"The [coca] economy has collapsed. We plant coca because it is a solution for our survival. But now, no one is buying it."

Says a Peruvian cocalero, who, we're told, farms coca "for traditional indigenous uses," quoted in "The coronavirus has gutted the price of coca. It could reshape the cocaine trade" (WaPo). I don't really understand how he's the victim of the supposed global market collapse if he's only providing for traditional indigenous uses, but I do accept the proposition that coca farming in Peru is "a solution for... survival."

Are we, the readers of WaPo, supposed to feel bad about the collapse of the coca market? I think so, because the article goes on to say that drug trafficking will come back after the lockdown, but the big operations — the "supersized cartels" — will survive and prosper, and as usual, we are prompted to care about small business... including, apparently, small criminal businesses.

The comments at WaPo find their own path and — surprise! — make it about Trump: "This will be hard news for Trump supporters. If meth and heroin supplies are disrupted, a part of the economy they actually participate in will be taking a hit"/"Notice trump isn't sniffing his runny nose as much as he used to"/"Finally! Something to explain trump's impatience to reopen the country - it's screwing with his cocaine trafficking logistics. Shoulda knowed."

How crazy is America right now? We've had low-level crazy for a while, and then they put us under house arrest for 3 months and they've hidden the faces behind masks, then we all watched video of a mind-bending murder, which was the go-ahead to pour back into the streets en masse and express ourselves — suddenly, emotively, violently — and all the while we were starving for our usual drugs.

How crazy is America right now?

Quite insane.

Crazy, but the other side is much worse than my side.

More or less the usual American-style craziness. Keep your bearings. We'll be okay.

We're actually quite sane, just blowing off some steam. Things will work out.

 

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Back in the saddle again

Flowering apple trees at G and S Orchards. Wee (9X12) and by little ol' me.

Yesterday I painted en plein air for the first time since my cancer diagnosis last winter. Yes, I was rusty. Yes, I forgot to bring essential stuff. Yes, I was limp with exhaustion when I was done. No, I did not paint a masterpiece, but I did a nice little field sketch and learned something about young apple trees.

I’ve been fascinated with orchards all winter. This spring I made a cold call to G and S Orchardsin Walworth. The owners promptly invited my class out to paint. I went out there again yesterday and had a few hours before the rains swept back in (although the winds were high enough to do a little free microdermabrasion on my face).

I hope they don't get sick of me any time soon, because I've got a season's worth of paintings scoped out.

I’ve photographed the steps of a plein air painting for my beginning students to study before Saturday’s class. Sometimes it’s easier to understand a process in pictures.

After doing a sketch, I map the painting on my canvas. I've been using watercolor pencils, because they're easy to erase, but any pencil or charcoal works as well.

Then I map out the branches (which are the darks) using a mix of ultramarine and burnt sienna. This view was a little strange because the darks were a grid, but it's important for me to note the branch structures, even though I obliterate them for the most part.

The next step is to mix a matrix of greens. I need all the help I can get to differentiate greens in a field of identical trees in absolutely flat light.

Then it's time to map out the color, working from the darkest to the lightest. After this, you can paint as tight or as loose as you want; the initial steps work for every finishing style.

I didn't want to paint a global view without exploring a few trees first, but isn't this a sweet scene?

Let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in Maine in 2014 or Rochester at any time. My Belfast, ME, workshop is almost sold out. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!

Art that moves me

These are my cousin’s Black Angus, on his farm in Gippsland, Victoria, Australia.  This photo actually took first place in a county fair art contest, so I can legitimately say I’m an international award-winning artist.

Yesterday I was looking at paintings by friends on Facebook. When I’m just “browsing the catalogue” in this way, the art that interests me is often aspirational. For example, last week, I found myself lingering over paintings with a hint of spring color. It’s been a brutally long winter and I long to see the shrubs and trees leaf out.

Of course, one man’s banality is another man’s inspiration. There was a time when I was fascinated by the glacial eskers and bogs in the landscape here. After twenty years spent living on the hip of a glacial moraine, I have to admit they no longer fascinate me so much.

Black Angus painted through a fence somewhere in New Jersey. You've got just a few minutes to get cow to canvas; don't fret about the details and keep on crooning. (By little ol' me.)

So what am I finding inspirational this spring? Oddly enough, it’s cows.

They say there are horse people and there are cow people. I think that’s nonsense; I’ve kept both, and both have their place. But it’s easier to paint a cow than a horse, because it’s easier to sucker a cow than a horse.  If you stand at a fence crooning, cows will almost always walk up to try to figure you out. And they’ll spend enough time doing it that you can quickly splash a few dots of paint down and capture the essence of their cowness.

These fellows are on Sweets Corners Road in Penfield.

In contrast, you’d better bring a sketchbook and pencil if you want to try the same trick with horses. Oh, they’ll be interested in you, but horses are wilier. Either my song repertoire needs work or they have more sophisticated taste than cows. They’ll come to the fence and crop grass, but they’ll never relax, and they’ll never stay in one place long enough to get paint on the canvas. But you can get decent drawings of horses this way, if you move fast.

When I was a youngster, Western New York was dotted with dairy farms; sadly, most of them are now gone, and the ones that remain keep their cows inside. The best place to see dairy cows now is in the barns at the New York State Fair. There’s not enough room for an easel, but you can bring your sketchbook. A resting dairy cow, carefully groomed and loved by her teenage 4-H keeper, is as beautiful as an odalisque, and probably a better conversationalist.

Let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in Belfast, Maine in August, 2014 or Rochester at any time. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!