Celebratory Bubbly…

I delivered a painting to a new collector in Portsmouth NH just the other day.  A 3-hour drive from my little house on the hill in Vermont. Up and out on a dark early morning. I thought about my drive down my remote road and how I would need to watch for deer. Mating season and deer hunting season coexisting in November. A curious extreme of reward and punishment.

I texted my friend that I hoped to be at their house just after 9am. I would be visiting my son in a neighboring NH town before driving home same day so my visit would be somewhat brief. My vision now challenged by night driving had become an inconvenience of aging I resented.  I needed to plan my travels based on physical limitations and be back on the road headed northwest by midafternoon.

The commission a seascape. Based on a painting I had painted a few years back of Brewster Flats on Cape Cod. A favorite summer destination for our family but for me offseason strikes the finest note.

The composition and colors spoke to her, and we discussed how the palette would integrate with their new home. Their next chapter. Now empty nesters. Having sold their Massachusetts family home a few months ago they had begun again in a beautiful part of their new state.

Conversations swirled around canvas size since the ceilings were high and the fireplace was elegantly New England grand. A large-scale painting. 36 x 48 inches was decided upon. The focal point of their open concept kitchen and family room.  The heart of their home. Hung high over a pale ochre natural stone fireplace. Honored I was.

Approaching any commission is a thoughtful time. Thinking of how to successfully bring what I do to meet their visual expectations. Wanting it to mean something to them that they never imagined. That is my job. My work.

My friend is a creative person, so I felt relaxed around sharing my process and progress. I don’t always do so as early progressions can cause palpitations in a client if the process doesn’t look like the final stop immediately. Paintings always have a moment of real tension and either the sun is going to come up again on another studio day or the night is going to slam down on the canvas rendering it a failure. Not much in between in my experience.

Hard to understand the artistic journey of a painting especially a large one through jpeg but it was how we would proceed. It worked smoothly but I grew eager for them to see the final product in person. The experience of that …

The obvious task at hand for me was to create an expansive seascape based on another painting of mine. The esoteric work to be done was to express a next chapter. Empty nesters now living in a new community suggested a major change that needed to be illustrated.

A request from my friend was to include an image of them. The couple. It could be obscure. A shadow representing them but somehow, they were to be described in this painting. She sent me a photo of them in shadow while on a hike. Holding hands. She mentioned that they held hands the entirety of that hike. At that moment I recognized that this painting was so much more than a “next chapter” it was about a love story. A couple walking side by side and hand in hand through life. My artistic responsibility now was to create poetry on a canvas. To tell the story of a great love.

How would I paint a love story? While I didn’t initially know somehow, I did. Over several weeks and countless studio hours I completed 90% of the painting sans the image of the couple. A little risky but it didn’t feel that way.

Finally, and dissatisfied with the images she had provided me with I requested another photo. Within seconds my phone pinged, and a new image appeared. Her mother had been visiting far from her home. She had snapped the photo of the couple just the day before. It was perfect. It was perfect on so many levels. Fate? Maybe.

The photo represented so much about this couple. They had been out and about visiting another area with her mom. He, a photographer had his brownish-tan leather camera bag over his left shoulder. My friend was walking hand in hand with her husband. An obvious comfort between the two. A oneness.

A plaid shirt worn by her husband drew from the colors in the rocks and seawall I had already painted. Kismet. The whole process felt more like an exploration of love and the good karma that they exude into this world. I knew exactly how I would place the figures in the painting. I couldn’t drink in enough of this moment …

I arrived at their home a bit later than anticipated due to traffic, but the stress of travel melted away when I was so eagerly greeted. “You are the first of my friends to visit my new home” she said to me. Traffic on Rte. 93 was forgotten.

We giggled as we noted the double front doors while she called for her husband to help retrieve the painting from my car. The three of us talk animatedly till we reached the cargo area. My car dusty from travel and a little neglect yet I apologized like it impacted what was just about to be revealed.

I cautioned them about how we were to lift the canvas and frame together while not fragile it was an important detail. I lifted the cardboard sheets off the face of the painting and held my breath instinctually. Not consciously just protectively. He easily lifted the painting into the house and carefully rested it on the fireplace hearth to observe my work.

He turned to me and said, “You are so talented, congratulations.” I smiled in relief and nodded my thanks. The real compliment for me was watching him look at the painting. He truly looked at the painting. The many hours I had spent paying attention to each and every unique mixture of color, color placement, the art of creating image with a brush stroke seemed to be understood and appreciated. No more thanks needed to be expressed. I had told a story. Their story. Successfully portrayed through my unconventional artistic style was a glimpse into the life of this couple. My heart swelled. My friend told me that they had purchased a bottle of champagne with the intention of opening it that evening while looking at my painting hanging in their home…

We never know our influence. Our impact. The difference we make or what we send out into this troubled world. On the way home after a wonderful visit with my son whom I adore I couldn’t help but think about those that helped me navigate this artistic journey.

Robin Wiseman from my RISD days will always stand out beyond most but I have a special place in my heart for a painting teacher and fellow artist named Wilbur Blair. I would watch him paint a demo in absolute awe. Delicate yet certain were his brushstrokes. Exquisite painter. His work like no other. Will’s compositions are so unique, expressive and thought provoking. I learned so much from him and his gentle guidance. He believed in me and frequently reminded me to stay true to who I was as an artist. A hard business not to want to always compare your work to others. When thoughts of inadequacy creep into my studio space his words still whisper in my ears…

I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. Teaching might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit. —John Steinbeck