"Rainbow Point at Bryce Canyon" (oil on linen; 8" x 10")

After
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Before

The view that inspired the plein-air painting

It was a rainy day two summers ago. We drove the whole length of Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah--18 miles--hoping for a break in the overcast sky. Lots of people at overlook points were discouraging too for my plein-air-painting-a-day project, until we decided to take a walk at Rainbow Point. A brief sunny moment transformed the view along a trail. I quickly set up the easel and went to work.

"Rainbow Point at Bryce Canyon" has been hanging in my foyer for two years.  The walls in my house are covered with my paintings; it's practically a museum with many galleries.  Even the garage has a wall with six paintings, which I call "Gallery Garage."  Obviously, the main level is the prime location, where visitors can admire (my wishful thinking!) my artwork.  The foyer being the entry point, I must have thought "Rainbow Point" was pretty darn good.

Winding down my summer project of spiffing up old paintings, I took down the painting and found it lacking that special quality to deserve a wall space in the foyer.  The human-like rock formation in the bottom right, called "hoodoo", bothered me the most.  I think I know why I painted it so big out of proportion--I was mesmerized by and obsessing about it!  This sort of thing happens a lot to painters.  The tall, spindly tree to the left also seemed to be blocking the viewer's eye to truly take in the incredible vista that is Bryce Canyon. 

I strengthened the area between the now much shorter tree and the now diminished formation as the new focal point.  The colors in the shadows of the hoodoos are richer than before.  The new and improved "Rainbow Point at Bryce Canyon" is going back up to the prized spot in the foyer!

"Chaco Canyon Memories" (oil on linen; 8" x 10")

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Before

The view

Have you ever been to Chaco Canyon?  It is one of my favorite national parks ever.  If you are planning a vacation in the Southwest, it should be at the top of your list of places to visit.  My husband and I had been to Chaco Culture National Historical Park back in 1993 and we wanted to show our daughter this awesome place.

Two years ago, on a typical, hot, summer day in New Mexico, we were back at this amazing monument to a native American civilization.  It was as impressive as I remembered.  While my husband and daughter were checking out some archaeological sites, I set up my easel at Una Vita, apparently over an ant hole. Huge black ants soon crawled all over my feet, my art gear--just everywhere. I got stung.

Ouch, so I moved. Perhaps, I had offended the spirits of the Ancestral Puebloans. The evil ants followed me, swarming all around, biting, hurting. I even got bitten on my neck! At this point, you may be wondering why I didn't spray myself with a bug spray. I did, and it didn't do much good.

Clouds kept moving.  Since I didn't have the wisdom to plan out the value scheme at the outset, I had to chase the clouds, changing values every five minutes in between scratching the itchy spots and crushing as many ants as I could.  Did I mention the heat?  The sun was beating down on me.  Although I was partially shaded by my umbrella, my right side was exposed to the sun and was burning.  A painting session turned into an extreme sport. Ah! Perils of plein-air painting.

"Chaco Canyon Memories" had been hanging in the foyer of my house since then, always evoking the unforgettable memories.  But something bothered me.  Last week I took it down, looked at it for a long time, and finally figured out the problem.  The middle ground in the shadow may have been there at some point while I was painting, as you can tell from the scudding clouds in the sky.  But it didn't make sense to the viewer.  The dark middle ground had also the unintentional side effect of throwing the formation in the background into prominence. 

As soon as I brought back the sunshine to the troublesome spot, the background receded, blending into the land itself.  After more textures were added to the foreground sage brush, I was finally satisfied with the painting.  Now I can fully enjoy the memories of my family vacation to the Southwest.

"Southwestern Wildflower Meadow" (oil on linen; 11" x 14") sold

"Southwestern Wildflower Meadow"
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"Mule Deer in the Meadow" (oil, 9" x 12")
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Bobbi Pratte's landscape class is winding down, with just a few more classes to go.  She suggested that we should all do some field exercises, that is, paint fields.  I chose a southwestern theme.  "Mule Deer in the Meadow" was the first one I did, based on a picture I took on the way to the Cedar Breaks National Monument in Utah during my family vacation in the Southwest last year.  I didn't know why the deer's ears were so big until a friend of mine told me that they were not ordinary deer, but mule deer.

I like the second "field" painting better.  It started raining by the time we got to Cedar Breaks National Monument.  At the altitude of over 10,000 feet, it was chilly although it was late July.  At one stop, we saw a breathtaking view of a wildflower meadow sloping down to the valley of spruces and firs.  The red flowers in the foreground are Indian paintbrushes.  There were also Queen Anne's laces and many other species in the meadow.

In my opinion, the biggest challenge in painting a field is to create the sense of depth.  What's in the background should stay there and don't come forward, no matter how interesting and beautiful they are.   On the other hand, it was really hard to keep balance between enough details and fuss in the foreground.  For instance, how do I not trap the viewer's eye in the foreground with brilliant red flowers in "Southwestern Wildflower Meadow"?

Making sense of the terrain is also a must, I think.  In "Southwestern Wildflower Meadow," it is clear that the meadow goes downhill, whereas everything is more or less flat in "Mule Deer."  I can imagine myself painting fields and meadows over and over again in the future to get to the bottom of it.

"Ruins of the Ancients" (oil on linen; 8" x 10") sold

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Hovenweep means in the Paiute and Hopi language "deserted valley."  The 20-square-mile area of Hovenweep National Monument, straddling Utah and Colorado, was once farms and fields cultivated by the Ancestral Puebloans.  There are now only several ruins of high towers, dating from the mid-13th century.  I painted Hovenweep Castle under a sunny sky in peace and quiet last August. 

The hill in the background was darker than the green slope in the middle ground, so I had painted as I saw.  My teacher, Sara Linda Poly, told me to forget what I saw and to paint over it with a pale mauve glaze.  Now it is settled back where it should be.   Paint what you see, but also paint what you know.  An important lesson.

"Spruce Tree House at Mesa Verde" (oil on linen; 8" x 10") sold

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As a watercolorist, I have always had trouble with texture and edges.  My paintings were design-driven and full of hard edges; I resolved the issue of texture by not painting grass, trees and such.  Since I turned myself into an impressionist landscape painter working in oil, I have loosened up quite a bit, although I continue to battle with trees.  As my teacher, Sara Linda Poly, says, you just cannot do without trees in a landscape.

Recently, however, it dawned on me that the reason why my watercolor paintings were so full of hard edges was often because of the subject matter.  I am drawn to geometric, linear, man-made structures.  The above is a plein-air painting, titled "Spruce Tree House at Mesa Verde" (8 x 10"), that I did in August.  I was attracted to the famous ruins like a bear to a beehive.

The ruins and rock formation didn't take much time.  It was the spruce trees that made me sweat; I had to work on them after I returned from the trip.  As I am beginning to understand better what I desire to paint, I now allow myself to include in a landscape painting the man-made, geometric stuff (buildings, sculptures, bridges, etc.)  A happy compromise, I think.  You have to paint what you want to paint.