Day Eighteen: Stonington Harbor

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I get a lesson in climate change at The Harbor Café, which overlooks Stonington Harbor.

Oscar and I decide to have lunch there on Day Eighteen. (Thursday, Jan. 27, if you’re keeping track of our artists-in-residency at the Deer Isle Artists Association gallery.)

The Harbor Café is a Stonington institution, open year round and, when nothing else is open, the restaurant of last resort. The food is what you’d expect in a Maine fishing village: hearty American fare.

Oscar and I sit in the window so we can watch the world go by, mostly in pickup trucks. Sandra brings me the haddock sandwich I ordered. The fish is the size of a pork roast. Oscar ordered the same. This is about as good as fried fish gets. We are happy.

Stonington Harbor. Hagen Dock is on the left.

“They’ve stopped working on Hagen Dock,” I say. “The barge is gone.”

A fisherman, an older gentleman at the next table, laughs. “They ran out of money,” he said. “They’re good at that.”

“They’ve done the hard part,” says Oscar.

“The hard part is finishing it,” says the fisherman.

“Maybe the hard part is paying for it,” I say.

Arrow points to the orange barrels on Hagen Dock. View from Harbor Cafe

The fisherman explains the dock has to be built up to the orange barrels. They’ve actually just paused because of the weather.

“There’s going to be a catwalk around it, so we can’t tie our skiffs up to the floating dock anymore,” says the fisherman. “Years ago I wanted them to fill in the harbor, build a wharf, shore up those buildings. When I first got here all those buildings were on dry land.”

Now they’re on pilings. “Wow,” I say.

“The tides are two feet higher than they were 20 years ago,” the fisherman says. “They used to be 10 feet. Now they’re 12. Those buildings are all gonna be gone. If they’d done like I suggested, we could put our boats right up to the wharf, there’d be parking.”

“People could walk along the waterfront,” I say. “Tourists love that.”

“And there’s plenty of grout,” he says. “Just barge it over from Crotch Island.” There is a quarry on Crotch Island. Some days when the wind is right you can hear the rumble and roar of the quarrying.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjiuCuuZQv8

Sandra brings the check. Oscar insists on paying. I always worry, because Oscar can’t do numbers. He pays with a credit card but he doesn’t leave a tip. I slip Sandra $5 bill. “Oscar can’t do numbers,” I say. She smiles.

I painted one of those buildings on the waterfront. Wonder how long it will last.

Lobster Traps on Stonington Harbor

 

 

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A Struggle With Blue and Orange on Day Seventeen

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It may be a created memory, but years ago I read somewhere that John Singer Sargent said all painting is based on blue and orange.

Reflections Rocks and Water by John Singer Sargent. Man, that guy could paint

I’ve looked it up on the internet, but can’t find the quote. Still, I’m a huge fan of blue and orange.

Fortunately Dan (my husband) owns a pair of blue suspenders and an orange chamois shirt (from L.L. Bean, of course). When he puts it on to go hiking I make sure my cell phone is charged. I will take lots of pictures and maybe I’ll get a painting out of it.

I took a bunch of photos on our recent excursion to the Schoodic Peninsula. Sitting in the DIAA gallery with Oscar, I decided to paint Dan against the dark brush – white hair (paper), orange (cadmium red, cadmium orange, alizarin crimson and maybe some quinacridone magenta) shirt, blue (cobalt) suspenders and white (paper)-with-shadow (cobalt and raw umber) pants.

The first painting looks weak and watery. And I’m trying to paint looser, but it isn’t working.

The second version is better, though I’m not thrilled with the figure.

Schoodic Stroll

And I didn’t get orange — red-orange, really — quite the way I want it. Red is hard to paint. You can’t just add water or white to lighten it and get gradations the way you can with blue. You have to combine different reds. In water color, for example, you might combine cadmium red, which is opaque, and quinacridone magenta, which is transparent.

I had an art teacher who once made her students study the Vermeer painting, “Girl With the Red Hat” so we understood how to paint red. We had to count how many different reds were in the hat. I don’t remember how many, except that it was a lot.

Johannes Vermeer (Dutch, 1632 – 1675 ), Girl with the Red Hat, c. 1665/1666, oil on panel, Andrew W. Mellon Collection

There’s a lot to say about red. Playwright John Logan did in his play about Mark Rothko called Red by John Logan. I saw a terrific performance of it at The Winnipesaukee Playhouse with my mother-in-law two summers ago. But I digress.

I decide to paint Schoodic Stroll once more in 30 minutes. Just as an exercise to loosen up. Here’s what happened:

Maybe I’ll take another crack at it some other time.

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Day Fifteen: clapboarded churches stood so white against the blue sky

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A storm. The lights flicker. If there’s a power outage perhaps the Central Maine Power drones will locate the source quickly.

Oscar calls and says we should forgo the DIAA gallery because of the roads. He posts on Facebook a picture of ice on his roof.

Ice on Oscar’s roof

Dan is skeptical, I say I’m going in anyway. Then Dan looks at our eaves and sees ice. We hear few if any pickup trucks roaring by. If even the crazy pickup drivers are staying home, I am too.

Oscar’s Greenhead painting

Oscar has been working on a painting of two white buildings on Greenhead, a peninsula that sticks out in Stonington Harbor. At the end is the Greenhead Lobster Company. Greenhead is Stonington’s answer to the red fishing shack in Rockport, Mass., which artists once called Motif No. 1 – and now everyone else does.

I’m also working on a painting of white buildings, Mark Island Light. I put them both up on the wall.

Oscar is reading a book of poems by Stu Kestenbaum, I wish I could remember which one. Stu is our neighbor in Deer Isle, former director of the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts, current interim director of the Maine College of Art, member of the Church of the Morning After, occasional pickleball player, very nice guy and Maine’s poet laureate.

Oscar held out a page with the poem Only Now, the first 15 or so lines heavily underlined.

We throw away so many things, pack them into translucent garbage bags where you can see through to the once beloved objects. The humbling moment is to realize it’s all heading to the dumpster, not just my journal and last month’s bills, but all of history, and all that will be left is an ember rotating in space. Don’t worry, it will all start over again. This isn’t the only world, this is just one try at it. This is the world that had ice and snow, this is the world where the apple blossoms fell to earth, this is the world where the clapboarded churches stood so white against the blue sky, like a remarkable original idea that gets our attention.

He pointed to the line about the clapboard churches. “That’s what we’re doing,” he said.

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Pickleball and Fast Painting on Day Twelve

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Day Twelve falls on Saturday, a short day. I have to be at the gym at 2 pm to help set up the pickleball tournament.

I go to Oscar’s house to pick him up. and we chat with Diana about having a party at the end of our artist residency. Saturday, Feb. 4 would be best. Diana has champagne, I have salmon. “There are plastic glasses at the gallery,” I say. “People who go to art receptions know to expect cheap wine in plastic glasses.” Oscar holds up a bottle of beer. We’ll have that, too.

At the DIAA gallery my drawing of a Bar Harbor streetscape awaits me. I’m going to finish it today. I’m going to paint quickly. And I’m not going to use cerulean. I depend on it too much.

Painting as fast as I can on Day Twelve.

I go with cobalt and burnt umber rather than my cerulean and cadmium for walls and pavement and shadows. The focal point of the image is a woman’s hair. I will use cadmium and Quinacridone gold for her hair. I will use Prussian blue for her blouse. When I finish, I’m not happy. My values need adjusting. I darken the background but not the walls around her. It’s time to go but I’m not done. Oh well. Oscar likes it a lot.

I go home and make Hoo Mee chow mein for lunch. I can blame my unhealthy meal when I’m easily eliminated from the pickleball game. And my flannel shirt, not exactly ideal athletic wear.

Setting up the Island Community Center gym for pickleball.

I play with Alex Shorey, a Deer Isle-Stonington High School senior and pickleball devotee. It was Alex who decided we’d wear plaid flannel shirts as our team uniform. We are done for as soon as our opponent Linda Campbell realizes my backhand is weak. I sit on the bench and chat with the spectators. Oscar is watching, trying to figure out the game.

Though Winterfest is sponsored by the Healthy Island Project, there is a huge table of brownies, cookies and Rice Krispy Treats at the gym entrance. I tell Oscar to go get some chocolate. Then I get some myself. “There must be a billion calories on this table,” I say.

The woman presiding over it laughs. “I’m doing the social part of well-being,” she says.

Bennett Gray and Judy Rader won the pickleball trophy.

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Day Eleven Brings a Teachable Moment or Two

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Day Eleven is quiet, a gray day with a dusting of snow on the ground. Annie Taylor Gray drops by to pick up a sign Dan made for her Chamber of Commerce table at Winterfest.

I toy with the horse painting, darkening here, lightening there. I realize the bay horse is missing half his neck, so I paint it in.

I read an email from a friend in Washington. Donald Trump is being inaugurated. There was a huge demonstration in the streets. Protesters smashed windows and riot police used pepper spray on them, the story goes. “Donald Trump is president,” I say to Oscar.

“Well, here goes.”

Katy Helman sees the lights are on in the gallery and comes in to see how Oscar survived his first encounter with pickleball last night. She exclaims over his painting, a mélange of color and maritime images. “Oscar, you’re going wild.” He says it was time to do something different.

Katy goes over to the wall of paintings and slips into Teacher Mode. She looks at my Cadillac Mountain paintings – all five of them.

Cartoony

“Explain to me which ones you did and why,” she says. I tell her the first one was too stiff, so I tried to paint one in 30 minutes, then I did another, and another. She points to a figure in one of them and cautions me against making it too cartoony.

Day Eleven. Trite?

I point to a painting I made up of a man walking a dog in Acadia National Park. “This one I think is trite. I think it’s the red and blue,” I say. “I’m thinking about changing his shirt to white.”

Katy says no,  it’s right in the middle of the painting. “Maybe you could dull it with some orange.”

That triangular rock is trouble.

I point to the lighthouse painting. “I gotta get rid of this rock in the middle. Maybe make it smaller, lighten it.” Katy agrees.

She stands back. “You paint a lot with pink and green.”

“It’s because I love cerulean,” I say. “I mix it with the cadmiums a lot, red and yellow.”

We all have our favorites, she says.

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Day Ten Brings a Clam Pie Run and Pickleball

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Dan comes by. He just dropped two cases of clam pie off at Tradewinds in Blue Hill. They have a Made in Maine section. We love them.

“Look at all the nice paintings on the wall,” Dan says.

“They suck,” I say.

“No, they’re nice,” he says.

Oscar looks up. “You say they suck, then people say they’re good. That’s the deal. That’s what we do.”

I see Katy Helman coming out of the post office. I wave and open the door. She comes in. “I’m going to ask Linda if she can take photos with her drone for my Haystack students next weekend,” she says. “Cool idea,” I say.

The painting that used to have a Pepto-Bismol sky

She looks at my Pepto-Bismol painting without the Pepto and slips into Teacher Mode, which I always find entertaining. “Much improved,” she says.

Oscar’s Church of the Morning After painting

“Who did this?” she says, pointing to Oscar’s painting of the Church of the Morning After. “Oscar, you should do white line woodcuts,” she says. “It would really lend itself to your work.”

We look up Kate Hanlon, Katy’s friend who does white line woodcuts. Hmmm. Good idea. Katy explains how it works. Maybe she’ll teach us.

30-Minute Cadillac Mountain painting

She looks at my 30-minute mountain painting. “Why didn’t you use a square format?” she said. “If you cropped it and moved the figure in it would be much more dynamic.”

“It’s a pain to mat and frame square formats,” I say. Matting and framing are the bane of artists who work with paper. It’s why some people turn to oil on canvas. It’s probably why I’ll turn to oil on canvas. Katy says you can get square frames at Target. The nearest Target is an hour and a half away.

I run to the Galley to get a sandwich. Oscar brought his lunch so he’s going to stay put, though he loves the Galley. Along with the Burnt Cove Market and V&S Variety, it’s the biggest worker cooperative in the state of Maine.

When I return Oscar is explaining to Katy it’s nearly impossible for him to remember names since his stroke (though I’m flattered he remembers mine). To learn a new technique, he has to see it repeated and repeated and repeated. Katy says, “So you adjust.”

Oscar and I walk to 44 North to get our half cup of coffee. The lights are on in Bruce Bulger’s studio in the old high school, so we go in. Bruce makes beautiful furniture. He is a woodworker and illustrator, and his studio is filled with marvelous machinery and woodcutting tools. Bruce’s son comes out and greets us.

He’s working on a drawer with 45-degree angled dovetails. “How many times do you measure before you cut?” I ask. “The more I measure, the less I have to cut,” he says.

I take a picture of the big wooden statue in the next room. “That’s Tam Tam,” he says. “From the Fiji Islands.” It’s going to the Blue Hill Library. His dad is making a pedestal for it. I try to take a picture of Rudy, his new puppy. Rudy is too quick for me and hides under a workbench.

Melissa Raftery is in at 44 North Coffee. She says they’re excited about moving to the old Fibula Gallery on Main Street. They’ll have nooks for the coffee shop on the first floor, she says, and they’ll have to hire a crane to move their roaster. I tell her they’ll do very, very well. I take a picture for the Stonington Farmers Market Facebook page. Too bad I can’t take a photo of her partner, Megan Wood, too. “She’s in Guatemala,” says Melissa. “I got to go to Australia last year.” On coffee business.

I paint horses, two of them, at Acadia. I try to draw very precisely and paint very loosely. I’m almost done at the end of the day. Oscar says it’s the best thing I’ve done. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Acadian Horseback

Oscar wants to try pickleball tonight so I drop him off at the Island Community Center, go home, change, and return to pickleball. There are 11 new players and 12 old ones, like me. Pickleballs are flying all over the gym, coats and boots piled on the benches and buzzing conversations while people wait their turn to play. Or try to play. I tell a newbie I like to come to the gym in winter because it’s warm and light and friendly when it’s cold and dreary outside. “I need more of that in my life,” she says.

At the end of Day Ten.

 

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Mid-Century Modern and Pickleball on Day Nine

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Oscar and I are back to a full day on Day Nine. When I get to his house at 9 am I see the Subaru is gone and therefore so is Diana. Oscar comes out to the car and invites me in the house to look at some work he admires. On the landing is a loose, fluid landscape. It’s signed ‘Kappa.’ His mother lived on the island, Oscar says. Oscar loves the style. He is amazed at how quickly Kappa put it down.

We look at one more, and then two of Oscar’s own paintings.

This is his favorite.

Oscar’s favorite painting

Deer Isle is busy today, as the Post Office and the library are open. I tweak my lobster trap painting, adding some pink to the water so it doesn’t fight with the sky. Some of the Pepto-Bismol still shines through.

Linda Campbell from Due North next door stops by to ask if I can tell the pickleballers she’ll be there a half-hour late tonight at 5. “I have a conference call,” she says. It involves a committee of Deer Isle Village merchants trying to get sidewalks. “We have to do something,” she says. There used to be an ice cream shop, an apartment, a lawyer’s office, an art gallery. Now Due North is the only business open throughout the winter. She says maybe they’ll make a parking lot at the end of Main Street, across from Rte. 15 where the house burned down in 2011.

Hub White stops in for a visit. He and Oscar try to figure out if they studied architecture at Michigan at the same time. They didn’t. Hub was in the Army after Korea. Oscar was in the Navy for five years in Vietnam. Hub and Oscar also both lived in Connecticut and did architecture work in New York City.

Hub worked for the Saarinen firm. He said they worked crazy hours, 70 hours a week. His wife had to get a job as a receptionist just to see him. Those must have been exciting times in New York, I say. Hub said they were. (I have a little bit of an idea: my mother and my uncle worked for New York advertising agencies. In fact I was in a Congoleum flooring magazine ad before I was born.)

Saarinen was friends with the great Charles Eames. Eames would come to visit and a hush would fall over the office. Hub tells us about Eames. I say, “Did you ever see Mad Men? It’s about a New York advertising agency in the ‘60s. The period details are tremendous, except they used Helvetica typeface for the corporate signage and it wasn’t used yet.”

Helvetica

Hub asks if I’d seen the documentary Helvetica.  I say no, and Hub says it’s terrific. It’s about how the Swiss invented the typeface, how it changed the world of graphic design and how graphic artists are bitterly divided over it. I later find out the director designed a Helvetica poster that was used as a prop for Mad Men. Also that Mad Men did indeed play fast and loose with typography. Also that it was Arial, not Helvetica, that was used improperly. Also that the Peggy character sits in a Saarinen chair.

(An aside: Eero Saarinen designed the Dulles Airport terminal. Looking at the terminal is the best thing about Dulles Airport. The only good thing. The control tower is now a national landmark. I got to go in it when I was a reporter. Not much to report there, except for the view. Here’s the Stonington Airport. Not much to report there, either.)

Stonington Airport

Annie Taylor Gray emails me. “You probably need words for the Lupinefest poster,” she writes.

“Funny, I was just talking to Hub about typefaces,” I say. I don’t think I’ll use Helvetica.

Day Nine Work and Play

Oscar has been laboring over a painting he doesn’t like. I tell him he should set a timer and just try to do something in 30 minutes.

I take my own advice. I set my timer on my phone to 30 minutes and I paint Cadillac Mountain. By the time the timer dings, I’m done. I like it.

We leave a little early because it’s pickleball night. Oscar says he might come over to the Island Community Center gym to watch.

At the gym, we have a brief meeting to talk about the tournament. Anne Douglass tells us she was on the Good Morning Maine television show with Renee Colson-Hudson this morning talking about Winterfest and mentioned our tournament! We are all excited. (You can watch it here.)

Anne Douglass (center) and Renee Colson-Hudson on Good Morning Maine.

I’m on the court playing when I see Oscar sitting in the bleachers. There are 12 players, two courts, so four people at a time wait on the benches. Oscar tells Wayne Endriss, his neighbor, it looks serious. Wayne says, “No, we’re not serious.” Oscar says, “I see serious.” There’s a pickleball clinic Thursday night as part of Winterfest and a prelude to the tournament. Oscar said he’ll come to see if he can play.

Helvetica: By GearedBull Jim Hood – Own work, GFDL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3367075

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Day Eight, All About Pine Trees

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I check in with Facebook. My friend Alexis Adler posted this:

The first thing I see on Facebook on Day Eight

I feel like it’s my own personal Jean-Michel Basquiat Week.

I have to drive my neighbor Zoe Hansson to the nursing home on the morning of Day Eight. Then I have to go to book group.

Zoe has lost much of her sight and can’t drive. We go to the Island Nursing Home every Monday to visit her sister Luanne. Zoe walks with Luanne around the building, helps her eat, makes sure she’s cared for. Sometimes Zoe coaxes a smile from Luanne. Those are good days. Luanne has Alzheimer’s. “I have to be realistic,” says Zoe. I admire the hell out of Zoe.

She asks me if I’ve done my snowman painting yet. Zoe thinks I should paint a snowman. Why not? I think. I’ve painted dancing lobsters on a shingle before.

Zoe is in a good mood today. I’m just dropping her off at the nursing home and then she’s going to lunch with friends at 11. I ask who she’s going with. “Bunzy Sherman,” says Zoe. “How funny,” I say. “My book group is meeting right next to Bunzy’s studio.”

Bunzy is a potter. This island is lousy with artists: potters and painters and blacksmiths, jewelry makers, weavers, knitters. Half the women who come to book group today are artists. Me, Carolyn Walton, a painter, and Mary Howe, a book artist. All DIAA members. All PFAs – people from away. You’re a PFA if you weren’t born on the island. We all love the book, News of the World by Paulette Jiles. Everyone gives it a nine on a scale of one to 10.

I leave book group early to pick up Oscar. He brings two travel mugs, each filled with a half cup of coffee. 44 North is closed today because of the MLK holiday. There’s little traffic outside as the Post Office and library are closed. We work diligently for three hours, saying little.

I work on my lighthouse painting. I spent most of yesterday painstakingly painting three pine trees —  branches, needles, twigs – on the left of the lighthouse. Just before we left on Day Seven I quickly roughed in a fourth tree on the right of the lighthouse. I like the one on the right so much better than the three on the left. I spend much of Day Eight undoing what I did on Day Seven. I’m not sure I can salvage this painting.

Oscar gives me some sandpaper to lift up the Pepto-Bismol from my lobster trap painting. It’s on 300 lb. paper, which can take a beating. Gwendolyn Bragg, my former teacher at the Art League in Alexandria taught me that.

There’s a little light in the sky when we leave. “How would you paint that?” Oscar asks. “Cerulean, a little cadmium, some raw sienna,” I say. “The clouds I’d make cobalt blue and raw umber.”

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Day Seven Brings Pine Trees and Masking Fluid

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I start Day Seven by writing a story about how Harrison Gray Otis swindled John Singleton Copley out of his Beacon Hill property in 1795. Or so Copley thought. Copley was seriously OCD and fought the deal for years. The story didn’t generate much traffic for the New England Historical Society but I got to look at Copley’s portraits. They are sublime. They shimmer, they gleam, they glower, they smirk. They put me in the presence of Revere silver and Newport block-and-shell cabinetry and revolution.

John Singleton Copley, detail from self-portrait

This is how good Copley’s portraits are:

Back when I was a foolish young Cubs fan, I frequently and vividly discussed my admiration for the flakey slugger Dave Kingman. One evening my friend Fiona Inglis and I had an epic night out in Wrigleyville, three hours of laughter, booze and Thai food. (Or maybe Indian or Mexican.) Fiona is a fan of after-dinner liqueur. I am not. Fiona tried to persuade me to order a glass of Frangelico. It’s delicious, she says. You’ll love it. It’s like ambrosia. It’s the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.

I stand firm against the Frangelico.

Fiona keeps trying. (Remember, we are well-lubricated.) Finally she comes up with her winning argument. “It’s as good as Dave Kingman’s shorts,” she says.

That’s how good John Singleton Copley’s portraits are.  As good as Dave Kingman’s shorts.

Day Seven is a short day of painting. I would skip pickleball, but the big Winterfest tournament is coming up and I have to practice.

I pick up Oscar at 2 pm and we work diligently for three hours. Oscar is working with masking fluid. He offers me some if I need it. He also gives me half a clementine and some chocolate.

Katy Helman drops in. She saw our paintings on the wall and thought there was an exhibit. Then she saw me.

“Why weren’t you at pickleball?” I ask. She explains she’s mentoring a high-school student named Mason through Haystack. He took her workshop in digital photography. Katy used to teach art at the Deer Isle Stonington High School.

Katy shouts out the door to Mason to roam around Deer Isle Village and take photographs while she visits.

She looks at my lobster trap painting. She likes what I did with the light on the buoys. “Yeah, but I lost my mind and painted the sky Pepto-Bismol pink,” I say. “I have to fix it.”

“Can you fix watercolor?” Katy says. “I know nothing about it.” Katy does abstract paintings in oil.  Very playful. Very unlike what I do. But we both love the square format.

Katy walks over to the table. My heart sinks.  She’s going to see my damn lighthouse.

“Yeah, it’s a lighthouse,” I say.

Katy shrugs. “People do things for all kinds of reasons, their own reasons.”

I say, “I want to make prints of it and sell it in Bar Harbor.” Katy nods. “Commercial reasons are good reasons.

At the end of Day 7 Oscar isn’t happy with his painting. I’m kind of liking the lighthouse, even though I spent the last three hours painting nothing but pine trees. Oscar says it’s the best thing I’ve done here. I agree.

At the end of Day Seven
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Day Six Confession

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On Day Six Oscar and I are only in the gallery from 9 to Noon.

I have a confession. I’m painting a lighthouse. I know it’s a cliché. But lighthouses weren’t a cliché until Edward Hopper discovered them.

Pemaquid Light by Edward Hopper

I had a college art professor, Joseph Masheck, who said, “There’s a reason things become cliches. It’s because they’re good and people like them.” (Or something like that.) Come to think of it, his lecture on Hopper stuck with me.

day six
Day Six progress. Or not.

I decide I’m done with one painting. The one on the right. I kind of hate it. I definitely hate the one on the left.

I’m struggling with painting Cadillac Mountain. Everything I do is boring, overworked or trite.

When Judith Felch was in yesterday, she said she traveled Europe as an art student and wondered about painting the mountains in Switzerland. Her teacher said mountain paintings have to have something in them to demonstrate their scale. Hmm.

We work quickly since we only have three hours. I kind of like the lighthouse painting. Oscar says it’s interesting. “Interesting” is high praise from Oscar.

 

I’m not sure I can come in on Sunday, I tell Oscar. I have company coming for dinner and pickleball and stuff to do. But I’ll let him know. He says he’s not sure if they’re going to play at the Church of the Morning After tomorrow. I say I’ll try to find out. But I don’t. He says it’s okay. He’ll just walk down to see if they’re there. Oscar can’t drive.

We decide we’re going to have a reception on our last day, Jan. 31. We could call it a closing opening. An artist friend tells me they’re called ‘closing receptions.’

We’ll have beer. And wine. And chocolate.

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