Yesteryear's Sunsets Today

Sunset at Bar Neck Cove, oils on canvas, 14" x 11" $150

As toddlers in Cuba, my mother initiated my sisters and I into the ritual of seeing the sunset by the sea. Every evening as the sun started to descend we would walk the block from our house in Miramar to what we called la playita (the little beach) though it was really the farthest thing from a beach. Actually a rocky shoreline made up of the dead corals commonly called dientes de perro (dog's teeth) in Cuba, we children would while away the time playing in the tidal pools and pause to watch the final dramatic moments as the sun dipped into the sea. Every day we watched intently to see if the legendary "green ray" would appear: an unusual phenomenon that occurs once in a great while when the light of the sun's rays is refracted through the water.

The sea would be furious, foaming froth in January when the Nor'easters blew, strewing Man-of-War jellyfish with their long poisonous tentacles onto to the rocks, and we'd play tag with the spray from the waves. On lazy summer days it could be so calm we'd be tempted to go in for a swim and only the grownups' cautionary tales of the many eaten by sharks at that spot would keep us out of the water. The light on the clouds projected marvelous images of castles, epic battles, and beasts to fill our imagination.

I cherish those memories now as the sum of all my childhood sunsets--it was not until much later I realized: while I played, I was being imprinted with a sense of nature's timeless beauty that would form the ground for my artistic impulse. Who could have known a few years later we'd have to leave Cuba and never see our Playita again?

Sunsets on the Chesapeake Bay have a very different flavor, but they share the same enchantment of the clouds and sun over the water. Bar Neck Cove on Tilghman Island is the site of Walt Bartman's Summer Duck Studio where we painted. It was hard to find a spot where the glare wouldn't be blinding, so I picked this place behind a tall cypress. The reflections on the water were still so strong I had to close my eyes and rest for periods of time to get rid of the retinal after-images. I wasn't sure exactly what I had painted until the next day, but oddly enough, the painting communicates the heat and the hazy atmosphere of the day in the intimacy of the small cove.

Tilghman Island Workshop

I had a great time at Walt Bartman's Tilghman Island workshop this past weekend. Walt is an inspiring teacher; his range of knowledge and thought is amazing. The workshop started Friday with a lecture at his Summer Duck Studio, and these photos are of the first demo he did that afternoon. The heat made it difficult to work except in the shade. We painted until sunset, then went out as a group of 18-22 for a late dinner. There was a full moon: I had just enough energy after dinner to wander about the moonlit grounds of the Black Walnut Point B&B where I was staying. The stiff breeze from the south was delightful, the point of land giving one the feeling of standing on the prow of an enormous ship, with a large wooden cross at the very tip of the land's end.

On Saturday morning Walt gave a lecture on color, then we were free to paint anywhere around the island we wanted. We came back to the studio for critiques around 3:30, and enjoyed a fabulous crab feast afterwards. After dinner we drove out to Knapp's Narrows inlet to paint the sunset, and then do a night painting. For my night painting, I figured being a guest at the Black Walnut Point B&B afforded a unique opportunity to paint this unusual location, so I went back there to paint alone in the total darkness with the aid of a miner's headlamp. As I was getting ready to set up, the moon rose from the water, so orange it seemed like the just-set sun rising anew. I sat down with a glass of wine and looked at the moon for a while, then got up to paint. After spending most of the day standing, my feet were killing me but I became so absorbed in my painting, I was totally oblivious to the mosquitoes flying up my shorts, biting the parts of my legs where the spray hadn't reached, until the next day. I packed up around eleven-thirty and collapsed onto bed.

Sunday morning we met at the inlet for painting. Camille, another student who lives on the island, had a wonderful canopy and was so kind to offer me its shade--I couldn't have lasted even an hour in that heat if it hadn't been for that. Walt worked on quite a large painting standing completely in the sun for several hours--incredible stamina and dedication!

Time went by so fast, I was surprised to come back with seven paintings, some in nearly complete condition (though in need of "fixing"). I headed home after our final crits totally exhausted, sunburned and grubby, yet full of new ideas and insights. Even the traffic cooperated and didn't come to a standstill until I reached the Bay Bridge, speeding me home as I gazed upon the distant skies with new eyes.

Covey Point Farm

Covey Point Farm, oils on canvas, 14" x 11"

I finally got around to finishing the plein air oil I started in May at the workshop on Covey Point Farm, and here it is. I'll be taking it to Gallery 1683 in Annapolis as soon as it's framed, along with a new painting I'm working on right now for the Red White and Blue show in July. Please visit Gallery 1683, and Riverview Gallery in Havre de Grace too. I'll be up there on Saturday July 12 to gallery-sit.

Tangier Island Crab Shacks

Tangier Island Crabs Shacks, watercolor, 12"h x 14"w

Last Summer my friend Linda and I spent a weekend on Tangier Island. Tangier is one of the two islands in the Chesapeake Bay that are still inhabited (the other is Smith Island). In all the years I've lived in Maryland, I'd never been to either island. The locals have developed a curious accent which has a hint of Shakespearean or perhaps just a British diction in it, and they make their living as they have for hundreds of years: fishing and crabbing. There are only a few choices for a weekend stay and for meals, and a simple life with golf carts and bicycles as the main mode of transportation.

We were there during molting season, when soft shell crabs can be eaten. Since the crabs undergoing molting show a specific progression and must be harvested before the shell begins to harden, the owners of the crab shacks check on their crabs every 6 hours or so, even in the middle of the night.

This watercolor was painted in late afternoon by the main dock where the ferry boat from Crisfield stops on the daily trip. It was quite hot, and there was a lone bench in the shade where I sat to paint. I wanted to capture the colorful crab shacks so typical of the Tangier waterfront.

As I painted, I could hear a conversation going on directly above me--my shade was a small shack with a sign for a boat for hire, and the occupant was obviously talking on the phone to someone. An older man on a golf cart driven by a teen-age boy who appeared to be his grandson, drew up to the shack right in front of me and the boat captain came out and chatted with them for a while as I continued to paint.

After they left, the gentleman came out of his shop and sat on the bench with me, and watched me silently. When I was about done, I started to put my kit away and he was all questions. We had a wonderful conversation which gave me ample time to appreciate the flavor of the local dialect. He wanted to know whether I sold my paintings and for how much. He then commented that my gallery prices were about what he could get for a bushel of crabs theses days.

The paintings is matted and framed and is going for $300. Shipping is additional and there is a $10.00 handling charge. If you are interested, please drop me an E-mail.