photos of the (hopefully) finished commissioned oil painting? Because I photographed one with my inferior phone camera and one with my little Canon Elph, which probably is also inferior compared to most people’s phones. This will be an enormous challenge to photograph. When it is dry, I’ll tackle that aspect of the job. Or, more accurately, after Mrs. Customer is pleased and it is dry, then I will take on that challenge.
P.S. I like this painting a lot. Thank you, Mrs. Customer for commissioning a subject that I’ve never done for some odd reason!
With two Giant Sequoias to paint, I chose to finish, nay, ALMOST finish the painting I started in Gilroy. Why not the Sequoia paintings first? Because I missed Mrs. Texas after spending so much time together.
I think it might need a blossom or two and better definition on the closer leaves.
Because I was painting two at the same time of the same scene, and they are the same proportions, I can’t tell which photos are which paintings. So, no in-progress shots today, just a beginning and an end of the day photo of each.
The small one (6×18”)
The 10×30” painting.
This one is too tall to reach the top when it is sitting on the table-top easel, so I worked on the lower part first, then flipped it upside down to work on the top. The middle section isn’t finished.
The painting isn’t finished. I sent a photo to the customer so she can tell me if I need to add, change, or delete anything.
I am just a hired brush, using oil paints to make art that my customers can understand of places they love for prices that won’t scare them.
Mrs. Texas is at the edge of a pumpkin patch, a big “patch”. Okay, a pumpkin field. We mistakenly thought it was summer squash, that yellow crookneck stuff that prompted a friend of mine to say, “‘Squash’ is the past tense of ‘squish’, and ‘squish’ is not a food.” (Right on, Ben!) But pumpkins? Yes!
I took many photos, trying to see what was most pleasing. Some I took in the morning, some in the evening, some with the inferior phone camera, some with the little Canon Elph camera.
I took many more photos, and will show those next post. Meanwhile, let’s continue with the plein air process.
First, some sketches. Super scribbly, but good enough to make a decision.
Good enough for now. This took about 1-1/2 hour, and definitely needs more layers and detail. I might work on it in the painting workshop when/if the commissions get finished.
Wait, they WILL get finished. I mean if there is a gap before more commissions arrive.
Sequoias, Redwoods, Big Trees, Sequoia gigantea—all these words mean the trees which gave Sequoia National Park its name. Paintings of these trees sell very steadily to the visitors in our area. Sometimes it feels a little boring to keep painting the same things over and over.
When that feeling comes upon me, I think of three things: 1. I’d rather paint another sequoia tree than be a waitress; 2. Here is a chance to test and hopefully improve my skills as a painter; 3. Here is a chance to force myself to do something I don’t want to do and build more character. (COME ON, I’M ALMOST 66, CAN’T I BE DONE WITH CHARACTER YET??)
It is time for another 6×18″ painting of a Sequoia gigantea. That’s kind of a yawn for me.
It is also time for a 10×30” of a pair of redwood trees, known as Redwood Canyon, Two Sisters, and Aunt Tillie & Uncle Pete. (I’m quoting some former cabin neighbors who actually said this is how they refer to the pair of redwoods about 8 miles below Mineral King.) This one is a good challenge—big enough to really get in the detail that floats my boat, and figuring out how to put in the parts that are important to the customer while making it look believable in spite of the fact that I have to do a bit of squishing and fabricating. (Yeah, yeah, I know— “artistic license”.)
Shut up, Central California Artist, and show us some pictures!
Because the same colors are in both paintings (duh), it was easy to put them on side-by-side easels and slam out the first messy layer. Sometimes this is fun; sometimes it is just an obstacle until I get to do the details. Doesn’t matter—see reason #3 above. (Actually, it was the 2nd messy layer, the first one being a thin coating of unrecognizability.)
Yeppers, upside down. Otherwise it was too hard to reach the sky on the 30” canvas while it sat on the table.
The sketch is what I showed to the 10×30 customer. It is efficient to practice the same scene smaller in case I need to work out some design bugs. One will go to a longtime friend (the 10×30) and the other to a stranger just passing through town. (Who knows? maybe the stranger will someday become a friend too.)
Don’t be scared. I can make them both look good.
After the paintings got this far, I left them in the workshop to dry while I returned to the studio to work on the second pencil commission.
To postpone two difficult tasks, I started this 10×30” commissioned oil painting, following the sketch which the customer approved.
Just Plain Work
This part didn’t warrant any photos. Some friends from Southern California went to my show, bought a drawing, and then hit a snag and couldn’t return to pick it up. I took it home to package it for shipping, started to clean the glass, and I pushed the glass through the frame. WHAT?? It had to be taken apart and resecured. However, AFTER I had the back resealed up, I saw that the two mats were not aligned. WHAT?? I took it apart again, got everything in position, flipped it over, and saw that there was a tiny little chud (technical term I learned during a brief stint in college working at a frame shop for miscellaneous crud, which shows up usually after a picture has been framed). I took it apart again, cleaned it again, secured and sealed it again, and then had to protect it for shipping. Two hours later, it was finally sealed up with about a mile of tape, a box inside a box, surrounded by every piece of bubble wrap and foam wrap that I could scrounge, and filled with packing paper and those bubble pillows. Phew. (I also cleaned out our box department, where those cardboard containers have been multiplying in the dark, because finding 2 appropriate boxes was a project in and of itself.)
More Work
Since I was hot and dirty, I decided to face the mess in my studio, where we unloaded boxes and stacks of paintings after bringing it all home (except for 4 pencil drawings, a few books, and a large stack of cards).
I went through the paintings and drawings, chose my favorites, and began hanging them. There was a loud crash, and I turned back to see that the wire on the back of a pencil drawing came out of the frame. I guess the screw hole was stripped. The glass didn’t break, so it wasn’t all bad. (Yes, I know I am not storing the flag correctly. I also need to vacuum again. Probably need to dust too, and clean the windows.)
Then I had to pack all the rest into the painting workshop, which has a swamp cooler, and a lot of shelves, which all need to be rearranged and cleaned. Never mind. I’d rather draw.
Drawing
Finally, I was able to do some artwork. I chose the colors that seem to best match Texas bluebonnets, colored one, and then decided to show the customers before I finish the flowers. I can lighten the colors a bit, but I cannot erase. (I think that this photo is a bit exaggerated in its darkness.)
Everything felt too hard, too full of obstacles. So, I ran away for a few days. Maybe I’ll tell you about it later.
Still want to be an artist when you grow up?
P.S. The studio only looked like this for a day because one of the stores that sells my work suddenly had a lot of space to fill!
Just a few days ago I told you about Trail Guy hiking to the Franklin/Farewell junction and lamented my lack of hiking this summer. Last Sunday a friend and I decided to go to the Franklin/Farewell junction, because I really wanted to see it at least one more time in my life. (yes, being a bit dramatic here). I figured I could turn around if my feet started objecting too loudly (or perhaps wear ear plugs?)
The previous day had a terrific storm, but looking toward Farewell seemed clear, so K and I took off, (along with Trail Guy for the first mile or so.)
We saw Western Eupatorium, a flowering shrub I’ve only seen up near Franklin Lake.
We crossed Franklin Creek without trouble; K hopped the rocks and I simply walked through the water, which was shallow and clear, making it easy to see good foot placement.
Shortly after crossing, we felt a few raindrops. No problem: we each had a parka AND a poncho.
Good thing. Thunder, lightning, rain, and hail, but we just marched ourselves onward up the trail with only one break to stand under some trees (yes, risky with lightning) when the hail got too strong.
The white line is hail; the brown line is the very muddy stream.
When we reached the junction, the storm seemed to be letting up, so we stopped for a bit to see if any flowers remained and to eat something. (This was a hike, not a walk, so we carried food and water, and needed ponchos to keep our packs dry.)
Feeling hopeful, but cautious, we cut our break short and headed back down the trail. Two men had just passed us on their way down from Forrester Lake, cutting their backpack trip short by a day because the weather was a bit much.
Not long after heading back down, it all started again, with pouring rain that turned to hail, and steady thunder and lightning. We caught up to the men, sheltering under some trees because the hail was just so strong again. After a little conversation about how our ponchos were fairly ineffective, we headed down again. The trail turned to a flowing stream of mud, making it difficult impossible to see foot placement. I gave up pretending that the combination of parka and poncho were keeping me dry, accepting cold and wet as reality. (Ever get hail in your Crocs? It feels like a pebble, but eventually it melts.)
We took a couple of breaks beneath the few groups of trees, just to assess ourselves and one another. K is tough as nails, resourceful, always cheerful, and game for almost anything as long as it is in Mineral King, making her an excellent hiking partner. So, we mushed ahead and then. . .
. . . Franklin Creek!! Completely uncrossable. Raging, muddy, scary.
I took two photos, then packed my camera into its case (knit and felted by me, of course), then the poncho bag, and then buried it in my pack under the non-effective poncho. No more photos—the hike’s focus became solely about getting home in one piece.
NO MORE PHOTOS
K and I thought about our choices:
Wait for the two men to arrive and cross in a human chain, holding to one another for support. (K did this downstream on Franklin Creek many years prior).
Get comfortable and wait for the stream flow to subside.
Find another way home.
Option one still felt too risky; option two was too unknown and could take hours; option three was the best.
We went back up the trail to where we could bushwhack our way down to the East Fork of the Kaweah, which begins up at Farewell Gap. I guess you could call this “Farewell Creek”, or “Farewell Drainage”. Whatever its real name, we made our way to the stream, which was very muddy but not raging. The challenge was clambering up the bank after crossing, and somehow we made it up the other side without actually falling in, with apologies to the willows and other shrubs that we stomped on.
Then what? We knew that there was an old “trail” (just a route, because the trail is not visible in most places) up that side of the canyon to Farewell Gap. When we were on the trail, I led; when we were off trail, K led. I did my best to keep up, and she was very kind in waiting when she saw I was struggling—she is quite tall compared to me, and used to this sort of scramble-hiking, whereas I usually avoid this off-trail stuff.
We went over wet grass, through scratchy shrubs, over fallen logs, through a bear sleeping area (he wasn’t home), through some soggy little drainages, and over a zillion slippery branches, one of which knocked me to the ground, but only one, so there.
THOUGHTS, EXPRESSED AND NOT EXPRESSED
If anyone had shown me a video of the day’s hike, I would have said, “I’ll pass—just leave me here by the wood stove with my knitting.”
I know this is wacko, but I’m kind of having fun!
Unless one of us gets dementia, we’d NEVER forget this day. (We’ve been friends for 40 years, and this was definitely a memory maker.)
Trail Guy would hate this!
ONWARD
We knew we’d have to cross White Chief Creek, and because K was familiar with that side of the canyon, she knew that it flattens out where it enters the East Fork, which was also a raging muddy force of wetness. After crossing White Chief, we continued down canyon, aiming to connect with the trail which the pack station used to use for crossing the East Fork.
Just as we hoped, K led us directly to that trail, which she referred to as “Davis Camp”, and we huffed and puffed our way up to the real trail, the one that leads to White Chief, where we had considered going. I pushed for the Franklin/Farewell junction, since I’ve been to White Chief twice this summer.
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH
(WHERE did that saying come from??) Trail Guy was getting mighty worried. He went to a neighbor to apprise him of the situation, and together they began discussing a plan, correctly thinking that the Franklin crossing would be impossible.
While they were formulating a plan, we made it home. Trail Guy asked what I would have done if the situation was in the reverse. I said that I would have assumed he’d know to cross the East Fork and bushwhack his way home on the other side of the canyon, just as K and I did. He said that was exactly what he would have done, validating K and my decision making.
In thinking over the situation, K was the perfect partner for the adventure. Her cool head, optimistic attitude, knowledge of the area, stamina, and general toughness were just the right combination.
Meanwhile, we will never know how those two men made it across Franklin Creek.
Oh yeah. This is supposed to be a business blog. Have a look at a couple of oil paintings of Franklin Creek (both sold, but I can paint either scene again.)
Looking downstream, not too far below the Franklin Lake dam.
Like that song by Dolly Parton? Nope. Starting 2 new oil paintings of Mineral King (and finishing one other).
This is 3×9”, a new size I found in Salem at Michael’s. Visalia’s Michael’s doesn’t have any this size (or the 4×12”, which I quickly used to paint Sequoia trees.) This does not surprise me; the Central Valley of California usually gets lesser quality merchandise in its chain stores, of which there is an abundance (EXCEPT for Trader Joe’s, of course). However, we did get the largest Catholic church in North America, right in Visalia, although after a year of asking me to write and rewrite a contract to paint a mural, no contract was signed. In frustration, annoyance, exasperation, and a big injection of reality I raised my prices significantly. They gasped in horror, went searching for another muralist, and now, 2 years later, STILL NO MURAL.
Wait—we were talking about new paintings. This will be titled Mineral King Dusk #??
Here is a 6×12” of the classic Mineral King scene. Yes, upside down.
Layer #1 is now good enough to set aside for drying.
This trail scene, Mineral King Trail III, is now drying, awaiting a scan.
The color will be truer with the scan.
Why is it called “scan”, which is the first syllable of the word “scandal”? And why does it sound so close to “scam”?
