Starting in neutral

 

All those who learned to drive on an original manual shift vehicle (c. 1960), please raise your hand – hey, not the one that's on the wheel!  I did -- could do it in my sleep -- but today's new-fangled stuff is beyond me.  I still can't figure out how people can lock their car doors by walking 15 feet away, then turning back, and pointing their key in the car's general direction.

 

There are other things I haven't been able to figure out lately, and I've felt pretty out of gear.  Where to go next?  How to get from here to there?  And somehow the idea of "neutral" came to mind – just calm down, let the thoughts stop whirring, and things will unfold.  That led me to memories of a favourite calm-inducing place, a park about 10 blocks away, with a small inland lake.

 

 Along the margins, concerted effort is being made to reclaim what was once marshland.  Almost every time I go there, I'll see someone else relishing the calm, often at this long-fallen log.

 

To enter the spirit, I decided to paint this young woman in these subtly toned surroundings.  At the same time, I'd experiment with a lay-in method that I'd recently seen in an on-line painting demo:-- Begin with an all-over, non-descript mix of paints, and then wipe out the general outline of your subject.

 

Hmm.  That worked pretty well for this straightforward composition.  But I could see that the hardest part, if I planned to stay "neutral," would be to give substance and contrast to the background.   Here's an early stage, as I'd applied the lightest lights and intended to keep lightening the whole.

 

I knew there was an issue with the overall bland tone (my camera likes colour and has made this look more colourful than it actually was).   Well, what to do about it?  Answer:  Finish it as I'd begun and then go on to the next painting!   So here's the final version of "Edge of the Marsh" (copyright 2022).

 

 

As usual, I brought the finished piece upstairs to live with for a while and placed it on a shelf against the pale olive of my living room wall.  As soon as I walked more than three feet away, it "beige-d out" and a message from past teachings hit me.

 

This was not a teaching I received directly but through a great lineage of American artists – some who are doing realist art today and learned from predecessors who had learned from some of the great book and magazine artists of the 20^th century – when print media still meant hands-on art and craft.  That period is called "The Golden Age of Illustration" for good reason.

 

The words I remembered were from Howard Pyle, one of these greats who was a teacher of many others.  Among his favourite subjects:--

 

One of his renowned students was N.C. Wyeth – father of  Andrew.   How I wish I still had my brother's revered boyhood book, Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island" with N.C.'s memorable illustrations!

 

Pyle's words of wisdom that had popped into my head were the following:--  

"If a painting is worth anything, it will stop you dead from 20 feet across the room."

Well, let's see how he measured up in his own painting "Marooned" -- with a vaguely comparable subject of seated figure in an almost monotone horizontal landscape:--

 

Wow!  There's no doubt this guy knew what he was doing.

 

I liked painting "Edge of the Marsh."  It made for a restful interlude, and I kind of like the outcome, as long as I don't move more than three feet away from it.  But obviously, there are risks to staying calmly in neutral gear.  I'll have to tread carefully as I consider my next move.

 

Hitting a brick wall

 

In making my end-of-season bamboo report, I'd planned a parallel report on Things Brick.  It's not so much that I expect to expand the brick features in my garden beyond 2022's "The Brick Factory."

 

But I wanted to note where the fascination with bricks has taken us, and how something as weighty as bricks can lead to unforeseen flights of fancy.   When I say "us," I mean you – my friends and supporters who have engaged on the subject with me.  You range from the "I've always liked bricks" contingent to the bonafide convert who sends me almost a brick a week found anywhere from Ottawa to the Lower Hudson River – and, of course, my friend Y who can take another bow as the fairy godmother of Budapest Bricks and all that followed.

 

I'd been thinking of you as my Brickade/brigade (certainly not as Brickands/brigands!) – but then, saluting your individuality and high spirits, I settled on "Bricksters." For the purpose of this report, I planned to feature you (or unreasonable facsimiles) with a playful painting.

 

But oh, no, there were Tricksters in the creative works, and after more time than I've ever spent on preliminary studies, I just couldn't get things right.

 

 

I'd hoped for something in the vein of the Beetlemania series, but this had ceased to be fun.  Then I thought, "I need to get back to the splash of 'Chromo-Surrealism,"' the genre I invented inspired by one of my heroes, Giorgio de Chirico.   And here's where it gets eerie. 

 

When I google-searched de Chirico images, I came across late-breaking news – one of his "Ariadne" paintings had just sold at auction for a record price.  Take a look:

 

That central background tower is made of BRICKS!!  Now zoom into the foreground.

 

Does she remind you of anyone you know? – or might have known better if my Summer Camp sculptures had been more successful:-- those Bricksters-that-might-have-been.

 

Even more eerie, almost the very next day, I came across reference to this "Sleeping Woman" from prehistoric Malta!!  

 

All of this scarcely qualifies as a report so I think I should zip through some quick brick highlights.  Here's one:  I went scouting one day in an oldish area of Vancouver and lingered by the walls of this heritage building on Main Street.

 

And there, as luck would have it, I was politely accosted by a long-term renter and antiques collector, who told me he had at least 300 bricks stored in the basement.  DO view his mini-story on YouTube.

 

Then there was my happy discovery of a new named brick (new to me, at least) on the very laneway behind our long-gone old house six blocks away.  Even upside down, its "BAKER" legend was easily read -- apparently an old brick from Vancouver Island!

 

Then just yesterday, I met another authentic brick nerd around the corner, installing a handsome section of pathway from bricks he'd rescued from the old chimney of their 1925 house.  He was happy to point me to the on-line site for Medalta, in the Historic Clay District of Medicine Hat, Alberta.  (Almost reason to move to Medicine Hat, if Alberta weren't so much like Texas)

 

By now, I'd given up on the Brickster painting – after a diversion along The Yellow Brick Road, which I viewed for inspiration.  Oh, how weird – I'm always so out of it that I didn't realize there would be a current association with Elton John!!!!  Give me Dorothy any day.

 

My painted Brickster tribute came to naught except for this:--  "Study:  Up Against a Brick Wall," (copyright 2022).

 

And here is THE eeriest thing about my end-of-season brick experiences.  A few weeks ago, I went to my first live concert in over two years.  As I walked to the downtown theatre, I was surprised to come upon a nearby vacant lot.  (Demolition sites are grist for the mill of brick nerds everywhere!)  By golly, propping up the fence were a couple of old Clayburn bricks:

 

Continuing along the fence, I spotted………OMG!!!  Not only more inaccessible bricks, but BAMBOO ROOTS!   I would know them anywhere.  Bricks and bamboo together?!!!  Bring it on:  Either Dorothy's "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" or "The Twilight Zone"  theme song.  You choose.