RED SAILS INN on Shelter Island

Just completed yesterday with shots of Sambucco chilled at the bar after loading the equipment.  Great food and patio dining and huge credit to share with my friends who have been looking out for me over the years.  

A chance encounter with Dennis Conner and we will be working together next week on a project at his new gallery at the end of the point.  I said we should do a commemorative mural of The Americas Cup.  He said nobody is interested anymore.  His assistant was polishing up his trophy and I thought I'd really like to find a wall five stories high at least and paint that thing.  Anybody that knows me from school days knows I can do killer chrome.  Is it illegal to post a wanted ad soliciting donations for such a project?  I asked the folks at the Port District if I could hit them up for funding for my brilliant ideas and they said NO.  It's got to be their idea, their organized competition, their jury who trashes 99% of the submittals.  No ART beggars nocking at their illustrious doors.  Think of how beautiful this City could be if I could have my way with it.

It was rather like a forced-on numbness of spirit. The long, long stress of a gale does it; the suspense of the interminably culminating catastrophe; and there is a bodily fatigue in the mere holding on to existence within the excessive tumult, a searching and insidious fatigue that penetrates deep into a man's heart, which is incorrigible, and of all the gifts of the earth - even before life itself - aspires to peace. J. Conrad TYPHOON

We survived together the great hurricane Dennis of 1986 - four days off the coast of Nicaragua.

We should have heeded the warning - the mass parade of dolphin headed south. Thousands of them leaping and spinning giving a wide berth to what was coming. The next evening that first big swell. Many of us huddled together watching a matinee couldn't help but jump from our seats - the cadence of our rhythm broken. We surfed that one massive rouge wave gentle in its passing but the effect on our nerves was dazzling. Something was amiss.
We were two days out of Alcapulco and headed for New York to be part of the Liberty Celebration. That harbor to be full up with mega yachts and high dollar attendees for what was to be the biggest fireworks displays outside of China. The owner a restauranteur bought Wildcatter (once owned by Al Capone and used in the Great Lakes as a rum runner during the Prohibition) which lay derelict in San Diego harbor, hired Nick to oversee its retrofit, most of which was done in Ensenada Mexico. Things there happen manana style and our departure was late into the hurricane season.
Riding out a storm at sea is a surreal experience. We were on a constant rollercoaster thirty-five foot from crest to bottom where what they call 'Hotels' broke over the bow. The hours pass slowly and the wind howed. Nick stood sentry in the wheel house. His hand on the telegraphs as he felt the minute he walked away we took a bad roll. It was his will that kept us pointed to the best advantage to survive each wave.
It was impossible to sleep, nowhere to lie safe. Some of us lay spread out on the floor together, arms and legs splayed to keep from rolling. No one ate as cupboards were drums of dishes broken and churning. Refrigerator a dangerous missile thrower of jagged mayonnaise. Cheerios and flat tins of Coca Cola would spew back up and fly across the deck to mingle with the flotsom and jetsum in the surf.
The nights dimmed the view but the sounds of its fury never left you. Ones soul is jarred loose and drifts out beyond the railings and I could see our battered hull from ever vantage point. From far below I could visualize clearly the dark mass with a white of thrashed propeller tail. From the side a profile of regal beauty descending over a crest like a train into a canyon. From the air I saw the whole plane of frothing green. A sea struggling to find its center. Chaos of regulated pits and crowns. Our tiny vessel plugging along and forced into it by our Captain. The night he cleared the bilges I bathed his blackened body, wiped his eyes of grease, sent him back to his duty. Crew surfed plywood across table saws to fasten up windows. Human barriers broke down and kindness and concern filled us up.
At long last Corinto and a feast that I knew had been played out in history as long as men have been traveling at sea. A survivors bounty and cheerful celebration. Slowly the spaces between us filling once again. Phobias towards lesser things washed away. One walks away a changed person. A kinship towards your mates, a stronger back.
We never made it to New York. All Nicks crew threw their belongings onto the dock when he was relieved of his duty. That brought him to tears.
In those hours a decision to be made. From whence to travel. A return to San Diego and a career as a painter. A sensible choice.

Maid of Nazareth - An invitation to tour the coast of Scotland.
It will never happen but I know in his heart the offer of a precious gift.

Big Rock Candy Mountains

Recognition of the cosmic order of things.  Graceful, complex, dynamic, unfolding of time.  Beautiful in it's orchestration.  Emotions, needs, wants, desires confounded with this earthly realm.  Waves of conflict, trauma, bliss and art - beauty, death, hunger, satiation.  Comings and goings of people, seasons and tides.

Chaos and grace,  fear and laughter, decay and bloom, win, loose, feast and famine,  

Raise a glass ! !

Nick is ready to cast off.  

On the journey of a life time.

Skirting through summer without making much art.  Waiting for the right conditions - erroneous!!  Perhaps come fall and darker days I will long to turn on the big lights, crank up the tunes and stir up an aroma of turps.  

Without a venue or a market in which to entice the public, to engage in viewing,  purchasing - it's sometimes a tiring affair.  For what do I strive to create beauty, challenge my creative skills, prove to myself and to the world that ah - this is my calling, my purpose.  Some people might just be sick to death with such demonstrations of.  Enough already Linda - go get a real job - who do you think you are.  

The world is aching for art and stories that remind us of our great capacity to love and feel. This is a great time to celebrate your imagination, and claim its power to shape your life.

Gave a tour yesterday of the mosaics I did at PP's house.  People get their feelings activated here - marvel, wonder, giddiness.  It is impossible to not feel good around such grand expressions of pattern and color.  Went to the Hillcrest City Fest, ate street tacos, rode a Whirlygig, watched the costumed people parade around and Chocolat for desert.  Late into the night - Mad Men with Peeps and Marcel in from NYC.

Today I will exercise my imagination and embellish the renderings for Aero Auto to it's max glorious stunningness cause I know the stars are with me. 

Two of the seasons best sculptures.  Love Love Love Summer! ! !

This be the second.

Great Art = Genius

Good Art = Near Genius or Near Beer    Talent is not a dependable tool for advancing.  Perseverance beats talent over the long haul.  Flawless creatures would not need to make art: Batman throwing pots, the Madonna painting plein air.

Art has to do with overcoming things.  Making art provides uncomfortably accurate feedback about the gap that exists between what you intended and what you did.  Even failed pieces are essential.  Art transcends what you do and represents what you are.

Troubles - routinely fatal to art making - confront your troubles.  Learn how not to quit.  90% of art majors quit after 5 years.  Fear of what you might be: a hack, a fake, a copiest!  Art is a high calling.  Historically there were robust institutions - church, clan, ritual.  Artists doubted their calling less when working in the service of God.  Today - no one feels shored up.  Artists work in the face of uncertainty - no audience nor reward.  Nourishment comes from the work itself. From Art & Fear - read it.

Basically - we think of a million and one things we need to get done before we allow ourselves the time and space to do the thing we love the most.  When we're old and grey what are the things that we will be most proud of.  A clean sink, organized drawers or a stack of drawings.  Get Going!

Here's to all you folks who are about to launch on their journeys to Burning Man.  Come hell or high water I'm going next year.  

I had a dream once that I was vacationing on a space hotel.  I was floating outside painting daisys on the side of the capsule all the while my relief rocket inched its way towards me.  I could see the curve of the earth and the brilliant blues of the seas.  Clouds swirling around and the glow of many sunsets.  Obviously at 455 degrees below zero painting is a dreamers fantasy.  Perhaps in a future life there will be some new fangled way to throw heat onto the subject.

Mars would be fairly tolerable especially if you were raised in Siberia and were use to such extremes.  Forget staying on the moon - colder than dry ice.  Pretty difficult to enjoy a cocktail at the end of the day.

I believe earthlings are a barbaric bunch.  We war and kill, abuse our children, cage our animals, incarcerate way beyond reason, eat crap, throw away our lives in front of TV, hoard too much stuff, think way too much of ourselves, hold grudges, lie, cheat, neglect our elders and lack the ability to keep our big blue home ship shape.  We are coming into a pressure cooker of time in which much is at stake.  Relationships are pushed to a wall, the environment is slimy and clogged, the atmosphere choked with dust and radio waves.  Earth deserves a good shake and purge. 

The aliens are maybe waiting around to inhabit the earth after such a cleansing.   We'll probably be too lazy to figure out how to claim our birthright to earth.  Many will just surrender and get on board some massive people transport devise believing it will take them to a new planet - one that has been nicely preserved only to find they're going to purgatory where it will become the law that ones days will be spent scrubbing and cleaning, offering apologies,  atoning for transgressions.  

This is a painting I did for a Rancho Santa Fe client with a massive Renaissance style home.  It is eight foot square and hangs in the entry hall which is bigger than most peoples living rooms.  It is called The Allegory of Love and loaded with symbolism.  The naked foot, wreath, branch, dog, giant orb, horn - like poetry the artist orchestrates the visual plane.  We may not know the specifics of what it all means but definitely it is a crowning moment and testament to something sacred.

As is typical with RSF residents - a huge dangling carrot was hung.  Deals and bargains arranged as there was volumes of space to be filled.  Even after this demonstration of skill this gentlemen started begrudging that a lowly artist should be making so much money off of him.  He should have other artists - not just Linda Churchill's all over the place.  To find something like this in a gallery he would be paying twenty times the amount of money.  And I made it to fit his very specific proportions.  I created massive still lives born of the Renaissance that spanned his ornate carved fireplaces.  Huge Italian landscapes that filled the vaulted space of his living rooms.  A gorgeous faux carved stone wine vault.  It all looked so fabulous but this man was not happy.  He acted as though I had conned him.  I suggested ornamenting his kitchen ceiling which was vast and seen clearly from the sunken living room.  That's when he put his foot down - enough!  This is a man who owns a pharmaceutical company - profiting vastly from the legal trade of drugs - he really didn't like me very much in the end.  He was a very important man in his own estimation.   I did my best to make his surroundings appear far more rich than his neighbors.  The dangling carrot - always elusive - the finale of the master bedroom suite never to be realized.  And of coarse never a referral or reception to introduce me to his realm of other wealthy people.  

I suppose I could advertise my talents in that district as there are so many of these kinds of properties there.  But I am way to sensitive to subtle aggressions.  I am pretty certain that had Nick been around smoking cigarettes in the back ground, assisting with the installations this guy would have loved to throw his money our way.    In business it's a mans world.  I just keep doing the best I can.  

This is one of my favorite little paintings.  I am aboard a ferry in the late afternoon after a weekend on the Isle of Wight - south coast of England.  The water shone like mercury and I was deep in the blissful days of Nick.  In all the shuffle of surrendering my possessions I know not where she is.  Sail Away!

Abraham: RAMPAGE OF INVINCIBILITY - Esther & Jerry Hicks

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Keeping my eye on the seasons circles.  

Sculpture building with spare time and farm parts. David Baze liked to quote me - 'Hey, let's go build something'.

This will be the summer I get back into body surfing, reading under beach umbrellas and drawing clusters of people lathered up in oil.  

What I did on my summer holiday.

I traveled 3400 miles and fantasized about painting all the lovely vistas.  I settled for photography and sometimes right out the window.  From dry waves of grain to the tallest trees of the Redwoods, arched bridges over rivers, pebbles in a stream.  My heart leapt at so many visual pleasures.  I dreamt of being Maynards wife, a partner who relishes the details of a landscape, enough to work it out in paint till it's magnificence is caught.  Second to painting is swimming in it.  A book I read years ago - a couple who toured Europe collecting swimming holes, naked of coarse.  So much to take in and so little time.  

Icelandic volcano effects.  Found on art blog while still in bed on a Saturday after two martinis.  Felt an earthquake about 30 minutes ago.  Found epicenter on line to be Calexico.  Took a quick look at psychic predictions - May is loaded - and June.  Which all led to Bermuda Triangle phenomena, Australian doodlers, crop circles most recent.  All good stuff for avoidance of what I should be doing - painting a utility box out on Shelter Island or just painting in general.  Have not set up my palette in my new digs just yet.  Had a vision of working outside in the orchard ala Van Gogh style.  Really go with the whole insanity  profile.  Told my dinner date last night that I wasn't really suicidal - just at a place where nothing much matters.  Holding out for unique experiences and surprises.  Small pleasures mean a lot.  It's a wonderful world, mysterious in its delivery.  Watching from the sidelines for awhile.  

One of about thirty paintings I did for the plein air exhibit at Marston House.  It's the abandoned Ruben E. Lee which I considered part of SD historical architecture (the theme of the show).  Sold one - didn't see very many people walking around with frames under their arms.  Art as entertainment is killing us. 

Swept away in this raging river and intend to ride it out as trying to hold on only causes gulping of lots of stuff coming at me.  Trying to enjoy the scenery, keeping my head above water and not letting  panic be the overriding emotion.  

I have a couple of irons in my fire that if burned out will set me into launch mode.  National Parks here I come.  An endless road trip painting as I go till a safe haven makes itself known.  

Wailing Hearts

Dancing at the Elks Lodge with some North Countians - music was danged good and the hacienda facade made for fiesta frolicing.  

Evening Tides of Santa Monica

Marble Palace for Perfect Placements

Tiny Crystal Figurine on Luminous Stage - Lovely

Leafy Gold Crowns - always a favorite.

Getty gaga with Natasia and WINE.