Twenty-eight Degrees

Twenty-eight Degrees (Frozen Pond), oils on canvas panel, 11" x 14." Contact artist for price.

Being off this week, I drove down to southern Maryland to spend a few days with my artist friends in Accokeek. They had a bit more snow down there than we had here in Columbia the previous weekend, and some of it still lingered in their shady preserve.

On my first afternoon there we went for a walk at Piscataway Park. It was bright and sunny, but the 25-30 mile-an-hour winds made the chill so extreme at the exposed river shore, that I was dissuaded from attempting anything outdoors. We set up a still life and painted in the studio instead. The weather was about the same the next day, so again we worked inside while another friend posed for us.

Although cloudy, by yesterday morning the wind had died down. My car's thermometer registered twenty-eight degrees, but I was determined to paint plein air--this would be a good test of my hardiness. I loaded up my palette and gear, bundled up and drove down to the beaver pond to paint at the place Patrise had indicated. I pulled the ear flaps of my Tilley hat down and trundled over a snow bank to this spot. I had a bit of trouble tying my apron with gloved hands, but managed without exposing any bare skin to the elements.

Two-thirds of the way into the painting, my hands had become so numb from the cold I had to take a break. Getting in the car, I took my gloves off and warmed my hands with my breath, lots of massage and clapping, then put the gloves back on to continue painting until I had the entire panel covered and the val-hues balanced.

By that time both my hands and feet were completely numb, so I deemed it prudent to pack up and go back to the house--frostbite is not something I want to deal with. It was a bit after noon and the temperature had risen to a balmy thirty-two. It took an hour and lots of hot tea and soup for my hands and feet to thaw out completely. Relying on memory (I'd forgotten my camera), I put the accents and finishing touches on the painting later, indoors.

Am I the only one that finds it amusing that a Cuban like me, better adapted to the tropics, would be motivated to paint in freezing weather while my two friends, raised in Michigan, stayed indoors? But alas, today I am paying for my madness with a case of the sniffles.

Extreme Painting in the First Snow

First Snow, oils on canvas board, 11" x 14," at Gallery 1683 in December.

I'd signed up to go painting on Friday with Lee Boynton and a few students. We were to meet at Jerusalem Mill, a historic village from colonial times that is part of Gunpowder Falls State Park a bit north of Baltimore. In addition to the restored buildings and the mill there is a very pretty covered bridge that Lee had painted a few weeks earlier and had really appealed to me.

The weather wasn't very promising: the temperature hovered just above freezing and they were predicting snow flurries, but we agreed to meet as planned. The sun was shining when I left the house but by the time I arrived at our site the sky was getting that leaden look. The others were already setting up their easels by the old general store. I was glad I'd brought an extra polartec jacket to wear underneath my lighter nylon shell, but regretted that all I'd brought was my baseball cap.

Fortunately, one of the other ladies had an extra winter hat she loaned me--I wouldn't have lasted long without it. I had just set up my gear, loaded my palette, and was ready to roll, when here came the flurries: thick, wet flakes. The background trees became faint shadows, whited out by the snow. The snow began to stick, even to our palettes, the ice crystals mixing with the oil paint made one lumpy mess. Lee said to use more medium to keep the paint fluid, but after a while it was useless. This was really more like an ordeal: extreme painting!

Two of the ladies retreated to the porch of the store, and eventually we all ended up there (by that time my gloved hands were frozen stiff). We decided it would be a good idea to take our lunch break inside the store. Even unheated, the inside was much warmer by comparison. The flurries had stopped, and a feeble sun emerged from behind the clouds. After lunch we walked a short distance over to the covered bridge to scout our the location. Two of the ladies didn't want to chance the slippery footing at the banks of the stream; they opted to stay in the village for their afternoon painting, while the rest thought the stream, rather than the bridge, was the better view.

There was a road crew cutting down tree branches along that stretch, taking up more than half of the two-lane road, so rather than driving, we decided to walk. Along the way, my new hand-made palette somehow slipped out of its case and fell on the ground face down--isn't that the way buttered toast always lands? That did it--cleaning the palette would take time, if I didn't drive I might not make it there at all. I walked back to the car, put my stuff in, and drove over to the bridge.

The others were painting away by the time I was set up, and as I was laying in the sky, Lee exclaims, "Look, here comes the snow again!" Again our background disappeared in a fog, but the scene was beautiful with its muted colors. Again we struggled with the snow crystals sticking to our palettes, making it all but impossible to see the colors we were mixing. I managed to record the scene with incredible speed while the others, working at a smaller size, did a second painting. We packed up and went back to the porch of the now-closed store to end our day with a critique. I was surprised at how well this second painting turned out.

Lee showed us some gorgeous winter scenes painted by Emile Gruppe, a New England artist working in the first half of the twentieth century, and we talked about his paintings. He must have been one hearty artist to have endured the outdoors painting Vermont winters! As we were able to observe first-hand, at low temperatures oil paint becomes very viscous and hard to work with.

It took hours and lots of hot tea to thaw out once I got back home. If I'm going to do this again, I'll need to invest in warmer clothing. Despite the cold, I enjoyed our extreme painting experience.