Light-headed in the mountain air

 

Taking a plein air field trip, as previously described, was a new experience for me.  But I regularly make expeditions – loosely defined, for my purposes, as any outing farther than six blocks from home and lasting more than three hours.  The best are even longer, like the commemorative day-trip I make to Grouse Mountain every July.

 

From our first days in Vancouver, the mountains have called to me, and now their voices sound plaintive as the City of Vancouver rushes to eliminate our historic "view cones".  I was stewing about this as two things happened within a week of my Grouse expedition.  In a studio clean-up session, I pulled out some old newspapers and saw a 2017 ad for an exhibit I wish I'd seen then – "Forty Views of Mount Baker" by a local artist who turned out wonderful work during his career as a pediatric ER physician and now continues into retirement.  Eventually, he produced 80 views of Mount Baker and many more paintings on other subjects, too.

 

Then, my friend M put me on to a Globe & Mail article about Sue and Jim Waddington. Now in their 80s, they've spent decades searching out the original settings for Group of Seven landscapes.  This charming video, introduced by their 12-year-old granddaughter, shows and tells their story.

 

Canadian readers of this blog (you didn't know its readership is international?!) need no introduction to the Group of Seven, but others might want a little background.

 

Clearly the stars were aligning for my next Summer Camp project.  Drawing from the same inspiration as the Mount Baker artist, I felt it was time to do my own series -- with thanks to the  original Viewer, the "Old Man Mad About Art" – Hokusai.  Checking out his "Thirty-six Views of Mt. Fuji", I was astonished to discover something I'd never thought about before – his famous  "Great Wave" is actually the first in this series, with Mt. Fuji in the far distance.

 

How many views would I paint?  Let's make it seven, one to emulate each of the Group of Seven artists.  So grab some trail mix and get set to go.

 

Here's the plan.  For each view, you'll also see my sources:-- A photograph of Grouse Mountain (taken by me, any old time in the past); a roughly comparable scene from Hokusai's 36 Views (think shapes, not media); a somewhat comparable scene from a Group of Seven artist (again, think shapes, horizontals, verticals, and paint handling); finally, my emulation of the scene in the manner of that artist.  Here we go:--

 

Grouse View #1:  The view from my north window (with my camera's setting bringing Grouse nearer and looking much larger);  Hokusai's "Nihonbashi Bridge"; artist A. Y. Jackson's  "Port Joli, Quebec"; my emulation in the manner of Jackson.

Grouse View #2:  Grouse from Bard on the Beach; Hokusai's "Mitsui Tea Shop"; "Northern Hills" by Arthur Lismer; my emulation, "Peaks."

 

And just one more, Grouse View #3:   Snow and flowering cherries in East Van; Hokusai's "Inume Pass"; "Near the Berry Patch," by Franz Johnston; my emulation, "Grouse from Lanark Street."

 

 

Whew!  I'd say this is already a long read for a long weekend.  We'll catch the rest of my Views the next time.  And now, as daylight fades, I'll sign off with a typical late-day view from my north window – unlikely to be further compromised by rampant development, at least for another ten years.

 

 

Much ado about next to nothing

 

One of the pleasures of gardening in my little yard is unearthing old bits of stuff --  rusted hardware, a 1913 penny once (the house dates to 1912), and random oddities, like this guardian on the windowsill.  Add these to summer camp, along with readers' reactions, and anything can happen.

 

With this week's experiment, I offer a creativity salute to Friend P and her 8- and 10-year old grandsons.  Sharing news on summer activities, she mentioned that her friend (me) was also enjoying summer camp and that she ran it just for herself. (!)  The younger boy replied, "Cool!  Is she teaching herself something new?" (This is a family that sets the bar high).

 

Well, young A's comment was invigorating, and my thoughts turned to trying something I'd heard about somewhere – an artist who paints en plein air with his own little rig.  Since the days of the Impressionists, "en plein air" has evolved to become an enormous industry that markets supplies, equipment, and courses for painting outside.  The artist I dimly remembered paints inside little hand-sized tins, with paper affixed to the inside of the top, and paints available in the base.  Yes.  Really.

 

Packrat that I am, I have a few treasured tins from olden times, but I won't sacrifice them to Summer Camp since they're no longer made.

 

 I searched high and  low for tinned products at nearby stores and eventually found this:

 

The throat lozenges it contained would knock your socks off and were so distasteful, they've been consigned to the compost pile, but the tin did the trick.

 

 

Gluing a piece of good watercolour paper to the inside was the easy part.  Then I considered my watercolour paints – all old-timers – from which I'd need to make a small selection.  Should I use the familiar dry pans or the tube colours?  These were literally incomprehensible to me when I received a set in Grade 3 from my kind aunt then living in Germany.  (Yes, the Dutch Masters box is another treasured antique.) 

 

I found that 5 half-pans would fit the box, so here's my set-up:

 

Now, on to my rarely used watercolour brushes, which are different from acrylic brushes.  And at that moment, seeing them spread out, I decided not just to play in the studio or my back yard  – but to take an actual field trip!  What a concept – and very far from my zone of comfort.

 

This inspiration recalled a little travelling art pack I'd once won in a draw – perfect for the important job of protecting the brushes in transit.  Here it is, showing just some of its clever pockets …and a very dubious folding water container (which I deemed useless):

 

Water was essential, of course, and that also required some research since I don't routinely travel with a water bottle.  Back to the grocery store…and how about some Smart Water?  That could only help, couldn't it?

 

I strategized about nearby parks – minimal transit, possible scenery, a place to sit and spread gear – and then set off early to avoid the crowds.  (The real plein air guys are sometimes besieged by on-lookers).  Clark Park, just six blocks away, filled the bill – but on my walk there, I was almost waylaid by a pile of bricks!

 

Taking photos satisfied my brick fixation, and I moved on to my treed destination.

 

That day's hazy skies obscured the mountain view through the trees so I homed in on a tree grouping, across from a perfectly positioned bench.

 

 

My gear had travelled safely – and note my distinctive cap.  This summer camp, run solely for the proprietor, does not require distinctive T-shirts to identify its campers.

 

 With the tiniest brush, I set to work.  Here's an early stage when I saw that my limited colour selection wasn't necessarily the best.

 

As I puttered a little bit more, a woman came along with her dog – one of those adorable curly-haired types that you want to cuddle.  He didn't want a cuddle but he did hope for treats – and the woman quickly reined him in.  Then she said, "You're an artist!!! And you're painting!!"  She was completely entranced with the set-up and planned to tell her daughter about it.  (Daughter, I'd guess, cannot be older than 10).

 

I sat for a few minutes, letting the final version dry, hoping the grandsons would find "Cool!" a field trip that I took just for myself.

 

Over a cool drink at home, I reviewed the outing with satisfaction.  I didn't spill. I didn't get lost.  I learned things.  I didn't leave my identifier cap behind.  I had a nice encounter.  Then, properly hydrated, I moved on in my to-do list to sort a pile of papers and magazines that had been sitting around since early summer. 

 

And there I saw it – the source of my vague memory about an artist who painted in little boxes!!

 

This guy really knows what he's doing!! – and by the way, he orders his boxes in volume from Amazon.

Will I do the same?  Not a chance.  Let's remember that small things can take on an expansive life of their own.  Here's an unexpected Goji flower from a twig that rooted from last year and is now sending out robust 2-3 foot branches.  The grandfather of those clever boys has issued a caution about galloping Gojis, and I promise to keep things under control – whether vibrant plants or wild ideas.