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.
The wonder of the interwebs has brought me a customer that I most likely will never have the pleasure of meeting in person. Let’s call the customer Mr. J. Mr. J and I have gotten acquainted in the comment section of The Frugal Girl blog, and he asked me to paint the home he used to own. “Used to own” means that getting photos is now a bit tricky. New owners almost always make changes, so I am working from several photos, all taken from different viewpoints and at different times in the home’s existence.
Mr. J is a very precise communicator, responsive, specific, and always willing to email, text or talk on the phone.
The project began with an email almost a year ago. We discussed canvas sizes and prices. Mr. J wanted to wait until spring to get photos with certain plants in bloom. Spring came and went with no photos. I’ve learned through the decades that until money exchanges hands, it is simply conversation. I didn’t bug him, knowing that he is a person who will follow through when he is ready.
This past summer, or perhaps early fall, he sent me photos and a deposit check for half down, so we were in business.
Looking through multiple photos taken from different angles, in different seasons, and at different times in the house’s life, I started with a colored pencil sketch, which I scanned and emailed for feedback.
Mr. J sent it back to me in this form: black and white, covered with notes.
I studied it, and realized we needed to have a conversation. We talked quite awhile, and I made lots of notes. The conversation was very helpful in understanding things that made no sense in the multiple photographs.
When I realized the degree of detail that Mr. J wants, I suggested a pencil drawing. He was unsure, because the finished piece will be displayed with other paintings of other buildings. I sent examples of my detailed architectural drawings, and a week or two later, he replied that oil was his preference.
We last saw this oil painting commission looking like this. I actually wrote a long list of parts that need work, but it was really unnecessary because I can see what to do.
We refer to this section of trail as the Green Tunnel in the summer months and the Yellow Tunnel in the fall. Customer Mister asked that I add some yellow leaves; I think he would like the painting to reflect the crossover time between the two seasons. So, I did.
Then I kept tinkering around, adding branches, background, more leaves to the upper right, more bark, more trunks in the distance, on and on and on. Who will tell me if/when I finish this?? Not yet—the humanoid will take hours of tiny brush work.
This needs to dry for a little while before I keep detailing. Tomorrow I will be showing you another oil painting commission.
A friend and I took a walk around her neighborhood. It is the only traditionally laid out group of homes in Three Rivers, often referred to as “the suburbs” for its resemblance to typical neighborhoods in the non-foothill towns of our county. (Yeppers, we are special here.)
Check out this house! That is a wooden tree, made in four custom panels to fit each window.
Blossom Peak is visible from the ‘burbs, and it looks so different depending on where you stand. (See? special!)
Because this blog is supposed to be promoting my art, here is a painting of the most common view of Blossom Peak, which is actually 3 peaks. One friend has corrected me on the moniker “Blossom Peak” as the name of all three; apparently one is Blossom, one is Britten, and one is a why bother.
And here is a view from the ‘burbs looking up North Fork. It took us a minute to discern that we were actually seeing up the canyon of the North Fork of the Kaweah River, and then I remembered that when one is standing on the Airport Bridge (there used to be an airstrip near the North Fork), Blossom Peak is visible.
Let’s have another visual aid, another oil painting, of course.
Finally, since the point was to enjoy autumn in Three Rivers, here is a final photo of splendid color, Virginia creeper this time.
