Deciding what to paint for the Silver City Store this coming summer felt like a daunting task. There is no excuse for procrastination, and the better I plan, the better the sales. So, suck it up, Buttercup.
The first step in planning is to look at the available Mineral King paintings. (For my out-of-the-area readers, Mineral King is a beautiful alpine valley in Sequoia National Park; each summer I sell art 4 miles below the valley at a resort in a little cabin community called “Silver City”.)
It also involves evaluating how many paintings sold, both by subject and by size. I am painting to satisfy a clientele, rather than just doing whatever “moves” me. Thank goodness it is all very beautiful.
This planning part isn’t so beautiful. It’s methodical, tedious, and would be easier if I had a crystal ball. Instead, I have records, intuition, common sense, and piles and piles of photos, both the paper variety and on the laptop.
It is helpful to line them out by subject and size.
It is also helpful to take a break and walk somewhere. (No powerlines in Mineral King or Silver City to clutter the views up there, because it is remote, the Land of No Electricity.)
Rosemary in bloom. . . so far this year, February has been impersonating spring.
Now I have ten new paintings to produce, ranging in size from 6×6” to 8×16” and 10×10”.
I’ve attached hanging hardware and assigned inventory numbers. Next I need to give them titles, such as “Sawtooth #209”.
Not really; I think it is only somewhere in the 60s.
After a couple of weeks of messing around, I finally planted my feet in front of the easels to complete these three Sequoia paintings.
First, I dabbled on this one day, and then said, “Never mind, I’d rather [walk] [pull weeds] [go to the library] [anything else]”.
I girded my loins, and returned to the easels on another day. Can you tell which one is finished among these three?
Now two are finished, on the face anyway.
The light is beginning to wane, but all three are now finished on their faces.
The edges remained. It is a good way to use up the rest of the paint, and I hold them in my hand and rotate them around, trying to not end up wearing any paint. Finally, I laid them flat to dry.
The next oil painting task is to decide what to paint for the Silver City Store. Summer is like Christmas—we KNOW when it is coming, there is no excuse for procrastination, and there is plenty of time to prepare without getting jammed up against the calendar.
Maybe in one of those avoidance activities, I can engage in some deep thought to figure out why I was so reluctant to work on these paintings, which sell steadily at two local art stores/gift shops.*
Then since I was on a roll with Sequoia Trees, I got this panel set up in the sunshine to recoat the sky because that knothole made a weird appearance.
I’m around, but not working much, sort of taking time off to spend with some friends and other responsibilities. However, I know how annoying and puzzling it is when a blog you read daily just seems to vanish, so I’ll post a quick something each day. Far be it from me to annoy my tens of blog readers!
This painting sold a week or two ago. It has been around for awhile, so I figured that I must have saturated the market with the Kaweah Post Office. This is painting #23. The title is Kaweah Post Office XXII, but I miscounted when I was titling them.
I painted this one en plein air, and then didn’t like it so retouched it, still didn’t like it, so retouched it again. Then when it took awhile to sell, I almost pulled it from the store multiple times, but Nancy Who Knows Better kept urging me to leave it. So, we did little happy squeals and laughs when she told me last week that it sold.
Now I will only paint it again if someone commissions me.
The Kaweah Post Office is no longer operational. Used to be the smallest operating post office in the country. Now it is just a vandalism target. Sigh. It is in Three Rivers, although the folks nearby insist that they live in Kaweah, with their own zip code. Doesn’t mean anything because the mail lands in the Three Rivers Post Office.
Do you have any understanding of the difficulty of coming up with interesting titles to the same subjects, over and over and over? Just asking, not really expecting any answers.
These paintings, 6×18”, of Sequoia Gigantea, AKA Redwoods, AKA Big Trees, sell very steadily at $195 each. I get a little tired of painting the same thing over, until I think about the alternative occupations of waitress or secretary. Thus, I began another set-up of three of these popular paintings, with layer #1 completed last week.
Layer #2 is sky, because I work from back to front, meaning that I paint the most distant thing first.
Next, the wood. Redwood.
Then, green on the big trees.
Green on the more distant trees is supposed to be less vivid, more bluish green, a bit lighter.
Hold on—Jackson is hungry, poor deprived underfed malnourished beast, begging for a morsel. He begins with slamming into the back of my legs as I stand at the easel, gripes at me if I don’t respond, and eventually, he stretches upward and bites me. So, I must feed him if I expect to finish any work.
The last layer is the ground with its shadows. For variety, I put the sun at two different angles.
Notice the lack of reference photos. They are taped to another easel, and I only glance at them from time to time. Yeppers, I am making up these trees rather than trying to copy any one tree exactly. Visitors to the Park don’t know the details; the main request is to have a painting show the entire tree, from top to botrom.
These paintings will dry, and then I will begin layer #3, which is the most enjoyable part to this pencil artist: details!
P.S. If you don’t hear from me for the rest of the week, fret not. I’ll post about the mural progress next Monday.
You prolly know that Boxing Day is a British tradition. In the olden days, the rich people boxed up their excesses the day after Christmas to give to the po’ folk. I don’t know what they do now, except I do know that one friend in Nova Scotia chooses to make a really nice dinner on Boxing Day rather than on overloaded Christmas.
2. After the Yellow Tunnel oil painting dries again, I will put the finishing touches on it. I can print and write more neatly, sometimes it is just unimportant, such as when I am slamming out the notes as fast as they pop into my mind.
3. This is the best article and idea I have ever read about Christmas. It was in the Wall Street Journal in 1997, and my Dad cut it out to give to me. I never forgot its wisdom, and it was very good to find it on the internet a few years ago.Iin case it gets deleted, I printed a copy.
4. Sometimes I draw in church. It helps me listen, because keeping my hands busy occupies the right side of my brain so it doesn’t hijack the other side. If I am drawing and listening, I’m not making a list of things to do in the coming week, writing reminder notes to myself, or other things that actually prevent listening.
P.S. Calendars are still available because IT ISN’T 2026 YET! Look here for the info. Or email me here: cabinart [at] cabinart [dot] net. (Written that way because of internet gremlins.) Or call me if you have my number (oh nonono, not putting it here for those gremlins to find!)
P.P.S. The Beginning Drawing Workshop is still open for registration. Look at this blog post from Monday for the details.
Today we continue the assorted thoughts, all unrelated to one another and unrelated to Christmas Eve.
Last week I was in the Post Office and there was a bit of a line, which gave me the opportunity to do nothing but eavesdrop and observe. There were four of us women in the lobby, all wearing jeans. I observed 3 styles: A. super tight, AKA “skinny jeans”, worn by someone simply because that is what was available or perhaps worn because she thought that any fad is simply “cute” without regard to whether or not it is flattering; B. very wide legs, rolled up to be “floods” or “high waters”, worn because they were available and fit or perhaps because she thought they were the “latest” (which only lasts a few months any more) without regard to whether or not it looked silly; C. normal jeans, except sort of baggy and stacked up on the shoes, worn because they are never in style nor out of style, they don’t squeeze a body, don’t look like “high waters”, because they fit, and because they are comfortable. (Bet you can guess what Jeans Camp I belong to). I was happy to see that no one was wearing purposely torn jeans.
In listening to a podcast that ends with “something you might not know”, I learned that The Chipmunks were created in 1958 by someone messing around with an old tape recorder (or whatever machine was around then) on high speed. As a result, I got them singing their Christmas song on repeat in my head. Made me laugh to hear those voices from my youth.
I might be finished with the Yellow Tunnel! I dug through the provided photos and cobbled together enough visual helps to turn the humanoid into a hiker, then texted Mr. Customer. He said, “I think he looks great!” I replied, “Well, glory to God for answered prayers for help on this!”
Then I painted the edges.
not finished
That’s enough. I am guessing most of my blog readers have other things to do on Christmas Eve than read assorted and sundry thoughts from an artist’s rambling and active mind.
Yes, calendars and spaces in the beginning drawing workshop are still available. Look at yesterday’s post for the links. I’m busy thinking thoughts rather than finding links.
This happened yesterday. First, I went to the post office to mail some packages of this painting and some calendars.
From the PO I jaywalked across the highway to the bank to deposit moola from the day before in Tulare and a check paying for this painting, which sold at the Mural Gallery.
When I got home, there were sirens, more sirens, lights, more sirens, and every type of emergency vehicle imaginable going past. A friend, a neighbor, and the mail lady drove into our driveway all at the same time, everyone speculating and sharing what they knew. Trail Guy, L (the friend), and I decided to walk down to see what we could see. When we got there, about 1/2 of the emergency vehicles had left, so we were feeling hopeful that it wasn’t as awful as first imagined.
The driver doesn’t know what happened—just driving, then sideways. The windshield was completely smashed on the driver’s side, because that is the way the driver was extracted. The driver wasn’t hurt, just puzzled and embarrassed and dismayed and every other emotion when your life is suddenly disrupted to this degree with multiple uniforms surrounding you. (Yes, keeping things anonymous here.)
I walked back home, puzzled, a bit worried about what happened to the driver, and just slayed by the clarity of the day.
Some paperwork was demanding attention in the studio, because if one doesn’t stay current, one will miss expenditures and deposits and emails and real mail, no matter how much one thinks she will remember later. And no matter how careful she thinks she has been, the end-of-the-year bookkeeping is always a little ragged. It didn’t take too long, and I felt rather smug about handling it so efficiently (which somewhat balances out the irritation of those ragged parts in the year-end machinations.)
After puttering around with mural paints in preparation for the next painting day, which was an excuse to be outside in the sunshine, I finally moved into the painting workshop to see if I could progress on the Yellow Tunnel.
First, more blue patches in the cottonwoods.
The humanoid is very intimidating, frankly, just too hard… inadequate photos, and very small. I won’t be quitting, but today wasn’t the day for this degree of precision. (Yikes on the skin color, complete uncertainty on almost everything else.)
Edges! I’ll paint the edges! Trouble is, the top of the canvas is quite a bit above my vision. I moved the easel to the floor and in the process I banged my bad wrist, which I thought was well enough to stop wearing the brace. (De Quervain’s Tennosynovitis, now in the 14th month of trying to rob me of joy.) Holy guacamole, how will I be able to work on the mural Friday?
I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Intern will be with me, so we’ll figure something out. I was able to do this upper edge of the canvas, but then I quit for the day because ow. OW. OW. Dang it dang it dang it.
I was able to do a bit of texting, keeping current with the customer on my progress. There is a great big distance between us geographically, which can make a customer feel a bit nervous. This customer and I are actually good friends, so he isn’t nervous, and I just like to stay in contact.
He mentioned an interest in another painting to go with this one (which is to go with another one he owns), so I mentioned these two, which are still available. Pushy artist, eh? Nope, helpful. I hope. (The colors are SO MUCH BETTER IN PERSON.)
And since I am being a helpful artist, here is the calendar for your consideration. Prolly won’t make it by Christmas, but it will make it by January 1 if you order soon, depending on your location. $25 includes mailing and tax.
Remember this painting from before I began the mural? (I certainly hope so, since I showed it to you yesterday with a few trees completed on the left.)
I finished landscaping the distance. (Maybe. There’s always room for improvement.)
Then I texted Mr. J. (the customer) with a photo and this question: “Can you say if the roof color moves more toward a brownish gray or toward a bluish gray? I know that’s getting into some artsy nitpicky details, but I have to ask in case [it matters]. Maybe I should make my prices 10 times as high so I can fly places and check out things with my own eyes!” (Yes, I am editing my text for you, Blog Reader, so it makes the most sense)
Mr. J. replied: “Maybe include it as an option for customers to pay directly.”
I responded: “That is an excellent idea. Would you like to be the first?”
Mr. J.: “Like to? Yes. Able. . .?”
Me: “Shoot. I thought you were going to send me an airline ticket. I was momentarily confused, forgetting that we met on the Frugal Girl blog.”
Then I put down the phone and painted a new layer on the roof.
For this type of precision painting, I often rotate the canvas so that I can precisely monitor the edge of the brush. If the handle or my hand is blocking the view of the bristles, how can I be accurate?
CORRECT! I CANNOT!
Next, bricks and shutters and windows.
Much more detail remains for the windows and doors and landscaping. I carried it into the warm house for quicker drying. This is very intense work, and in order to apply detail, the paint beneath must be dry, or almost dry. The shine on the sky is an indication of wet paint, and the changing color on the roof is an indication of the changing light as the day progressed.
It was an interesting painting day, because I’d paint about 15 more minutes which turned out to be an entire hour. I must have been having fun, because time flew. There were no walks, no sitting in the sun, and lunch was quickly scarfed down while standing at the kitchen counter until I realized that I could finish it while walking back to the workshop.
I am seriously grateful to Trail Guy for keeping the house warm and fixing dinner. How do people manage without supportive spouses??
Why “painting workshop”? Because I don’t paint in the studio. I draw in the 11×13’ studio; painting is too messy for that little space.
Since I am taking a break from the library mural, I now have time to return to the oil painting commissions.
We finally had a sunny day, which made it much easier to see. This is how the painting looked in the morning.
The day’s goal was to get all the green cottonwood leaves turned yellow. I mixed several shades of yellow and gold, and began working methodically from top to bottom and left to right.
A friend texted me to ask for a photo of me working on a painting. The choices were to wait until the evening and go through my 30,000 photos or hand the camera to Trail Guy. We opted for the second choice. My jacket is green, not blue. See? Cameras do lie.
I painted some more leaves.
Then Trail Guy tempted me with a walk, and as I stepped out of the workshop, I was struck once again by my flowering pear tree, which has brought us prolonged color this year.
After the walk, the temptation to sit in the sun was strong, but I was stronger, returning to the painting workshop.
Two more photos of the yellow tunnel. Next it needs more sky patches, but until it is dry, blue would just turn green when applied over the wet yellow. I worked on the humanoid a tiny bit. Very tricky without one accurate photo; I’m just cobbling many photos together, seeking believability. There are now yellow leaves on the ground too.
Then it was time to return to another commission oil painting, which has been on hold for several weeks while I was muralizing. Muraling. Painting the mural. Freezing, actually. Well, not literally. Shivering.
First, I needed to stare at it for awhile to become reacquainted.
Then, I tiptoed into the trees on the left. The light ran out and it was time to convert the painting workshop back into the cats’ home. Kitty curfew comes early in these days of short daylight.
This painting doesn’t feel nearly as hard since I have been working on the mural. Yeppers, I can do this!
2026 Calendars, available here (or if you encounter me around the area in Mom’s Car), $25, includes mailing.
