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Wherever you are on Earth’s surface, aspects of place make a difference in how you see. Are you in the northern or southern hemisphere? How are you related to the position of the sun and the moon? What is the altitude and humidity? What of the biology, geology, history, and culture? The answers to all these questions make up a sense of place. They are unconscious influencers of this artist’s process, from imagining to completion. Perception of place guides the content, composition, color and materials. You don’t have to be a landscape painter to be influenced by the land. Any outward vision affects your interior landscape as well.
The planets line up favorably in 2018 and I find myself creating art in 3 very different places in the space of 12 months. From my 15-year home, Sedona AZ, all red rocks and blue sky, I launch into two other places. The first: Whakatane, NZ , an historic hamlet at the edge of the world, the fearless dropping off place within the south Pacific. And last, San Marcos TX, where centuries old oaks and elms form verdant umbrellas beside ancient, forever flowing artesian springs. Each of these places, so different from one another, open my eyes to observe and incorporate three influences of place: the color of light, perspective, and energy.
Color
I have a jump start lesson on the color of light when I move to Sedona. I feel like a baby, looking out for the very first time from the vast secure red rock cradle. The beauty is expansive, one cannot help but breathe deep, absorb the sun, and peace out. Even so, in this tranquility the color that dominates is red. Red – the color of dried blood, rusted trucks, wild salmon, of plums, of lover’s lips – all the reds from violet to flesh. You awaken to the peachy tangerine glow of sunrise and bid the day farewell with a fuchsia, gold, and lavender sunset. This is the daily backdrop for artistic play.
Whakatane, NZ, on The Bay of Plenty, is at the edge of the world. The only constant is the Pacific Ocean, an endless horizon of blue movement and sound. The light reflects translucently gray blue on the tiny outpost of land surrounded by the boundless water of the southern hemisphere. Perched in The Harbor Master’s House, just yards from where the ocean tumbles into the bay and slinks out again, I see no land, only the sea, iced with ever-changing shades of blue. My pallet narrows to blues, transparent to robust, with only the faintest whiff of land. Shapes become simple and smooth, as though being rolled out by the unfailing horizon.
Being a fourth generation Texan, I am no stranger to the hill country of central Texas. But living in a forest beside a lake provides a formal introduction to green light. Verdant, massive, leafy shade. Chartreuse glazed white limestone lies deep in the lake and pops up along trails. The tree ancestors and their kin weave an extravagant basket overhead where green light deepens gray brown trunks to black, and the lake reflects the forest a mysterious milky green. I express my awe of green by giving the color wheel a spin and creating The Aquifer.
Perspective
Perspective shows us the relationship between objects. For a flatlander whose field of vision might extend in feet rather than miles, a Sedona vista, a glorious distant view, expanded my way of seeing. Mountain peaks are visible 50 miles away from an altitude greater than the land between you and them. And they disappear as you descend, where giant rock formations block the distant peaks . In Sedona, my eyes learn to see far and delve the interior of being.
Perspective has little meaning at the edge of the world. In Whakatane, looking out over the bay and the Pacific, nothing blocks the horizon stretching beyond peripheral vision. The world seems simple, water and air. The ocean is constant and forever. It cools and camouflages the heat flash venting of Mother Earth’s Ring of Fire. The ocean has no perspective as I imagine the Maori navigating their giant canoes across this vastness to the coast where I stand.
Living in a forest encourages introspection and magnifies the weaving of life within the trees. There are thousands of living things at home in a single tree, a multitude of diverse unseen neighbors. Perspective comes from within, in dreams and imagining. Perspective is beauty above me, below me, and all around me. Perspective comes from a bird’s song or a squirrel’s death-defying leap.
Energy
Few places on earth have more energy experts than Sedona, AZ. Some define the energy here as a gift from the gods, the ancient Sinagua, or distant planets. Perhaps it is the intense electromagnetic energy waving through the earth and all living things. I am pretty sure that energy has no time slot and can fit in anywhere, in all parts of the time/space continuum. As an artist, I don’t really question its presence but rather how it drives vision and inspiration. The energy of the Earth in Sedona helps craft a true voice, a solid foundation, in pictures and words. It is the platform from which I take a deep dive into the unconscious.
One way to feel insignificant, powerless, a David-to-the-Goliath of energy, is to stand in the cauldron of an active volcano. This is where I find myself, at the lip of Whakaari, staring down the belching throat of New Zealand’s only marine volcano. At this same spot six months later, an unexpected eruption forever melds specks of human energy with the roar of Mother Earth. This place surpasses every measure of energy I have ever considered.
In San Marcos, living with trees as my closest neighbors teach me profound humility. They are so wise, so necessary, and so stationary. The energy of a forest is harmonious, collaborative, and patient. Trees are givers, standing solemnly above us, providing an energy grid for all living things. Even while we humans strip them from the Earth, they are valiant until they fall. A great store of energy flows below the earth’s surface, through underground rivers and sink holes to the great aquifer far below, only to return renewed through the artesian springs. The trees and the springs sing to me while I gratefully accept their energy into my work.
Wherever you are on Earth’s surface, aspects of place make a difference in how you see. Are you in the northern or southern hemisphere? How are you related to the position of the sun and the moon? What is the altitude and humidity? What of the biology, geology, history, and culture? The answers to all these questions make up a sense of place. They are unconscious influencers of this artist’s process, from imagining to completion. Perception of place guides the content, composition, color and materials. You don’t have to be a landscape painter to be influenced by the land. Any outward vision affects your interior landscape as well.
The planets line up favorably in 2018 and I find myself creating art in 3 very different places in the space of 12 months. From my 15-year home, Sedona AZ, all red rocks and blue sky, I launch into two other places. The first: Whakatane, NZ , an historic hamlet at the edge of the world, the fearless dropping off place within the south Pacific. And last, San Marcos TX, where centuries old oaks and elms form verdant umbrellas beside ancient, forever flowing artesian springs. Each of these places, so different from one another, open my eyes to observe and incorporate three influences of place: the color of light, perspective, and energy.
Color
I have a jump start lesson on the color of light when I move to Sedona. I feel like a baby, looking out for the very first time from the vast secure red rock cradle. The beauty is expansive, one cannot help but breathe deep, absorb the sun, and peace out. Even so, in this tranquility the color that dominates is red. Red – the color of dried blood, rusted trucks, wild salmon, of plums, of lover’s lips – all the reds from violet to flesh. You awaken to the peachy tangerine glow of sunrise and bid the day farewell with a fuchsia, gold, and lavender sunset. This is the daily backdrop for artistic play.
Whakatane, NZ, on The Bay of Plenty, is at the edge of the world. The only constant is the Pacific Ocean, an endless horizon of blue movement and sound. The light reflects translucently gray blue on the tiny outpost of land surrounded by the boundless water of the southern hemisphere. Perched in The Harbor Master’s House, just yards from where the ocean tumbles into the bay and slinks out again, I see no land, only the sea, iced with the ever-changing shades of blue. My pallet narrows to blues, transparent to robust, with only the faintest whiff of land. Shapes become simple and smooth, as though being rolled out by the unfailing horizon.
Being a fourth generation Texan, I am no stranger to the hill country of central Texas. But living in a forest beside a lake provides a formal introduction to green light. Verdant, massive, leafy shade. Chartreuse glazed white limestone lies deep in the lake and pops up along trails. The tree ancestors and their kin weave an extravagant basket overhead where green light deepens gray brown trunks to black, and the lake reflects the forest a mysterious milky green. I express my awe of green by giving the color wheel a spin and creating The Aquifer.
Perspective
Perspective shows us the relationship between objects. For a flatlander whose field of vision might extend in feet rather than miles, a Sedona vista, a glorious distant view, expanded my way of seeing. Mountain peaks are visible 50 miles away from an altitude greater than the land between you and them. And they disappear as you descend, where giant rock formations block the distant peaks . In Sedona, my eyes learn to see far and delve the interior of being.
Perspective has little meaning at the edge of the world. In Whakatane, looking out over the bay and the Pacific, nothing blocks the horizon stretching beyond peripheral vision. The world seems simple, water and air. The ocean is constant and forever. It cools and camouflages the heat flash venting of Mother Earth’s Ring of Fire. The ocean has no perspective as I imagine the Maori navigating their giant canoes across this vastness to the coast where I stand.
Living in a forest encourages introspection and magnifies the weaving of life within the trees. There are thousands of living things at home in a single tree, a multitude of diverse unseen neighbors. Perspective comes from within, in dreams and imagining. Perspective is beauty above me, below me, and all around me. Perspective comes from a bird’s song or a squirrel’s death-defying leap.
Energy
Few places on earth have more energy experts than Sedona, AZ. Some define the energy here as a gift from the gods, the ancient Sinagua, or distant planets. Perhaps it is the intense electromagnetic energy waving through the earth and all living things. I am pretty sure that energy has no time slot and can fit in anywhere, in all parts of the time/space continuum. As an artist, I don’t really question its presence but rather how it drives vision and inspiration. The energy of the Earth in Sedona helps craft a true voice, a solid foundation, in pictures and words. It is the platform from which I take a deep dive into the unconscious.
One way to feel insignificant, powerless, a David-to-the-Goliath of energy, is to stand in the cauldron of an active volcano. This is where I find myself, at the lip of Whakaari, staring down the belching throat of New Zealand’s only marine volcano. At this same spot in six months later, an unexpected eruption forever melds specks of human energy with the roar of Mother Earth. This place surpasses every measure of energy I have ever considered.
In San Marcos, living with trees as my closest neighbors teach me profound humility. They are so wise, so necessary, and so stationary. The energy of a forest is harmonious, collaborative, and patient. Trees are givers, standing solemnly above us, providing an energy grid for all living things. Even while we humans strip them from the Earth, they are valiant until they fall. A great store of energy flows below the surface, through underground rivers and sink holes to the great aquifer far below, only to return renewed through the artesian springs. The trees and the springs sing to me while I gratefully accept their energy into my work.