Art is the Heart of my Soul's Desire

These pages are about my memories from my past as well as stories of my present journey as I travel the path of a professional fine artist.


Showing posts with label Camille Przewodek. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Camille Przewodek. Show all posts

Winter with the Egeli’s: Reflecting on an Early Morning in Edgewater


A brief memory --- from my month of Studying Portrait Painting and Figure Drawing with the Egeli’s. It was a cold January in 2002.


Old year out, new year in. And so it goes, past and future: each minute precious!

Burrowing back under the covers on a cold winter morning is always a temptation, but you’ve got to emerge from your cozy nest ‘neath the covers sometime. To help me embrace the day in equal bliss, a copious amount of caffeine was top on my agenda. So off we headed to “that coffee house”, the one that shall remain nameless for reasons I can’t divulge. Best intentions aside, the first order of business of each of my days was pleasure, a 20oz mocha generous enough to warm both hands and the NY Times crossword puzzle. Of course, we had to buy two copies of the Times, one for Camille, and one for me, for the crossword had become an activity in which to indulge in immature competitiveness. And Cynthia was content with reading the morning sports section while occasionally blurting out tennis stats across the table. Like a barely heard Latin tempo–I could barely hear the Latin tempo–but pulsing with energy, we prepared ourselves for the day ahead. (By the way, I’m in awe of people who can talk out loud in a public space and not care that nobody is listening–the reason I could barely hear the Latin tempo.)

We collected ourselves to face the bitter cold. I only say that because we’re from California, "the land of endless sunshine." On schedule, we jumped into our truck, that truck that Cynthia aptly named our “estrogen chassis”–It was a huge king cab Ford truck that made everything around it look fascinatingly tiny. The sprinkles fell as scheduled. It only takes one little leap of imagination to see these brilliant shiny drops of water as tiny celebrations, for the jewel-bright droplets seemed to sprinkle effervescence on the day.

And like clockwork, the three of us pulled our “estrogen chassis” into that always so tight little corner in front of Cedric and Joanette’s studio. We noisily bounded into the studio with our gear as if we were greeting a long lost lover.  

Deep in the snowy woods of Edgewater, all laid chilled and hushed, a dreamland bower blanketed in serenity. But at the break of dawn, powdery morning mists danced in the shafts of light that filtered through the firs, giving the moment a pristine, ethereal look. Everything was lusciously hued as a mocha laced with whipped cream.


A winter scape's quiet serenity in its hushed hues of ivory snow, sky blue, tree bark grey and chimney smoke charcoal tempted me to stay outdoors and play. But I knew that the instruction I was to receive was going to be like no other. If you’ve ever contemplated taking a month off to study with Cedric and Joanette Egeli, do what it takes to get yourself there, for as spectacular the setting of the space, the workshop is SO much more!

Accepting Failures



A Story --- It was nearing the end of the year 2000. Camille and I were meeting every other week to discuss her writing an instructional art book. I was to be her editor or ghost writer or something of that nature. Camille and I have a long history of never entering into any contracts. We would just DO things together never knowing where we would end up. The book project was exciting while it lasted. There were a lot of pages I wrote that she wrote–scribbled nonsensical ramblings with artist's quotes–and paper flying everywhere. Things changed. The project stalled. Suffice it to say; the book never happened. It's now 12 years later. I'm examining and re-examining my life, as a painter and someone who finds pleasure in writing, but almost never writes. And I certainly don't paint as much as I yearn to. But, I am still a professional painter and instructor, and–let's not forget–a life-long student. 

I'm in the process of setting priorities in my life such that I ensure that I am living the most productive and creative life possible and just as equally important to me, that I'm inspiring others to do the same.  My rough draft for the opening paragraphs of the book that never was:

Enjoy yourself and feel accomplishment in the face of a failed attempt to produce a fine work of art. It's critical that we accept our artistic failures and not let ourselves get upset by them. Try not to be greedy or seek "too hard" to paint that elusive visual truth. As beginners and advanced painters, we must learn to live with and accept our artistic desires without the obsession to satisfy them immediately. Don't fight against what you don't know. We can rest in the knowledge that as we grow, whatever frustrates us in our painting process is impermanent, and it WILL pass. Do not try to control your learning, by over-analyzing and trying to discover formulas or the secret that this book is supposed to provide. Be receptive and JUST PAINT. There is no right way to being a painter–being a painter IS the way. Give up any notions that you're not doing it right. With every painting you do, the closer you'll get to discovering your visual truth.

Are we not often as dissatisfied with what we DO get as with what we don't? The desires we have, if it's not on being "a great painter," or ending world hunger, it's ALWAYS something. Desires just cause us to suffer when we can't live up to them. Sure, acknowledge those dreams, but try not to LIVE for them. If we can give ourselves this freedom, perhaps it can end our suffering through our process of our artistic journey.


The traditional Buddhist term for the cessation of suffering is the Sanskrit word, "Nirvana." It's impossible for me to explain what Nirvana is as I haven't experienced it–not many of us have–it's like describing color to a blind man. But, Nirvana is an unconditioned state of liberation from suffering. Maybe this is what we can experience with our painting if we are not hung up on tormenting ourselves through the process. So, we must make an effort, the visual truth lies in our hands, but we have to work for it. So, what are you waiting for? Paint!

Pumpkin to Pumpkin Pie


A Memory --- The colors are here now; frequently I observe the transformation and imagine you with your easel and palette mixing the vast array of shades from green to brown, red to orange, cinnamon to wheat, blood red to eggplant purple, pumpkin to pumpkin pie, rust to brick. As I crunched through the leaves on the ground this morning, kicking them to stir them up, I imagined walking with you in the crisp cool air, as we did in France. I know that our friendship is something far and away more special, more significant, more far-reaching and consequential than most people ever are privileged to experience.

From Sea to Shining Sea (Part I)


A Memory --- It was May 8th, 2004. The first look at the plein air paintings of the Sea to Shining Sea Exhibition at the Haggin Museum leaves one speechless. Only with closer inspection does one begin to take note of the process of each painter and how this collection is a melting pot of distinguished flavors: some loose and painterly, others tight and realistic; some modern, some classical. Some were complex with color, yet others quite tonalistic. But all characteristic in their own way, with a unique vision- depicting scenes of individual relevance with their own regional style of painting. Here we have a seamless blend of the talent and mastery from across the nation that has undoubtedly made this exhibition a success. Behind each painting should be a label: “Warning, not suitable for pre-fab homes, office cubicles or rooms at Motel 6. Hangs equally well on a neutral white wall or one painted with Ralph Lauren Suede Finish.”

I had arrived Stockton earlier that day with my studio-mate and instructor, Camille Przewodek. She had been graciously introducing me to those I hadn’t had the opportunity of meeting until now. These introductions continued throughout the afternoon and into the evening. And in the occasional lapses away from my trusted side-kick, I had intrepidly introduced myself to such well-knowns as Albert Handell and Clyde Aspevig, using my safe, quiet demeanor, while anonymously calling myself, “Carole” (only later to reveal myself as a devoted plein air student). I would receive some brilliant reply such as, “aren’t we all”, and finally I would add, “Oh yes, can I take your picture for Plein Air Magazine?”

The day started before the sun. Camille and I reached downtown Stockton at around 8:30 am, just in time to mingle with a few painters prior to their setting up easels for a three-hour paint-out. As we took a few minutes to sip on our much-needed espressos, I noticed how Stockton is beginning to stick out like a colorful thumb. The architecture surrounding the newly revitalized downtown was structurally varied and full of color.

It certainly must have inspired John Budicin when he chose to paint the beautiful Hotel Stockton and a row of buildings fronted by spirally palm trees from the waterway; and Kenn Backhaus, Marika Wolfe and Phil Sandusky, as they painted the majestic fountain and the commanding architecture that surrounded them. Charles Waldman even painted standing in the center divide along Weber Avenue! On the other end of the spectrum, Jean LeGassick, John Cosby, Joe Paquet, Nancy Bush and Michael Godfrey chose to paint the heap of rusting corrugated steel buildings lining the waterway.

[Next post will be Part II of the story.]

Plein Air Painters of America



A MEMORY --- It was the fall of 2002, Sangha, my golden retriever, and I packed ourselves in the 4x4 and headed off for a road trip to Colorado. I, to paint with a group from the Plein Air Painters of America, and Sangha to play with the Plein Air Painters of America.

We had been on the road for awhile, having left northern California. We pulled off 70E at a rest stop, and we happened by surprise upon this blaze of Utah autumn hues while hiking around a rocky outcropping. A vendor was selling tacky leather crafts while Sangha and I took pleasure in visiting with the weary eastbound travelers. Then off we went, crossing the rain-soaked terrain.

It's summer's last hurrah when colors go darker, deeper, more delicious entirely. As here, in the raisin-hued mud. The mountains are as intriguing in texture as a Braque collage. As rich in red wine hues as a Caravaggio. Its a stunning tour-de-force joining as one. A radiantly conceived landscape, both jubilant and restful, like an abstract painting, mingled hues of charcoal, mocha, and golden taupe chart the land. It tells the tale of transformation, of change wrought deep within the earth.

As the rain poured, I could see a mountain transforming before my eyes! Rock and water mixed to form a soup mixture, and it roared down the mountain with such force- I know by tomorrow the mountain will have transformed tremendously. And the lightning! What a bonus. Like the lime in my Corona, it's all the little extras that make life enjoyable. On our approach to Grand Junction, Colorado, I was thinking to myself, Henny Penny might have been right about the sky falling. I knew skies like this existed in Van Gogh's paintings, but I didn't know they were for real. Swirls dark and light mingled together above the searching lightning rods. It was like some higher power above stirring, sending feelers down to connect with the earth.

At last, Sangha and I arrived Winter Park. It was more beautiful than I had imagined. Imagine Moroccan tiles patterned with vivid squares woven in intricate geometrics that glow in a tamarind soft sage and hibiscus. It's like a dark, sultry purr... one great spill of color. Like tongues of a flame, a thicket of leaves in hues of pumpkin, burgundy and deep red, are exuberantly welcoming autumn. Deep in the backcountry, the late-day sun slanted into a hidden ravine. The cascading stream shone as golden as the precious flakes and nuggets hidden in the river's sands.

After the PAPA orientation, I went up to the cabin to settle down for the night. And I watched in awe as the full September moon rose- a vermilion sphere in the coloring sky.

On my first day of the workshop, I spent the afternoon studying with George Strickland. He did a nice little demo- a real jewel. He worked methodically and kept a dialogue with the 15 or so of us. He likes to call neutrals, "greys." And he provided a good explanation of why a "grey" is not "carbon black" mixed with "titanium white." Joseph Mendez uses the term, "color neutral," same difference. I think I prefer the term "color neutral." There is something of the language that can affect the way I approach painting. It helps me to remember that there are neutrals in nature, but there is always color in those neutrals.



I lit a fire in the fireplace to warm my chilled feet. Twice earlier in the day, it rained on me. Do you know that feeling of having your back warmed- just inches from the fire? It's as comforting as a bowl of oatmeal and cream on a storm-tossed evening. Do you know that feeling of settling down with your favorite dog-eared book? Well, I feel the same feeling when I'm lugging around my weathered easel looking for the next subject. That easel casts the same kind of spell- it's been on countless trips, blustering days and cozy sun baths. Infused with the color of turning trees, pumpkin patches, and full-bodied merlot, here the start of autumn takes a form one can cozy up to.

Early morning that next day, fresh droplets of dew fell from a leaf outside my window- a liquid shape- like the crescent moon. (I just thought it was beautiful.) Several painters came to my cabin after painting all day, including George S., John Budicin, and Ken Auster. It seemed that I had the best accommodations with having a dog on the grounds. I suppose that Snow Mountain Ranch prefers to keep dogs away from the central hub. So I was placed in a cabin at the end of a long spiraling road. Quite a distance from where the rest of the group were staying. They were sharing rooms in one of the lodges on grounds. Of course, everyone brought beer, wine, and vodka, to boot. Dappled light, laughter ringing and a silky pour of merlot glinted velvet in the light. A sweet afternoon interlude with a few new friends, in the floaty atmosphere. This place is exotic- like the 100th viewing of Casablanca for an agoraphobic.



The "Marketing Discussion" among the PAPA group was long, but well worth the bags under my eyes the following morning. I learned about a few more national painting groups that I hadn't heard of, one being "North West Rendezvous". Ned Mueller, John Budicin and Matt Smith belong to this group. A familiar name came up from time to time, Clyde Aspevig, another painter that I've yet to meet. And Carl Rungius, a wildlife artist has inspired Jean Le Gassick over the years. And Sergei Bongard made the spotlight through Gay Faulkenberry. Sergei is someone I wish I could have known among others, but he left behind great work for me to study. Ralph Oberg had glorifying things to say about him. George S. was eloquent stating that "art is an extremely jealous mistress and it needs your entire focus." Smith and Oberg talked about their 15-year-old friendship and their infamous road trip to Canada where they painted from morning 'til night before the spotlight had struck plein air painting in America. I learned about those that inspired these plein air pioneers of today, such as Michael Lynch and Ray Vinella whom Budicin studied under.

I'm not one to show much patriotism, but here I've wrapped myself in down-home pride from dawn's early light to days end. One red rose, big as a showman's boutonniere, might be good enough for some, But, when I call up my inner diva, I accept nothing less than a lime in my Corona. Oops, lost my train of thought.


The autumn-lit leaves seem to be trembling. As if spun from a hodgepodge of blooms spied behind an old farmhouse, here is fragrant globe thistle mingling with stalks of green wheat, white tiny rice flowers and their own special charm. I breathe in the crisp autumn air of wood smoke and listen to the rustle of aspen leaves underfoot. For so warm are the quality of the afternoon light and so crisp the strong verticals of the sentinel trees, that only to gaze at this evocative backlit scene awakens all my senses. To paint it? Think pumpkin autumn leaves and caramel hued fields. New green apples, wood smoke and bales of yellow hay. 

I had the opportunity to paint with Gay Faulkenberry during the last two days of the workshop. Her stance in front of her easel reminded me of Camille. They work with a similar kind of passion and intense fervor. She inspired me by how sensitively she painted- and how carefully she arranged and positioned her still-life objects. And as she painted the field of hay bales under the stormy clouds of mid-morning, I was so moved that I bought the painting before it left the easel.

Those that I didn't have the opportunity to paint with among the group were Ken Auster, Ned Mueller, John Budicin, Ralph Oberg and Matt Smith. But I observed them painting demos and received valuable criticism from them. And I'm grateful for having had the opportunity to be among the many that had the chance to steal a week of their time.


By the end of the workshop, my slightly tired fading denims were slipping away for a well-deserved rest in peace. Sangha and I enjoyed our drive back home. I sipped espresso every chance I got, and soaked in the beauty of the autumn leaves.

heART and SOUL



A MEMORY --- My opening post takes us back ten years, just a few years after I had started down a new path in my life. In 1996, I had embarked upon plein air painting and began to devote my life to it. This blog starts a few years into that journey.

Fall 1999- Initial hints may seem too subtle, though effervescent warnings and the tender caress of a gentler sun suggest something has changed.

Only after nature sprinkles colored leaves like confetti across city lawns and woodland pathways, will I be confident autumn has returned. Yes, the trees get to unmask colors that still surprise, and the air carries its own invigorating spell. The real reasons why I eagerly await the fall, relaxing evenings in front of the fire, contemplating my next project. 

Others may delight in winter's first snowflake - I revel in autumn's first chill. That intoxicating time of wood-burning smoke, piled leaves, crunchy textures, and colors of sumptuous russets, browns, and dusty gold tones. Even though I look forward to fall, I'll miss summer. Spending summer months in Europe gives me the opportunity to enjoy the golden splendor of radiant suns and witness the pleasure of sunsets made of color dark, rich and gloriously resonant. Even the silvery light from the moon takes on a mysteriously different quality. From time to time, when I miss home I trace the little Dipper's handle to the outermost tip and find Polaris, the North Star. A single diamond-bright, dazzling dot, larger than its rivals and boldly outshining them all.

One of the most precious places Camille Przewodek and I visited on our travels was in Anguiano, Spain. We stayed in a large monastery nestled in the mountains and a distance from the nearest village. There I was in the Basque country, mesmerized by the beauty. The tile rooftops were of a cinnabar hue of such intensity that it rivaled nature's ripe palette. I could have stayed there and painted much longer than I had. 

Carole Gray-Weihman
That's me working on the fireplace.

In Soreze, France, where the 400-500-year-old ruin I purchased with Camille, rests, we rested as well and began to make plans to restore our quaint little dwelling.

Another memorable resting place, was Chamonix, France, a touristic city among the French Alps. Nature here overwhelmed us. We enjoyed our evenings at the Bistro, sitting at woodblock tables sipping espresso. There was mood enough to go around and the nights made for cool riffs and easy conversation.

Camille painted my portrait on the beach in Nice. The back of my head was in sunlight with tiny spots of light bouncing off the contours of my face. The reflection of the sea and sand gave off a surreal glow. My head was a silhouette against the background. This method of painting a portrait is called a "mud head." And it was here that I saw silver-winged seabirds carve arcs across the pale morning sky. My heart yearned to fly with them. To swoop and soar, to glide unfettered through the rarefied blue, destination unknown.

I was ill during my time in Venice, Italy, but I still managed to enjoy myself. I didn't realize it, but the day before arriving Venice was the last day I was to paint during our travels. Like a soothing indigo shadow, I would sit and watch the Italian boats move swiftly on the waves of great arcs on the sea. And the birds soaring solo on singing winds. And early in the morning, the fog would hang gray and mysterious; the world seemed so far away.

Camille and I had continued to journey to Europe nearly every year since our meeting in the summer of 1996 up until a few years ago.