Colour me -- confounded

 

The seasons' change is in the air.  Autumn is almost here, and Summer Camp 2026 is nearing its conclusion.  In this year’s adventures, some of the artists I’ve sought to emulate – or in any case, to be inspired by – are from other eras, other countries.  To the forefront now, at this late date, comes a contemporary Vancouver artist who is greatly admired particularly for his landscape paintings.

 

A practicing medical specialist until his 2017 retirement, he is almost a lifetime artist.  This account from his medical peers tells part of the story that he’s still writing today with great energy and expertise.  I’ve admired his work for years in reproductions and had the luck to meet him on the last day of his Fall 2025 exhibit.  His warm smile suggests the kind of physician he must have been.  He genially spoke with his visitors and generously let me have one each of his rack cards.

 

Meanwhile, as August came into view, I’d been looking at years of photos from my cherished friend L, taken at her beautiful home on Galiano Island.  The sunsets were always spectacular – did I dare give this one a try, even as the colours in nature are overpowering??

 

Looking particularly for examples of sky in DH’s paintings, I found this one from his earlier series on Vancouver’s harbour.

 

His process is so intriguing – are the lines on a tree trunk, for example, painted after and over the trunk’s colour, or is their colour painted first, then painted with the trunk's colour, and then the lines “carved out” from the overlay?  

 

This is no less clear to me now, after finding this description just this morning.  Scroll down about 10 short paragraphs, below the painting titled, “View from the Spit…” and try to match the description to the outcome.

 

Nevertheless, in mid-month, I plunged in:

 

As I continued, the puzzles became more confounding:-- the sequence for the colour application; the lightness or darkness of reflections on the water; the particular quality of yellow.  An interim stage:

 

Big sigh.  One of the givens of colour mixing is that white not only lightens other colours but might at the same time dull them.  Sometimes a touch of yellow is preferred instead…but how could you lighten yellow with yellow?

 

Well – here’s the finale. “Memories of Galiano – Summer Camp series,” copyright 2026.

 

No, I didn’t get the colours right – and its biggest flaw is that I just could not make the “branches” of the centre tree thin enough.  (Hmmm….I feel an urge to repaint coming on).

 

However, another happy surprise from this morning’s online search, is this:

 

Another exhibit this October, and it’s in my calendar now!!

 

Now, is it time to fold the tents on Summer Camp?  ….not quite.

 

Time for spooky tales around the campfire?

As Summer Camp wends onward, I’d planned for a landscape focussed on an old house.  The abandoned tavern shown here is from a regional vintage photo site in New York state  -- not fair game for my purposes.  I hoped to locate another old Vancouver house like the one that enchanted me last year. 

 

My time for exploring has been limited lately as Serious Stuff – a research project I mistakenly volunteered for -- impinges on my summertime fun.  I used Google maps to explore some possible neighbourhoods, to no avail.  I was much more successful in finding a painting I might emulate, titled “Deserted House.”

 

It’s by 20^th century Canadian artist Prudence Heward who is top of my list right now for preferred painting partners.

 

How could I have forgotten her after seeing a blockbuster show at the Vancouver Art Gallery in 2023?  Here, she has painted another similarly “lost” artist, printmaker Edna B. Hopkins, an American of roughly the same period. 

 

I would love to have painted this!!  And once found, it quickly led me to abandon the abandoned house motif and any thought of spooky tales.  Instead, I decided to paint two “sisters in art” – Prudence herself and the close friend of a coffee buddy I’ve become acquainted with in the past year.  This young woman (“young” equals 50-ish, right?) wears different hats so stylishly and, just incidentally, has started taking watercolour lessons.

 

Here’s the first lay-in:

 

A midway point:

 

And the final version, “Sisters” – Summer Camp Series, copyright 2026.

 

I’ve left the equivocal facial expressions just as you see them.  Is Prudence viewing a younger version of her friend group, wondering about how future generations might express themselves?

 

And here’s more food for thought:  I’d hoped to suggest there was still time to grab a spot in another summertime Commedia program.  Then I had the wisdom (!) for once to check out the meaning of its title, psicodramma.  I should have known! – psychodrama – and my extracurricular research activities of the summer have already brought too much of that!!

 

 

 

Unexpected origin stories

 

Summer Camp ought to celebrate surprises, pivots and discoveries.  The previous post was inspired by the ravine at the local (and nationally famous) botanical garden where I volunteer.

 

Aiming to work on a typical support like paper or board, I'd made an unexpected pivot to splashing colour onto refillable palette paper.

 

Then, like an exclamation point, the origin story of that ravine became clear when I did my volunteer shift at the garden a few days ago.  I knew this 55-acre garden had once been a golf course and, flipping randomly through some old notebooks, I happened on the title photo above – the ravine in its first stages of creation!

 

Well – back to my Summer Camp agenda to play around with the landscape paintings of known artists.  I happened upon this wonderful pastel painting, “The Zaterre – Harmony in Blue and Brown”.

 

It’s by 19^th c. American artist James McNeil Whistler.  (By the way, take a close look at that self-portrait, and if you can figure out what his right hand is doing on the left side of his body, please let me know).

 

And “The Zaterre” – what’s that?  It’s downright fascinating.  I'd love to join the throng and go there.  But to the task at hand, I just needed a local landscape story waiting to be told.   Except:  There’s no way I’d be allowed near the waterfront shipping hub to see a sweep of foreshore and then the working harbour.

 

Putting that aside, I decided I’d focus on Whistler himself, based on this photo:

 

At first, I thought I’d try for a treatment a la Hashim Akib, a contemporary artist whose portraits fascinate me.

 

But then I realized I was working at too small a scale for his Hashim-mashups.

 

Okay.  Forget that.  I’d meanwhile become fascinated with the small table that Whistler leans on – and realized, too, that I needed something to fill the space on the right side of the picture.  Enter Whistler’s own “Peacock Room.”

 

Oh, my.  How did I ever miss this tale of high-stakes art scandal?  

 

In any case, I wasn’t foolhardy enough to put the full extravaganza into my background.  But how about a part of it?  Here’s the finale – “Harmony in Gold, Burgundy and Blue,” (copyright 2026).

 

Have we pivoted enough to lose track of the origin story?  There really should be no surprise that in a crunch, I’ll revert to my favourite art elements – pattern and rich colour.   So why not calm down, breathe deeply – and consider if the current sheet of refillable palette paper has the makings of a future painting.

 

 

 

Word is getting around

   

My annual Summer Camp routine is well known to regular readers, and to them I confess a devilish streak in which I test the concept on newish acquaintances.  I still cherish the response of good friends’ then-7-year-old grandson when his grandmother said that “her friend runs her own summer camp.”  Quick as a flash, this bright youngster asked, “And what does she learn there?”

 I suppose I’m learning a thing or two even if I’m not travelling far from base camp.  I’m looking at lots of art on-line, tracking lots of artists from my own long-held lists, and I’m finding lots of intriguing works that suggest different types of landscapes.

 

I’ve known of American artist Charles Burchfield but had never done a deep dive.

 

Check the “Gallery” section in that link and scroll with the embedded right arrow to see many examples of his distinctive style. From another source, I found his painting “Two Ravines” and selected this landscape type to work on.

 

Now, where to find a local ravine as a match?  Capilano Canyon, my birthday destination in May, was ravine-like in many narrow stretches – but too far down for a clear view.

 

And besides, it had its risks:

 

Why not my favourite gardens not far from home? – and I headed right over to get a current photo.

 

Head smack!  The base of the ravine is clearly evident, but no water is running through, thanks to current summertime water restrictions.  Back to my photo file to find this same ravine in other seasons:

 

 

Really, all I needed was the idea of a ravine  -- and unexpectedly, one almost painted itself.

 

Not long ago, my ever-encouraging friend A gave me a “Sta-Wet” palette.  Essentially, this is an ingenious system in which special paper is placed on a damp sponge sheet within a sealable plastic tray container.  The artist works on the surface, as with any palette, but can easily save the colour blobs from day to day – then replace the paper when it becomes too…blobbed.

 

I was about to install a new paper refill when I realized the very messy old one (destined for the trash) made a perfect base for a ravine.

 

What’s more, I’d already given up the idea of trying to emulate Charles Burchfield’s unique style.  (Such pivots are allowed at Summer Camp and, in fact, encouraged.)  Instead, I’d work with palette knives rather than paintbrushes.

 

This was tons of fun – several adroit slashes brought me to a credible ravine, which we’ll call “Burchfield Falls.”

 

On to artist Burchfield.  A small portrait with palette knife was not so credible.

 

Too bad.  He was a nice-looking guy so I gave him a summer T-shirt and a quick conventional study using paintbrushes.

 

Certainly this could use more work, but it wasn’t my objective and I’m already plotting the next change of scene.  It’s curious, though, the way images of ravines and waterfalls keep coming into view.  Waiting for class to begin in a downtown university building, I sat in a chair just beyond the elevator in this photo. 

Leaning back and gazing upwards, I was surprised to see a painting on the wall on the floor above me – impossible for my camera to catch, but it captures a lively brook flowing through the big rocks of a ravine!

 

But maybe you’d rather spend your summer somewhere else?   Just think!  In this very week, we could be doing classes here: --