Terroir

Vincent Van Gogh, Sunset at Montmajour, 1888.

Terroir is a French term that refers to the specific characteristics of a place that help shape the things that are produced there, such as wine, cheese, or vegetables. It can be thought of as a sense of place, and the concept even spills over into laws which determine what products can claim to be produced in a specific region. I think that terroir is something that landscape painters are quite familiar with; certain painters are strongly associated with certain places, and it is perhaps no accident that the concept is a French one. Think of Monet in Normandy, or Van Gogh in Provence.
Today it was announced that a painting that had been 'lost' had been newly attributed to Van Gogh. Sadly for the man who owned it, years ago the authorities had denied that it was painted by Van Gogh because it had no signature. But over time, methods of authenticating paintings have evolved, and when the heirs and owners of the painting brought it forward from the attic where it had been stuffed away, it was looked at anew.
Combining chemical analyses of the pigments, which matched those that Van Gogh was known to have on his palette at the time, and documentation from a letter he had sent to his brother, Theo, describing the scene and the painting, experts at the Van Gogh Museum in the Netherlands have proclaimed that it was definitively painted by him. They expect to sell for tens of millions of dollars when it goes to auction.

Old oak above Santa Barbara.

One reason I love southern France is that it shares some characteristics with the section of California where I live, but it has a different essence that feels deeper to me. But this afternoon I went out to paint in the foothills above Santa Barbara, in a rocky place with twisted oaks that resonates with the description that Van Gogh provided to Theo for Montmajour. This one still needs some work, but I thought I'd post it anyway, to honor the great painter on a day that one of his works has been 'officially' recognized.



A Matter of Taste?



The Magpie by Claude Monet. Worn out or enduring?

Being a painter allows me to explore a life of introspection and discovery. My aim is to continually learn, sharpen my skills and deepen my understanding of what I want to convey through my work. I am interested in beauty, and my goal is to discover beauty and to share it, to encourage other people to care about the beauty of our natural and artisanal world, and to understand how precious and how fragile it is.

When I paint outside, I choose to paint the landscapes I love, mostly in California and in France. I am drawn to the rugged beauty of the coast and the mountains, and to the quality of illumination that exists in certain places and at certain times. I am looking for the shapes and colors that work together to tell a story or invoke a sensation.

When I wrestle with the challenge of creating something new or saying something profound, I am drawn back to the enduring appeal of the paintings of the French and California Impressionists. They were groundbreaking artists of their time, and now they are not. Still, many people are drawn to their paintings, which command astronomical prices and sold out museum shows. So are they old and worn out? Or did they create something timeless? I believe there is value in discovery and innovation, and there are plenty of contemporary artists whose work I admire who are pursuing beauty in new and different ways. I also believe that in 100 years we may not be so captivated by pickled sharks and rumpled bed sheets posing as art. But we may still be enchanted by the dance of light on a haystack, or the curl of shadow underneath a wave. And as long as there is magic to be found in the lightness of the world, there will be value, for me, in painting it.
  

Damien Hirst, The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living.
Natural history, or art history? Or just a pickled shark?

Inside or Outside?

Calla lilies in Delft vase 2013

Thursday was a painter’s day, to be sure. It started in the studio, finishing these calla lilies that are in full bloom here following the Christmas rains. Calla lilies have always seemed exotic to me; I’m not sure I ever saw one growing before I came to California, but I feel like they are associated with funerals. They grow like weeds in our garden, in thick, tall clumps, and then disappear completely in the dry season.

And then it was Ray Day, a painting tribute to Ray Strong, who passed away in 2006 at the age of 101. I was fortunate to meet him and to paint with him - he was an exceptional, exuberant person, a fantastic painter, and a larger-than-life character He lived an amazing life. There are some wonderful video clips of him here http://raystrong.posterous.com/. 


Anacapa Island from Camino Cielo 2013

The greatest thing in the world, he said, is to be a landscape painter. On a day like this, it’s hard to disagree. From the top of East Camino Cielo, more than 3,000 feet above Santa Barbara, we could see all the way to Catalina Island more than 100 miles away. It was a stunning day, and a fitting tribute to remember an artist who felt so strongly about sharing his gift with others. 

Photo by Ellen Easton

Ray was a founding member of the Oak Group, local plein air landscape painters whom I admire tremendously. In addition to being extraordinarily talented artists, they have dedicated themselves to the preservation of our environment here and have done phenomenal work painting to raise awareness and to raise funds to protect endangered areas of the central coast and valleys of California.

The legacy of landscape painting in California is daunting, and Ray was certainly a pillar of it for many decades.  Even though I love painting in the protected privacy of my studio, there is nothing better than being a landscape painter.