"There, I fixed it..."

Yes, unless you've been living under a rock, or fail to have WiFi in your studio, or hate TV and social media, or your fellow man – the art world has been going bananas over a couple of bananas – at Art Basel Miami...

https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/museums/the-art-basel-banana-was-art-and-the-peals-of-outrage-were-one-layer-of-it/2019/12/09/bb785b10-1a91-11ea-87f7-f2e91143c60d_story.html

And...

https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/2019/12/09/banana-priced-120000-exhibit-art-basel-eaten/2628306001/

But there, I fixed it...

(with apologies to Peter Paul Rubens...)

Happy Holidays and a Look Back at 2016...

Hello Everyone! 

Happy HannuChristmaKwanzaSolstiFestivus to you and yours during this bright holiday season – and please, accept another hearty congratulation from me for almost making it through 2016!

What a year, right?

This is a long read so read as much of this post as you wish. But, if you make it all the way to the end there is a little surprise for you...ha!

. . .

I toyed with the idea of writing up a year end review of 2016 like a family Christmas letter, then photographing the family and dog in antlers and sweaters, but decided that would be too cute. So I’ll just jump in and ramble about my year in painting...

January, 2016, was one of those rare months when I stayed home and endured the vicissitudes of Oregon's wet winter rain. But the upside of being home was I could rest up and prepare for the coming Spring which was packed with trips, events, and workshops.

At the end of February I drove down to Borrego Springs, CA to compete in a plein air event new to me. Borrego, if you don't know, is east of San Diego, way out in the low California desert, and is kind of how Palm Springs used to be before the Rat Pack discovered it. Or so I am told. All there was to do was paint in the desert in the wee hours of the morning and late evening, and sit around in town during the middle watching the desert rats come and go. Oh, and spend the nights gazing up at the stars. (Borrego is an International Dark Sky Sanctuary where you can see actual nebulae with your naked eyes.) There were occasions when I felt like an movie extra waitin’ ‘fer a shoot out in a Sergio Leone/Clint Eastwood Western but I enjoyed painting the harsh landscapes nonetheless. In fact, I had never painted in such an austere environment before and I thrive on new experiences and challenges so I was good. After painting in the Borrego area for a week I thought, heck what could be more harsh or interesting, and drove further east to the Salton Sea. Talk about quirkiness. To get there required driving through a giant dust storm and an unexpected epic off-road Lolapolooza of dirt bikes and ATVs that made Mad Max: Thunderdome look like a family flick. (Just to maintain the movie references.) After which I pulled some of the leftover work from Borrego and drove it up to Palm Springs where I painted for another week and opened a show in my gallery there. (Brian Marki Fine Art | Palm Springs)

Mid-March, My lovely wife flew down to meet me at for my Palm Springs opening and we stayed a few extra days to hike around to see the magnificent Jefferson Palms in Indian Canyon, and tour Joshua Tree, before setting off back home to Oregon along the backside of the Sierras. Driving up highway 395 seemed like a good idea at the time until a storm front blew in on day two, which made it difficult to get across the Sierras, the Siskiyous, or the Cascades, and back home. It was early Spring after all, right? What was I thinking?

But hey, we made it safe and sound by swinging into Nevada and so at the end of April my next task was to drive back down to Carmel, California to teach the first workshop of the year. I love Carmel but I had just driven up the entire east side of California only to find myself driving halfway back down the west side again. Which can give you a more nuanced understanding of Willie Nelson’s "On the road again".

I finished up April by flying out to Atlanta, Georgia, where I participated in Olmsted Plein Air for the first time. Again, what fun. What a great event and fine group of people. I got to experience southern hospitality for the first time, and well, liked it so much I am prepared to experience some more when I return in 2017 with a smile on my face and a better idea of what to expect. I sold well during the event, with my signature painting being purchased by the Cherokee Town & Country Club for their permanent collection, a social milieu generally referred to in something of a hushed voice because the Cherokee is one of the old-school clubs in Atlanta. Amusingly, one of the things that stuck in my mind at the Cherokee – go figure – was a rivalry going on between a another club as to how much maple sugar could be carmelize onto a piece of fried bacon. Stop and think about that for a minute. I am a foodie – I'll admit it – and I tried some, and well, talk about gilding the lily, right? "Baaaacon" + a thick crunchy layer of sugar crust, right? But who am I to judge, given some of my own personal culinary quirks? And apparently, some southern tradition foodstuffs are sacred. Especially if they are deep fried. Clearly this rivalry was good-natured for most, short of coming to fist blows, and better than the Sharks and the Jets or the Bloods and the Crips, and I plan to try more of Cherokee bacon when I return. Because I am Switzerland when it comes to food. Unless Brussel Sprouts are involved.

Immediately after that event, the first week of May, I threw the few remaining Olmsted paintings at a UPS employee and jumped into my rental car to drive down to the Forgotten Coast of Florida where yet another plein air competition was scheduled to begin. I took the back roads all the way down and got a nice long look at rural Georgia. The Forgotten Coast Plein Air would be the second of two long back-to-back events, and surprisingly I still had the energy for it. For those who might not know, the Forgotten Coast is so called because it lies along the panhandle between Panama City Beach and Alligator Point, with Apalachicola in between. (Note to self: Do NOT keep inadvertently calling Apalachicola, "Appalachian-cola! Just don’t...) The Forgotten Coast is definitely not the Miami Vice/CSI: Miami kind of FLA you see on television. It was, well, even more colorful and everyone there kept proudly telling me it remains one the last holdouts of The Old Florida. I wouldn't know, but it was all good to me. I liked the people, the working boats, the 'elegant decay', the area in general, and whatever there was to paint. Oh, and the oysters. I ate more oysters than I ever have in my life. For breakfast, lunch, dinner, and late night snack. I even painted a plate of oysters (sold). I hung out at the Raw Bar with my new friends until closing time. (Some of whom could have inspired a Carl Hiaasen novel). I even painted the Raw Bar at night. And painted a lot of stuff that looked like it came out of a 1972 issue of National Geographic. (Cool!) I did well again with the sales and I can't wait to go back and paint some more fishing boats and bayou culture. Oh, and to eat more oysters...

I flew back home in mid-May, looking forward to time with the family but the first week of June I had to drive up to Annacortes, WA, to the tip of Puget Sound to judge a show of really good PNW painters, and then drive partway back and take a ferry over to Bainbridge Island to teach a workshop for a Washington artists' group. Both Annacortes and Bainbridge can be stunning if you catch the weather just right and I was blessed to do so. Always good for a plein air class.

After all the judging and teaching was done, and the hugs and tears exhausted, I drove home looking forward to painting in my own backyard for a while. Backyard in the sense of painting the area where I grew up, where I learned to paint, but had been sorely neglecting over that past ten years. I spent the rest of June, all of July, and the first few weeks of August painting in old haunts, revisiting favorite subjects, and feeling more grounded as a result, producing work that would eventually appear in one of my rare Portland gallery shows in the Fall.

Not being one to lounge about, I submitted and had several paintings juried into national shows, such as the American Impressionist Society and the Western Regional of Oil Painters’ of America. That sort of thing. But still, I was happy to be home in the Pacific Northwest quietly making art in my own ‘hood.

Then late August rolled around and I remembered I’d juried into the Pacific Northwest Plein Air held out in the Columbia Gorge and packed up the kit again. However, this event was only a couple of hours east of Portland and I'd be painting an area I knew intimately with many long-term friends. PNWPA went well too. I had a great time, sold well, and was honored with First Place…Best of Show?… whatever it is called, and more notably, was also honored with a Museum Purchase Award from the Maryhill Museum. Yes, this was my second museum purchase and it felt good. (The painting is now hanging but I have not yet gone out to see it.) It was a painting I hadn’t planned to execute. I just got a wake up call from a couple of friends encouraging me to paint a tribal fishing ladder at sunrise below the Dalles Dam and I thought, heck why not? Well, thank you for waking me up. That painting turned out to be one of my favorites of 2016, and that was before it was purchased by the museum. (Have I mentioned it was purchased by a museum yet? ha!) Every now and then, when you aren’t paying attention, you knock one out of the park, and on that day it was my turn. Truthfully, it could have been any other the other painter as well. Actually is was. Another artist also had work purchased by the museum.

So a few more weeks go by and I hit late September. I find myself frantically preparing for two major events at the same time: a show of a large body of work at my local gallery (Brian Marki Fine Art | Portland) and what would be my final plein air competition of the year on the East Coast. It may have been two weeks of pure craziness, but on the first Thursday of October, my gallery show opened and went well.

Five hours later I found myself on the 4:30 am flight to Boston, dozing. Cape Ann Plein Air was brand new spankin' event launching out on the coastline of Massachusetts above Beantown and I wanted to be in on it. So after I landed I grab my rental and drove up to the cape and begin scouting locations to paint, in and around Gloucester, Rockport, and Essex, and Manchester-by-the-Sea. (Note the English names, yes? That's not even all of them on the cape.) Cape Ann is juts off into a major Atlantic fishery and it is filled with American history writ large, and in many ways its presence and culture was the precursor of our country today. Skip forward a few centuries to the late 19th and early 20th century and the cape becomes the birthplace and nursery of what I have pursued most of my professional life – American Impressionism. Almost all the exemplary American landscape painters of that period spent time on the cape, from Homer, to Potthast, to Duvenek, to Hopper, plus many more. For me, Cape Ann Plein Air was another opportunity to paint old-timey boats again, with old-timey flotsam and jetsam lying about, which I did with much gusto. (Thank you, CW, Steve, and Stape, for sharing some of your finest and perhaps few remaining 'fishing holes' on the cape.) And again, I did well, walking away with a lovely ribbon and a new gallery in Gloucester, which, if you are a local you pronounce 'Glawsta', not some other three-syllable word you think you should say. 

So, if you are ever near Boston and need to conceal the fact that you are a tourist, try practicing with this list:

• Gloucester : Glawsta
• Worcester: Wuhsta (or Wistah)
• Leicester : Lesta
• Woburn: Wooban
• Dedham : Dead-um
• Revere: Re-vee-ah
• Quincy: Quinzee
• Tewksbury : Tooks berry
• Leominster : Lemin-sta
• Peabody: Pee-ba-dee
• Waltham : Walth-ham
• Chatham: Chaddum
• Samoset: Sam-oh-set or Sum-aw-set but nevah Summerset!

After Cape Ann, the plein air season came to an end for me and it was time to go home and rest up – the usual halfway-hibernating thing I do in late October and November. And of course, spend time with the family. And start some long-delayed house remodeling projects. Why? Because it rains constantly around here this time of year and I need to expand my studio so I can teach a few long term students in my own space. I love to lead destination workshops, but like to also cultivate a few dedicated students willing to pursue more long-form instruction. You'll hear more about all that later at some point… (ha!)

And now it is December and 2016 is winding to a close. But my thoughts are already turning towards January, 2017 when I will head out the door again. I'll be starting off in Florida, painting in Key West and working my way up to Key Largo, wear I will teach in Ocean Reef, before flying directly out to Scottsdale, AZ to teach some more and paint in the desert (see above). Then home again for a week before flying down to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico with my wife and our best friends to teach again and paint with more good friends. Then home and off to Borrego Springs like a ricochet Then home and back out to Atlanta to teach and compete. Then home and back to the Forgotten Coast to paint some more. Boing, boing. I think that takes me to the end of May. And then…?

Well, the fun never stops…

TJK


P.S., I lied...or can we all just agree that I am being 'post-fact'? If you made it all the way down to the end you've probably realized that I did turn this post into a family Christmas letter after all. So here is the requisite shot of the family dog in antlers. The rest of the family refused to step into the frame. (kidding!) Really, I just couldn't get anyone out of bed this early in the morning...

Anyway... Merry Christmas to you, and I wish you a Happy New Year filled with lots of painting, lots of collecting of paintings, and any other kind of adventure you will have!

Facebook LIVE: Streaming an Impromptu Painting Session...

Hey there folks!

Last Friday I tried out a new feature called Facebook LIVE. It is a way to stream video directly from your smartphone to your FB page and I thought I'd give it a go. Since some of you may not visit my FB page regularly I thought I'd post the videos here as well. (The videos can be found below.)

The first video runs about 90 minutes, and is essentially a 'Talk 'n' Paint' demo. The second video is an impromptu Q & A session I decided to add on to share more information about what I was doing. This gave my viewers an opportunity to ask follow up questions.

This was an unscripted, raw, unedited, and undirected effort on my part. I really decided to do it at the last minute, ignorant of what all would be required. Basically, the narrative is little more than a stream of random thoughts which partially 'splain some of my quirky methods as I paint. I hope you find it of interest, and perhaps helpful, or at least mildly entertaining. The best part of any (free) online video is you only have to watch it until you become bored... (ha!)

Buddha in the Bushes

16 x 12 inches, oil on linen, 2017

en plein air

(price available on request)

And yes, I will be doing this again, perhaps soon. I was both surprised and gratified by how many of you folks actively tuned in and participated in the comments section. By the time we reached the end of the video I think there were close 1K viewers watching. Talk about Watch on Demand. Hmmm, maybe this Facebook LIVE thing will go somewhere after all, yes? (ha!)

I will announce any future LIVE streams a few days in advanced on my Facebook page so make a point of checking it out every now and then. I will also see if I can upscale the production values too...

Until then,

TJK


(In case the videos below don't work, here are the links to them on Facebook.)

10000000_1776913465856439_1502912243_n.mp4



10000000_1356205674410068_854496354_n.mp4

Why I did it, or, where the bodies lie...

A few days ago I posted some photos on my Facebook page of my older work. That in itself wasn't unusual because I upload new and old paintings all the time. But the work I shared comes from a trip I took to the dump – or the local recycling station, to be more precise.

The reaction on Facebook was immediate and interesting. Not one person was neutral about what I did. The responses ranged from 'Atta boy!' to 'Good for you!' to "How brave you are!" to abject horror and expressions of loss, seasoned with perhaps a little judgement about the waste. So, in light of those comments I thought I'd share more about why I did what I did.

Like most good murder mysteries there has to be a satisfying motive for such an atrocious act, and in that way I am no different. I believe the truth of the matter is usually found in the Why, not so much the Who, How, or When. The Why...

So here is the Why: 

The work I dumped last Saturday spanned thirty years of my life. What I threw off the trailer and into the pile wasn't everything I have produced over that time – not by any margin. It was work that didn't make the grade. Paintings that didn't succeed. Experimental efforts that lead to better things. Or work that in no way relates to the voodoo I want to pursue now.

Speaking of work that isn't related, most artist go through a number of changes throughout their career. It is to be expected, if not encouraged. There are time when an artist's direction can change abruptly and times when the change is slow and grinding. In either case, the end result is that throughout an artist's oeuvre, the middle or end is often quite different from the start. Sometime the biggest difference lies in a more developed mastery, and sometimes it is simply due to a change in focus. (Oh look! Squirrel!)

A few FB friends told me I was a nut job for culling the stacks. I can appreciate their point because at my core I am a little bit crazy. But then, those folks haven't seen my stacks. As I joked in the post, I tossed three hundred pounds of paintings out of the back of my trailer and I mean it straight up. The recycling center weighed my vehicle on the way in and on the way out and it cost me $39.75 to leave 345 pounds of art behind. So it must be said: When your old work becomes a burden you have to do something about it or it becomes a physical and psychological albatross hanging around your neck.

Some of my FB 'Besties' thought I should have donated the work to a charity or worthy cause. Sure, there are times when I am happy to donate my work to an agency I feel is doing the right thing. But more often than not I prefer to show my support by writing a check. I have learned that fund-raising art auctions are fraught with difficulty and confusion. Sadly, the few times I have handed over a painting it wasn't fully appreciated or valued by the end buyer. Besides, placing too many painting in such venues is inconsiderate to the collectors who have been supporting you over the years.

And speaking of collectors, there is this idea or belief that once an artist dies, collectors and museums will swoop down on the studio to buy up what is left behind. Or, a husband, wife, or the children will set up a trust to curate and hold the leftovers in perpetuity until it becomes evident to a large cultural institution it is time to elevate the artist to his or her place in history. Well, that may be a lovely thought, but really, how many painters has that happened to? And besides – not to be overly cavalier about my line of reasoning – once I am gone I am not sure I will be all that concerned with how history assesses my efforts. I don't say this to be flippant, I just think the paintings I can sell while I am alive are the ones which are most important because they help me (and my family) in the here and now.

But let's return to an earlier point. The artists I most admire and respect, the ones who have mentored me in the past and still do so now, have all chimed in with unabashed approval. They understand how the weight of it all can build up over the years and make a point of periodically culling work out themselves.

And for those who are concerned about people picking through the rag piles... I didn't want to create a burn pile. Not that I am being judgmental about any artist who goes that far to destroy unwanted work. I just don't want to vaporize the heavy metals I know are in the paint film. Nobody needs that. Yes, those metals are going into a landfill – there is no arguing that – but at least they aren't being blown about in the atmosphere or spread across a wider ecosystem. (Again, I am not trying to be preachy here. If there is a better way to dispose of this work in the future I may pursue it.)

Then there were the friends who suggested I recycle or reuse the surfaces instead of dumping it all into a landfill. A good point and fairly shared. I did hold back some supports to repurpose them if they were in fact salvageable. I scrape a lot of canvases and panels you never see while the paint is wet and I rake old paintings smooth with a sharpened palette knife if they are dry. So yes, I pulled aside perhaps half again as many paintings as you see here and plan to re-gesso them with an oil ground before painting something new on top. (Partly because I am cheap and partly because, landfill.) But because I paint with a lot of lead, cadmium, and cobalt I am loathe to sand or grind any of the old work down for obvious reasons. Of course, if I were truly concerned about longevity (and truthfully, I am), then perhaps pentimenti two hundred years from now should give me pause. Well perhaps. I have always been fascinated with the idea of planned pentimenti and intentional palimpsests because I think exploring how an image can degrade over time is a fascinating theme.

For those gift-conscious people, I do give work to my close friends and family members, on occasion. But not the dregs. Who would want that? Besides, if I am to offer my work with love then I want it to be received as a gift and not as a problem. I remember an old PBS FreshAir interview that aired back in the '90s. I consider it a cautionary tale. Terry Gross was interviewing David Hockney and she asked if he ever gave away art to family or friends. His reply was short and clearly tinged with a touch of sadness: "Yes, I used to do that but not anymore". When Terry asked why David said he had grown tired of visiting the homes of his family and friends and seeing an empty spot on the wall where his gift once hung. Hockney would realized at that point the recipient either didn't like his painting, or had stopped liking it, or began to see the money it represented, and well, I get that. In fact, now when I offer a painting I usually present three or four at a time for the recipient to choose from. I do it more for me than them because I don't want to feel like I am foisting off an unwanted canvas.

So here is the Big Reveal: I have lived long enough to appreciate how divesting myself of excess crap becomes artistically liberating. This was not the first time. It opens up the spigots and increases the flow. Even when these paintings were squirreled away in deep storage they were still in my head. Now they are gone. To you they might have been art. To me they were personal experiences and intense memories in sore need of self-curating.

Besides, you can trust me when I tell you there is a lot more where this came from...!

TJK

Introducing the Strada Micro...

Photo shot in Zagreb, Croatia, on my kitchen table after painting the domes of Mirogoj Cemetery.

First there was the Original Strada. Then there was the Strada Mini. And now, there is the Strada Micro...

I am speaking of the smallest of the relatively new line of Strada plein air field easels that are constructed out of heavy-gauge anodized aluminum, with a design which features a hinged painting support that is quick and easy to set up. (You can read my previous reviews of the Original and Mini Strada easels here and here) 

Quick Review: Strada Micro...

Pros: Compact and incredibly durable. Fast and easy to set up and use. Awesome build quality. Cons: Limited to small panels. Limited mixing area. Deep well in the mixing area.

Manufacturer's website: StradaEasel.com

The Strada Micro™ measures 7 x 7 x 1.5 inches and weighs in at 1 lb 8 oz and the manufacture claims it can hold a painting panel up to 10 inches tall. It also comes with two side shelves that can be used to hold your painting tools or used to increase your mixing area. (I opted to use the shelves as extra mixing space, as I have with the Strada Mini.)

The Micro as shipped is limited to supporting a maximum panel height of ten inches but there is one workaround that can increase the size panel it can support. (seen right) It is a separate Strada accessory called an 11 inch Top Canvas Panel Holder and it fits into the same slot as the stock Micro's panel holder. Theoretically, this 11 inch t-bar extension should increase the Micro's ability to support 14 inch panels. I say theoretically because I have not tested the extension out on the Micro first hand. Also, the extension must be treated as a separate component since it is too long to work as a latch to hold the lid shut. Yet as a bonus, the length of the t-bar means it can be used as a mahl stick when it is not being used to support a larger panel. Handy, if you find yourself painting a lot of cityscapes. Tiny cityscapes...

At its core, the Micro shares the same robust build quality and proven design of its bigger and older siblings. It can be easily opened and closed to access or protect your paint as you move around or store the easel. Like its kin, it won't suffer the indignities of being crushed or broken, nor will it bend or deflect from the inevitable blow-down caused by an unanticipated gust of wind. In other words, the Micro, like its brothers, is pretty much bomb-proof, sleek, and built like a tank. But it is a size that best serves the specialized needs of the ultra-light plein air painter who wants to set up far away from the car, or the itinerant artist who is planning to live out of a backpack during a lengthy trip. The Micro can work for the plein air enthusiast who never wants to paint any larger than ten inches tall. In truth, the Micro can stand up against its bigger brothers in every way except that the vertical limit is something to consider.

A Quick Side Bar on Tripods for the Plein Air Painter: 

I also field tested one of the tripods Strada bundles with the Micro. Since the Micro rightly targets the fast & light outdoor painter, I intentionally chose the Sirui T-005kx, the most compact tripod Strada offers. (shown right) To be fair, I have never seen a tripod offered by a manufacturer that is robust enough to withstand the rigors of outdoor painting, and frankly, the T-005kx is no exception. First, it is a little undersized for the painter who stands six feet tall. (I'm a little taller.) Second, the integrated ball-head and build-quality of the Sirui falls far below the build quality of the Micro itself. And finally, the weight capacity of the T-005kx, a unit designed for photo enthusiasts and digital cameras, is too low for even the Micro, especially if you like to aggressively push your paint around or have to deal with the wind. (My benchmark for assessing push and wiggle is whether or not an outdoor easel/tripod combination moves more or less than a stretched canvas does in the studio.) In fact, the first time I set up this tripod in the field I accidentally pulled the last section out of one of the legs and lost the pin or ring that keeps that section connected. I never found that part in the grass below so it must be tiny. It isn't fair to fault Strada for this failure because the manufacturer is just trying to provide an attractive (and competitive) price to the buyer, but you should read my post on tripods here if you want a full summary of what to look for in a plein air tripod. In a nutshell, don't try to scrimp or save on your tripod because most push and wiggle can be directly attributed to the tripod's ball-head and legs, not the easel itself. However, having expressed my strong personal reservation, there are painters who like the T-005kx very much, Marc Dalessio being one. (link to autoplay video) I just don't agree.

As a point in comparison, I now have eleven different kinds of outdoor easels. That's crazy, I know. They run from funky cigar pochade boxes I made myself to most of the sophisticated options you can buy from a commercial manufacturer. Because of this excess I have designated the Micro as a special use easel, the one I can jam into a modest gear bag when space and weight are of critical concern. Or it has become the easel I leave in the car for those times when I might spot a drive-by painting and just want to grab a quick sketch. It's handy.

For me, the built-in ten inch limit is fine when I am off on a trek and I need room for other essentials such as food, a tent, and rain gear. Or the times I am heading out the door on an adventure that may include a couple of ill-defined modes of transportation. You know, trips that begin with a plane, train, or automobile...and end up involving a ferry, a whitewater raft, miles on a trail, riding an elephant, hopping into a tuk-tuk, or hailing a passing rickshaw. (Okay, those last three are still on the bucket list, but they ARE going to happen...) 

But if you are a recent convert to plein air painting and have been avidly searching online for the One and True Outdoor Easel that can do it all...well, the Micro ain't it. Instead, I'd steer you towards its older brother, the Strada Mini. At twice the size, which is still relatively compact, it can hold a panel or canvas up to eighteen inches tall and that should cover most of the panels sizes you want to carry out into the field. Anything bigger and I suggest you step up to a Gloucester Easel. (Yes, I have one of those easels, as well.)

But do not misunderstand me, the Strada Micro is just as awesome as its larger bros. It just loses out in the fraternal wrestling department because of its shorter reach. (Which is like dissin' Isaiah Thomas for being a little undersized for the NBA.) The Micro was never designed to be a big-boy bruiser, it was always intended to be the little punk in the family. The scrappy kid who is plucky and willing to be packed into tiny spaces as a surprise. Ultimately, there is no point to diss'ing Micro for its size because it is good at what it was built to do. You just need to appreciate you won't paint anything taller than ten inches as it comes stock.

So if you are waiting for a something smaller, and perhaps more compact to come along, don't hold your breath. With the Micro, I think the line of Strada easels have reached a certain size threshold and you are not likely to see anything more portable or durable come to market soon. Unless it is the Strada 'Nano'.

And honestly, should that ever happen maybe it will look like this...

I'm kidding. At least I avoided the 'Papa bear, Mama bear, and Baby bear' analogy, right? Thank goodness for that!...

TJK

Filling the Holes of My Life...

How many of you have experienced a puncture in a tube of oil paint? 

 You know, when despite all your precautions, one corner of a tube pokes a hole into the body of another so the next time you pick it up things get messy.

I travel a lot with paint. I drive, train, fly, and yes, now even take ferries across expansive bodies of water with large and small tubes of paint. Normally I pack everything so carefully that punctures don't happen to me. Well, at least, not as often as they should.

But halfway through my last trip to Croatia I opened up my paint box and grabbed a big ol' 150 ml tube of white and started squeezing...and immediately felt my palm filling up with a big ol' pile of paint. 

Eeeeewwww!...

First I wondered what I should do. Then I began rummaging around in my backpack. I found a scrap of t-shirt I had been using as a rag and wrapped it around the leak and spent the rest of the trip gently squeezing out color as needed, consistently applying pressure right above the hole. A few days later I after I got home I pulled out the paint box to start prepping for yet another trip. To my surprise I found the paint between the cloth and tube had dried, sealing the leak like a patch on rubber bicycle tube.

How cool is that?

I don't think I would risk flying with a patched tube due to the unpressurized baggage area of a plane, but I will be happy to use the rest of this paint in the comfort of my studio. I'll buy a replacement tube for my next flight in November to Scottsdale. 

And, in the interim, I'll start applying this other nifty trick I just figured out.

Two or three layers of duct tape – with excess material to blunt those dang corners...

TJK

Painting en "Rain" Air in Oregon...

This morning, on my way to paint, reminded me of

"Winter is Coming..." (Game of Thrones...)

I went out painting today with an old friend, Eduardo Fernandez. (You can see some of his work here.) We've known each other for years now and we try to meet up at least every couple of months or so, if not sooner, to paint side-by-side.

He called last night to ask if I would like to come out to paint on Sauvie Island in the morning. The weather was looking a little dicey so I checked the forecast and then said sure, yes. The forecast was for a single morning shower and then partly cloudy skies the rest of the day. When I woke up this morning I was feeling a little lazy and decided to just pack the watercolors. So I had some coffee, hopped into the car, and drove out to meet Eduardo. When I arrived we decided to consolidate into his car and leave mine behind. We then drove off to find a suitable subject and eventually ended up somewhere in the middle of the island on the edge of somebody's private property, looking down a picturesque dirt road.

However, by the time we pulled over the rain had settled in slow and steady, and...oh, hey, did I mention I only brought the watercolors? I might be new to this watercolor thing, but even I know you can't paint with it in the rain. So I asked Eduardo if I could set up in the car and he said sure, no problem, and he decided to do the same. Thinking of myself as pretty clever, we switched seats so I could use the steering wheel as an easel and he set himself up on the passenger side with his Open Box M on his lap. Comfy and easy-peasy, right? Plein air from behind the windshield.

Here is my set up:

Nope, it was more like trying to paint a picture while sitting in an airline seat, with about the same amount of space to lay out your stuff. But unlike most planes, a car has an infinite number of narrow nooks and crannies for stuff to drop into. Really, what were automotive engineers thinking about when they designed contemporary car interiors? It's not just all about airbags, impact absorbing knee panels, and cupholders, right? Shouldn't they be considering the needs of the in-the-car painter as well?

Here is Eduardo, immediately to my right, already well into it. I had to lower the driver's window to take this shot. The wide angle lens is lying. It makes it appear there is a lot of room when believe me, there wasn't...

Here is one of two clamps Eduardo happened to have in the back of the SUV. Good thing too, because if he hadn't remembered they were there my hopes of painting inside the car would have been dashed at the first raindrop. But once the clamps were fixed to the wheel I was able to rest the watercolor block at a convenient angle. So far so good. However, since the horn was now directly underneath the painting I took care not to press too hard on the brush...

And speaking of brushes – there was no place to put them where they wouldn't roll off into a nook or cranny so I 'Macgyvered' a temporary brush bandolier out of some masking tape and hung them on my left out of the way. This was, of course, after I managed to fish the roll of tape out of the cranny between the driver's seat and middle console, where it had dropped as I was attached the clamps...

And... um... yes... well the rinsing reservoir had to go somewhere, right?

So for the next three hours Eduardo and I painted through the windshield, as if we were seat mates on a regional flight, elbows tucked in, trying not to hog the middle arm rest, and awkwardly trying to not impinge upon each other's space. "Would it be okay if I moved your roll of paper towels?" "Can you reach the cad yellow behind my seat?" "Hey, careful, that's the turpentine!... OMG, don't spill the turpentine!" (I was glad to be in his car. ha!)

Here are Eduardo's oil brushes, conveniently cantilevered out from a small dashboard shelf below the CD player. A perfectly fine place to put them where they can quickly be picked up or set down. That is, until I somehow I accidentally raked my best Kolinsky sable brush across the tip of the big green one, a brush loaded with a lot of peach colored oil paint. I winced as I swished the Kolinsky in Eduardo's turps, and quietly put it away for later cleaning...

I should add that as we were working we were constantly turning the wipers on and off to clear the windshield, and rolling the windows up and down as needed to ventilate. Even so, the drops kept collecting and the interior kept steaming up and eventually we discovered when you run your car's wipers and windows for three hours it runs down the battery. We were dead in the water miles from the main road and it was still drizzling. Geez, who would have thought?

Fortunately, Eduardo drives a stick so it only took a little push down the dirt road to pop the clutch and fire up the engine. More 'Macgyvering', eh? I wonder how many of you kids today know you can do that?

Here in Oregon, when it rains it rains. And when you gotta paint, you gotta paint...

Afterwards we drove towards the bridge to find some lunch. We found some tasty sausages and beer at a local farm. And, my watercolor painting? The one I worked so hard to protect? Never mind. It was a complete disaster. Even my wife said so. 

It sucked so much it will never, ever, see the light of day...

Ha!

TJK