A GUERRILLA PAINTER`S NOTEBOOK III

A GUERRILLA PAINTER’S NOTEBOOK III
CARL JUDSON
COVER PHOTO: Julian Peabody painting at Hamburg Cove, Connecticut
with “Cooper” - Taken by his son on a
hunting trip in 1930.
All paintings reproduced in this publication
by Carl Judson unless otherwise noted.
Copyright ©2014 by Carl Judson.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-615-97231-2
Printed in China.
A GUERRILLA PAINTER’S NOTEBOOK III
Carl Judson
Table of Contents
Introduction
1
november road trip
3
southwest winter road trip
5
road trip nocturnes
7
holiday lights
9
A notable digression
west coast road trip
11
21
Grounded in sedona
23
BACK ALLEYS
25
using photographs 27
the case of the purloined paintboxes
28
STORAGE PROBLEMS 29
INTRODUCTION TO
VOLUME iii
After 30 some years, painting from reality continues
to beguile me. In the beginning the job was how to make
things look right, which was easy to define, if not so easy
to do. The job is still the same, except that my right is
different now – not so easy to define and more elusive to
achieve.
One thing I do know is that the worlds of amateur
painters and professional painters are really different. I’ve
had a taste of both and greatly prefer my current amateur
status. I haven’t sold a painting in 15 years (I have a storage problem).
The 18th Century French word, amateur, derived
from the Latin noun amator (lover) came into use about
the same time as did the practice of plein air painting
for personal enrichment. Originally it was a term of high
compliment. It is only in recent years that someone who
does something for the love of it is deemed to be less
worthwhile than someone who does the same thing for
monetary gain1. Under this mindset the substantial contribution to the art of Western Civilization by amateurs is
quite underappreciated.
Serious painting is a lonely and personal business –
perhaps more so for the amateur, who lacks the prospect
of market approval. The tradeoff is that there is no
marketing pressure – the amateur can experiment at will
and sometimes screw up big time without existential
consequences. My sense is that dedicated amateurs tend
to experience ‘higher highs’ and ‘lower lows’ in their work
than their professional counterparts.
The main article in this volume of A Guerrilla Painter’s
Notebook is about Julian Peabody, an amateur painter and
a particular favorite of mine, whose story is unusually
compelling. I pieced it together over several years with
generous help from his
family, The Frick Collection, the Brooklyn
Museum, the Milwaukee
Museum of Art and visits
to the archives at the
RISD Museum and the
Corcoran Gallery (see
deer in headlights left,
caught in Corcoran Gallery archives).
More about Julian Peabody later…
But first, a jaundiced update from the sidelines on
certain aspects of the current plein air movement from
your intrepid gonzo reporter:
Market, Monoculture and Meditation
Several decades back, as Colorado was being ‘discovered’ and the population was booming, there were bumper stickers that read Don’t Californicate Colorado. This
crude aspersion, unfairly focused on another beautiful
state, made the point succinctly, however. We Americans
do have a way of commercializing good things – converting the sublime to the mundane or even the ridiculous.
Painting and drawing from nature as a private, contemplative activity of personal growth has been a part of
European and American high culture for more than 200
years. But suddenly it feels like things are going a little
haywire with this piece of the sublime.
From the perspective of art history, the current resurgence of plein air painting is more 19th Century rehash
than renaissance. From this overworked springboard, our
rich and democratic tradition of personal exploration
of the world around us through plein air is succumbing
to pressure for personal conformity as a rigid and narrow
definition of acceptable plein air style takes hold – a
monoculture inspired by work that was old a hundred
years ago.
We hear urging for stricter standards for ‘plein air
events’ – amateurish tendencies must be suppressed.
Committees are established. We wouldn’t want to disappoint the ‘collectors.’
Of course this is all somewhat ironic: Some modern
followers of the plein air painters of the 1880s (who
were banned from the Paris Salon for daring to be ‘mere
impressionists’) are now busy raising barriers.
Speaking of events: Not that there is anything wrong
with the add-on of the ‘paint out’ or ‘quick draw’ as
engaging circus stunts to captivate the public, but they do
seem symptomatic of the commercialism nipping at the
heels of our culture. What’s next?
…appreciation contests
…haiku tournaments
…meditation matches
☺☺☺
1
From 1949 to 1961 Art News
published a monthly column
called Amateur Standing, devoted to amateurs in the arts.
1
Road Kill - Mule Deer
Fremont County, WY 2007
Oil on linen, 7.5” x 13”
2
November Road Trip
This was a quick 10 day business trip
to California, Oregon and Washington. I
took oil primed portrait linen mounted
on 2-ply museum board to paint on, and
came back with six reasonable paintings.
After some rushed business in the Bay
Area, I headed up the Sacramento Valley
through the abundance of California agriculture. Near Chico I found a place to pull
into a sun dappled walnut orchard and
spent a couple of pleasant hours trying to
sort out the light and shadows (below).
English Walnut Orchard
Chico, CA, 2007
Oil on linen, 7.5” x 13”
Afterwards I headed up the valley to
spend the night in Redding. Following a
restful night, taking my morning walk I
was smacked between the eyes by a gigantic
railroad trestle (top). I scurried back to
my motel, packed up and set to painting
it. (I learned later that the trestle is 3/4
of a mile long and 110 feet high.) While I
was painting, parked right at the base of
the trestle, a freight train rumbled by ten
stories overhead – made me nervous.
The trestle was built in 1939 as part of
30 miles of railroad track that had to be
rerouted to make room for the new Shasta
Dam, one of the big Depression era water
projects.
Sacramento River Railroad Trestle
Redding, CA, 2007
Oil on linen, 7.5” x 13”
Headed north, I soon began to catch
occasional glimpses of Mt. Shasta (below)
from the highway and I set my mind to
paint it. For me the trouble with this kind
of subject matter is that it can seem awfully trite, so I was delighted to find a vantage
point that had a derelict water tower and
some scraggly bushes in the foreground
to add some counterpoint. Another thing
that helped take the saccharine edge off
was the air pollution in the atmosphere at
the mountain’s base.
From Eugene,
Oregon I took
the 99W scenic
route. It was
overcast with a
light mist when
I was stopped by
a tree farm (bellow) west of the
highway.
I was strongly
influenced in
the nature of this
painting by the
work of two very different painters both of
whom I admire, Mark Rothko and Wolf
Kahn. Rothko was a very cerebral abstract
painter who used complex and subtle
paint layering to create powerful fields of
color, which vibrate against their neighbors. Rothko’s signature work certainly
influenced Kahn, whose plein air work is
well known. I painted this with very thin
layers of paint one over the other mixed
on the canvas. Of course, my little work is
a pale shadow by comparison with either
of their work.
Tree Farm
Monroe, OR, 2007
Oil on linen, 7.5” x 13”
Mt. Shasta
Yreka, CA, 2007
Oil on linen, 7.5” x 13”
More business in Portland and
Seattle kept me from the paints until I
was headed east through the mountains
3
on U.S. 2 toward Wenatchee. I always
like the contrast between nature and our
human scratchings on the surface, thus my
choice to paint the tunnel (below). It was
a welcome respite after Seattle’s numbing
traffic.
Tunnel on Rt. 2
Skykomish, WA, 2007
Oil on linen, 7.5” x 13”
I was burning up the miles to get home,
more or less on the old Oregon Trail in
central Wyoming, with no intention of
any more painting when a dead mule deer
in the barrow pit (opposite page) forced
me to hang a U.
Artists, since at least the time of Leonardo de Vinci, have been painting dead
things. Generations of artists have painted
bodies in morgues. Audubon painted dead
birds – often one a day. The trompe d’ oeil
tradition is piled high with dead rabbits,
fowl and fish. However, my favorite ‘dead
stuff’ painter is Chaim Soutine, not a
trompe d’ oeil painter, but really real.
So anyway, painting something dead in
a ditch is right in the artistic mainstream
as far as I’m concerned.
Actually for all my foregoing pithy bluster I think I gave this poor girl a dignified
eulogy.
Kitt Peak
Near Sells, AZ, 2008
Oil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
4
Southwest Winter
Road Trip
I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck; I
know when to go south – February.
Heading down the Front Range
through intermittent snow flurries, I
stopped for a painting and a catnap in
Walsenburg, Colorado.
Pink House
Walsenburg, CO, 2008
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
The Aztec Grist Mill (1864)
Cimarron, NM, 2008
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
After spending the night in Raton,
New Mexico, I swung through Cimarron
and painted the Aztec Grist Mill built in
1864, before heading over the hill to Taos.
I was running behind to make an
appointment in Flagstaff, Arizona, so
I didn’t stop to paint again until I was
exploring byways in shirtsleeve weather the
other side of Sedona.
Office Complex
Oro Valley, AZ, 2008
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
Miracle Hill
Desert Hot Springs, AZ, 2008
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
Then I switched to all nature in
Saguaro National Park. I used both pencil
and scratching with the tip of my palette
knife in the undergrowth (below).
After several days of business in LA, I
had a weekend in Desert Hot Springs (the
poor man’s Palm Springs).
I couldn’t resist the discarded mattress
on a side street in the middle of town
(below).
Construction
Clarkdale, AZ, 2008
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
Above, I liked the juxtaposition of the
timeless geology and the brash new human
presence.
Continuing on a ‘long cut’ to Phoenix,
I came upon turn-of-the-century mining
town, Jerome (I hadn’t heard of it and
wasn’t expecting it), winding up and up
the mountainside until I wasn’t sure it
was going to end. Unfortunately my daily
painting allotment was already spent.
That’s the trouble with finally deciding
where to stop and paint.
After business in Phoenix vacuumed
up any painting time I might have had,
I made for Tucson and a free weekend.
It started with more of that geology vs.
humans stuff (above right).
5
Saguaro National Park
Tucson, AZ, 2008
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
Southwest about 40 miles from Tucson
on State Highway 86 through a Saguaro
dotted desert. When the Kitt Peak National Observatory telescopes popped up
on the skyline of the mountain ridge to
the south, I started scouting up and down
the highway for a vantage point. And there
it was (opposite page).
King Size
Desert Hot Springs, AZ, 2008
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
Then back to the frozen north via a
night drive up the Wasatch Front in Utah
with a lunar eclipse playing hide and seek
through the clouds over the mountains ....
could’a been worse.
Elevator
Aurora, NE, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
6
ROAD TRIP NOCTURNES
around them. This can be a bit of a
tedious process, but it’s worth it because
it helps keep the light colors clean and
bright.
Painting at night doesn’t necessarily
relieve time pressure. Sometimes the lights
go out, as they did on this high school
football practice (below left). Fortunately I
was done enough.
Painting in a car at night is no guarantee of anonymity. In a mall parking lot, for
instance, anyone sitting in a passenger seat illuminated by LED lights doing anything is bound to attract attention
– from passersby to the
local constabulary. Fortunately, in my experience, a
polite explanation has sufficed to provide assurance
that, while I may be nuts,
I’m probably not dangerous.
The parking lot of
this courthouse in rural
Iowa (above right) was an
evening hangout for the
town’s rowdy teenagers,
but to my surprise and
relief they maintained a
curious distance with only
Although I have done an occasional
nocturne over the years, they have been
novelties as much as not. Recently though,
nocturnes are often a necessity – I seem
to be running out of time to paint during
the day. The paintings shown here were
painted during a business trip in the fall
of 2011.
Main Street
Marshfield, WI, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
My night rig.
I painted these in the car. My rig
(above) was a pochade box with a couple
of flexible clip-on LED reading lamps,
one for illuminating the palette and the
other for the painting. I don’t care for the
cold color of the LED lights, but I live
with it. A head lamp won’t work because
every time you look up at your subject all
you see is the glare back at you from the
windshield.
I find nocturnes both easier and harder
than daytime painting: Harder because the
light is tough and, easier because the light
is tough. It’s hard to see the subject, hard
to see the palette, hard to see the painting
– so anything goes. However, the surprises
that come with viewing the results in the
clear-light-of-day tend to be more agreeable
than not.
Night Practice
Appleton, WI, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Counter-intuitively, the darker the
subject, the brighter the colors that work.
I end up using many of the colors straight
out of the tube – pthalo blue-green, ultramarine and reds in layers for the blacks,
and whites, yellows, oranges and reds, also
more or less straight from the tube.
What usually works best for me is to lay
out the lightest colors on the painting first
and then build up the dark background
7
Best Buy
Northbrook, IL, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Harrison County Courthouse
Logan, IA, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Outside Looking In
Northbrook, IL, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
an occasional catcall, perhaps assuming
that I might be dangerous.
Above is my voyeur’s view into a suburban Chicago fitness center.
My drill on this road trip was to find a
motel, get settled in and then go looking
for a place to paint. An out-of-state vehicle
blundering aimlessly around a small Midwest town after dark, stopping and starting
and making u-turns, is bound to excite
interest. After finally settling down under
a street lamp to paint this grain elevator
(opposite page), I got the predictable visit
from the town cop.
Holiday Lights - Bellvue
Bellvue, CO, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
8
Holiday Lights
subject matter, when I discovered holiday
lights…manna from heaven!
To the extent that the resulting paintings work, my most successful nocturne
technique is to lay out the lights first and
then carefully surround them with darkness.
Quest for the abstract
As a painter of observed reality, I
am envious of painters who can invent
abstract images. After all my years of
painting it is apparent that this is not yet
comfortably within my skill set – and may
never be.
Now, as consolation, I keep my eye
out for subjects to paint that are at or
beyond the edge of context – details that
are difficult to identify and that have some
abstract merit.
Holiday Lights - Overland Trail (Raybo)
LaPorte, CO, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Although I now see that I had been
blundering about this arena for years,
I first put a name to it when I saw an
exhibit of the stunning quilts from the
isolated poor black community of Gee’s
Bend, Alabama.
Holiday Lights - Vine Drive I
Fort Collins, CO, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Holiday Lights - Wayne & Gordon
Fort Collins, CO, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
The author
of the book accompanying the
Gee’s Bend quilt
exhibit speculated that many of
the bold, abstract
quilt patterns
might have been
taken from
architectural
details in the surrounding community. I think
that may have
been a bit of a
stretch, but it got
me to thinking
and looking.
I frequently
try to capture peeling paint, stone walls,
streambed gravel, light and shadow patterns, stacked fire wood – sometimes it
works out OK, but too often the resulting
paintings feel lifeless and they stubbornly
resist my efforts at resuscitation.
In the fall of 2011 for lack of daylight
painting time, I was painting mostly
nocturnes. As the holidays approached, I
was roaming around looking for nighttime
9
Of this group of seven paintings, only
one (opposite page) betrays its context to
any extent.
Holiday Lights - Overland Trail
LaPorte, CO, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
My first try at holiday lights (not
shown) involved some hasty choices on my
part, but it got my juices flowing enough
that I was too excited to spend much effort fixing it before getting on to the next
try.
Holiday Lights - Overland & Vine
Fort Collins, CO, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Holiday Lights - Vine Drive II
Fort Collins, CO, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
The painting of blue lights (above)
seems to me the least successful of the
paintings in this series. Oddly, in real life,
I thought it was the most striking. In any
event, this series really reenergized my
search for abstract images in my surroundings – night or day.
This dramatic spot is on a narrow bluff
above the Atlantic just north of the bay
where St. Jean de Luze (aka Saint-Jean-deLuz) is situated between Biarritz and the
Spanish border. The perilous picnic spot is
joined to the mainland by a narrow causeway to the right of the sand blowout. This
formation is readily identifiable on Google
Earth (below), however what was grass in
1926 now appears to be covered with brush.
Mounted on a wooden backing, the
color of the sea may have changed by the effect of the acidic wood on the paper and/or
pigment, but if so and how much is unclear,
because the other colors look right. The
understated color of the sea as the painting
now stands emphasizes the sense of high
noon high above the ocean very effectively.
Signed and dated lower right.
Satelite image
©mapsgoogle.com
Untitled (The Picnic, St. Jean de Luze) - 1926
11.6” x 15.6”
10
A NOTABLE DIGRESSION
The watercolors of
Julian Livingston Peabody
1881-1935
The Mohawk Tragedy: Accounts of
the accident are confusing and, at times,
contradictory. The night of January 24,
1935, New York and the New Jersey coast
were in the grip of a severe ice storm.
Amidst the confusion of the weather, a
mechanical failure and/or miscommunication between the bridge and engine room,
the 5,896-ton passenger liner Mohawk
veered sharply into the path of the Norwegian freighter, Talisman. Four hours after
departing New York harbor and six miles
off the New Jersey coast the Mohawk sank
in minutes, taking 46 passengers and crew
with it.
The Mohawk - n.d.
This probably would not have been
a fatal collision if not for the fact that,
owing to the economic pressures of the
Great Depression, the Mohawk reportedly
had been modified to carry bulk cargo
by opening up her watertight bulkheads.
Eight of the ten lifeboats, buried in snow
and frozen in place, were uncovered and
broken loose by hand, then lowered, still
Julian Livingston Peabody, 1881-1935 - n.d
hampered by the ice in the rigging and the
rolling of the sinking ship. Among the 46
souls lost, 30 were crew members and 16
were passengers.
All of the bridge officers were lost, including the captain, who apparently deliberately chose to go down with his ship. By
various survivor accounts he walked to his
cabin and shut the door, or he was seen
standing on the bridge as the ship went
down, (the latter not entirely plausible,
considering the reported angle and speed
at which the Mohawk sank). Whatever
the actuality, he had no good choice, for
the resulting inquiry would have pilloried
him. The wreck was fully the fault of the
Mohawk.
On their way to Guatemala for a painting holiday, Julian Livingston Peabody, 53,
and his wife Celestine Hitchcock Peabody,
42, were lost in a tragedy compounded
by a confluence of circumstances, one
11
Taos Street - 1930
8.5” x 13.0”
A charming, matter-of-fact scene that includes telephone poles, insulators
and wires together with colonial architectural details, a truncated sign poking in
from the left and a bowlegged man holding a child’s hand. Part of the subject
was sketched in quite differently from its final rendering, but the painter has
unselfconsciously left the original sketch. Whether he departed substantially
from the original sketch or painted over some aborted start is unclear. Either way
his treatment is entirely disarming. Signed and dated lower right. (Exhibited in
1931 at the Babcock Galleries and in 1933 at the Corcoran Gallery and Brooklyn
Museum.)
of which was likely their sense of proper
comportment in a crisis. Peabody’s private
letters and statements by those who knew
him depict a modest man who cared
deeply about others and was considerate
to a fault. Mr. and Mrs. Peabody were
not trapped in the ship – they likely were
waiting for the rush to the frozen lifeboats
by other passengers to subside when time
simply ran out. A survivor’s account to the
family in a letter (author and whereabouts
unknown) is said to have reported that
Mrs. Peabody had refused to take a place
in a lifeboat without her husband.
Drawing detail - n.d.
Ink and wash on paper (note rendering of sunlight and shade)
Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design
Metro (Secton) - n.d.
Ink and wash on paper 10.5” x 22”
Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design
Master Architecht: Julian Livingston Peabody was born March 29, 1881,
in New York, attended Groton (class of
1899) and graduated from Harvard in
1903, after which he spent a year at the
Columbia School of Architecture. Then
he spent three demanding years at the
Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris. His friend
and classmate at Groton and Harvard,
Archibald Manning Brown, who studied
with Peabody at the Ecole des Beaux Arts
wrote the following description for the
Harvard College Class of 1903 Decennial
Report of their studies there: “In the spring
of 1904 Julian Peabody, now my partner, came
to Paris. We were both admitted to the Ecole
des Beaux Arts in the spring of 1905, and
joined the atelier Deglane. In an old leaky shed
on the Boulevard Raspail, where our muchfeared and devoted Patron criticised [sic] our
President’s House, Wake Forest University -- Designed by Julian Peabody, built in 1929.
12
From Julian Peabody’s sketch books c. 1907
Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of
Design
work twice a week, I passed from “nouveau” or
chore-boy, running errands, filling lamps, etc.,
to “reservist,” “niggering” for the more advanced
students, and finally to “ancien.” Our design
problems on varied subjects, from a village
school to a state house, were judged by a jury of
all the patrons. The handing in of our work was
occasion for great rejoicing. The drawings, often
bulky and still wet with paint, were hauled
into a hand-cart, and usually some American
harnessed to the shafts. The cavalcade, pushing,
pulling and shouting, would rush to the school
at the last moment, joined by all the other pushcarts of our rival ateliers. A few days later the
awards were read out to the competitors in the
old paved court-yard of the school. The exhibition of drawings was then open to the public
for two days. Should the projet [Fr.] obtain a
mention the student could count off one from
his two dozen odd values needed to obtain
the diploma. No mention meant that his two
months’ work was in vain. A medal counted
as two or sometimes three mentions. Besides
the regular projets [Fr.] — six a year — we had a
year’s course in construction, including engineering and higher mathematics; freehand drawing,
modeling [sic], decorative competitions,
twelve-hour planning competitions, six a year;
arehasology [archeology], three or four special
prize competitions; a course in perspective; one
in stereotomy; courses in descriptive geometry,
trigonometry and calculus. All the subjects had
to be studied in French, in many of which we
were examined orally.”
Peabody’s letters home in the fall
of 1904 wryly describe the chaotic and
difficult conditions of the Beaux Arts
entrance competition at which 350 aspiring students were locked in dark rooms for
12 hours straight and had to supply their
own candles so that they could see what
they were drawing. From that competition
60 students were accepted, 15 of them
foreigners, including Peabody.
The Peabody Collection at the
Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of
Design (RISD) contains dozens of detailed
drawings, like the ones shown on the facing page, done by Peabody at the Ecole des
Beaux Arts pursuant to the assignments
previously described by Archie Brown.
His frequent letters from Paris 1904-07
are revealing of a nature that is dutiful,
caring of others, modest and diligent. He
writes of himself enough to be informative
and to explain his thoughtful expenditure
of funds; otherwise he focuses on his interest in and concern for family and friends.
13
His entries in more than 50 sketchbook-diaries spanning 30 years (also in the
Peabody Collection at RISD) range from
exquisitely rendered architectural sketches
to cartoons (at left), and from travel notes
to disturbing World War I entries. In
between are notes on fruit tree cultivation,
road construction, figure studies, chicken
coop plans...
When Peabody returned to New York
in 1907, he entered the office of Howells
& Stokes, and subsequently, the office of
Grosvenor Atterbury, architect. In 1911 he
established the firm of Peabody, Wilson
& Brown with offices at 389 5th Avenue
in New York. The firm’s offices were later
situated at 140 East 39th Street. During
the next quarter century, Peabody enjoyed
a well-deserved reputation as being one
of the foremost American architects for
the design of large country houses – many
examples survive, notably the president’s
houses at Dartmouth College and Wake
Forest University (facing page). The firm’s
work included various other projects such
as a 1921 renovation of the venerable
Hotel Astor in Times Square, schools,
public buildings and a house as far afield
as Tahiti – for James Norman Hall, coauthor of Mutiny on the Bounty and a
personal friend of the Peabodys.
In 1913 Julian Peabody married Celestine Hitchcock from a prominent Long Island family. The couple took an extended
honeymoon in Europe, from which several
of his paintings survive. In the U.S.,
Julian Peabody in his studio at Pond Hollow Farm, Old Westbury, Long Island
Taken by his son about ten days before the Mohawk tragedy.
of his own social connections and those of
an advantageous marriage – but outstanding nonetheless.
Watercolorist: Beyond his professional career, his passion for watercolor
painting for his personal enjoyment interests me most. His work evidences the
unselfconscious joy and artistic integrity
that reflects, for me, amateur painting at
its very best.
I know of Julian Peabody through his
daughter, my friend and fellow painter
Daphne Peabody Murray. His watercolors
were a formative influence on my own
painting and contributed greatly to my
special fondness for the contributions of
Untitled (courtyard with beehives) - n.d.
8.5” x 13.0”
This courtyard scene is interesting for its simple abstract pattern, the incongruous (or at least surprising) detail of the stacks of bee hives and the red-brown
note in the lower right-hand corner. The viewer’s imagination effortlessly expands the view beyond the boundaries of the image. Unsigned and undated (his
daughter believes this was painted on his honeymoon in 1913).
the Peabody’s residence was a country
house of his design, Pond Hollow Farm
(across the road from his parents-in-law’s
estate, Broad Hollow Farm), at Old Westbury, Long Island. Peabody experimented
with some modern materials, such as cinder blocks and steel frame windows in the
construction of a personal painting studio.
Peabody served in France as a Lieutenant J.G. with the Naval Aviation Division
in World War I. Included among his
papers in the Peabody Collection at RISD
are his war diaries and sketches of Zeppe-
A-ru-e, Tahiti - 1928
8.8” x 11.8”
lin hangars at Paimboeuf, France. Peabody
was sufficiently comfortable in French to
have undertaken some translation of 18th
century French literature into English.
Born to wealth and privilege, a young
man in Julian Peabody’s circumstance
presumably could have chosen a life of
leisure, but not in this case. The family
expectation was that he would make his
own living, and so he undertook an extensive education and applied himself to a
demanding profession with diligence and
notable success – undeniably with the aid
The intimate setting and modest subject are appealing, when obviously
grander vistas must have presented themselves nearby. Features of this painting
that catch the eye are the casual pencil sketch, the simple but not quite certain
treatment of the palms contrasted with the scraggly little bush against the bungalow wall and the interesting diagonal strokes that replace the typical sky wash
– all signs of a painter caught up in capturing the truth of a moment rather than
formulaic rendering. Signed and dated with notation “Arue, Tahiti” lower right.
(Exhibited in the 1930 Babcock Galleries show.)
14
amateur artists to the body and tradition
of Western painting. I have had many
leisurely opportunities to study and
admire his paintings. They are of the
Edwardian tradition of plein air painting
as a means of passing time, pleasurably
engaged in an activity of personal enrichment. The twenty or so paintings of his
that I am familiar with clearly were to him
deeply satisfying engagements with places
he’d been, often filled with details of
unselfconscious interest. Not surprisingly,
considering his training at the Ecole des
Beaux Arts, where watercolor painting was
an important part of the architecture curriculum, his paintings exhibit his mastery
of architectural rendering. But the best
of them exude his personal pleasure in
their making and a modest honesty, that
capitulation to the completely personal
moment that is the special prize reserved
for devoted amateurs.
One of the major influences on Julian
Peabody as an architect (and one can speculate also as a painter), was Charles Platt
(1861-1933). Platt came to prominence
as an architect and designer of country
houses and gardens via an unusual career
path – first artist and landscape painter,
next landscape architect, then architect.
The Peabody family summered at
Cornish, New Hampshire, then an artists’
colony that included Charles Platt, father
and son artists Stephen and Maxfield Parrish, husband and wife painters Thomas
and Maria Dewing and landscape designer
Ellen Shipman, who was inspired by Platt
during summers at Cornish and would
later design gardens for several of Peabody’s country house commissions.
His daughter, Daphne (not yet a teenager when her parents died), remembers
her father having a dry sense of humor,
referring to the opera as the “uproar.”
The charmingly
unvarnished view of
the couple’s modest
room in St. Jean
du Doigt, France,
includes a substantial
chamber pot, water
pitcher, ceiling stain
and Mrs. Peabody’s
bathrobe. Signed
“J.P.” with notation
“St. Jean-du-Doigt”
lower left, undated.
His daughter attributes the date of
1923.
St. Jean du Doigt - n.d.
9.3” x 12.8”
Digressionist: Peabody’s son,
Julian Peabody, Jr., describes his father
as an extremely modest man, who,
despite a notable and successful career in
architecture, was most pleased of all with
a medal awarded him by a group called
The Digressionists meeting at his favorite
New York club, The Coffee House, for his
successful digression from his profession
as an architect to that of watercolorist. The
medal was bronze, about 6” in diameter
and depicted a flying fish over the ocean,
successfully transcending its element.
Like many successful professionals,
he had memberships in several clubs and
15
societies (Harvard Club of New York,
Union Club of New York, Seawanhaka
Corinthian Yacht Club, Architectural
League of New York, Society of Beaux Arts
Architects). But Peabody’s preference for
the eclectic Coffee House and Digressionists
gives some clues to how his character and
tastes were being forged in the wake of the
Edwardian Era with its reinvigorated enthusiasm for the arts and growing tensions
between privilege and progressivism.
“The Digressionists, founded by [James]
Monroe [Hewlett] and fellow architects Grosvenor Atterbury and Charles Ewing in 1906,
consisted of a group of well-known architects
and artists whose mission was to create something artistic outside of their usual purview, to
be unveiled and evaluated at their annual convocation. The winner, chosen by three judges,
was presented with a medallion engraved with
the Digressionists’ symbol, a flying fish, and an
image of the Acropolis beneath curling waves.”
The Coffee House is a private club
founded in 1915 as a reaction against the
stuffy gentleman’s clubs of the era, with
the founding principles that it include…
“No brokers or bankers and perhaps no drama
critics. No card playing. The club to be for
sculptors, artists, foreigners, illustrators, authors,
editors, professors, sportsmen, lawyers, actors,
16–18, 1931. Both catalogs state “Prices
on Request,” indicating that Peabody was
offering his paintings for sale by that time.
In the fall of 1932 Peabody had an
exhibition of his work at Dartmouth
College, Hannover, NH. Six of his works
from that exhibition were submitted in
December 1932 to the Corcoran Gallery
in Washington, DC in connection with
his application for a show there. His
application was accepted and the six watercolors remained at the Corcoran to be
included in the pending show.
From March 28 to April 16, 1933 the
Corcoran Gallery mounted an exhibition
of 24 of Julian Peabody’s watercolors
(primarily of Central American subjects),
concurrent with an exhibition of 55 large
watercolors by Eliot O’Hara of South
American scenes. O’Hara (1890-1969)
Porch in Summer - 1930
15.6” x 19.1”
This is a view of the porch at his home, Pond Hollow Farm, on Long Island.
The reverse side of The Porch in Summer (shown at the Babcock Galleries in 1931
and the Corcoran Gallery and Brooklyn Museum in 1933) has a note inscribed
in pencil “#17 Philadelphia Exhibition.”
singers, playwrights, musicians, inventors,
composers, statesmen, judges, etc. Members
to pay cash for everything. The club would be
a revolt against the marble palace idea and
would be very simple and cheap.” The roster
of members over the years bears testimony
to the varied membership envisioned
at the club’s outset, including, among
many other notables: John Barrymore,
Buckminster Fuller, Childe Hassam,
Untitled (steps) - n.d.
9.0” x 11.9”
Herbert Hoover, Rockwell Kent, Somerset
Maugham, Cole Porter, John Steinbeck
and P. G. Wodehouse.
Exhibitions: The Frick Collection
was able to provide copies of exhibition
catalogs from two shows of Peabody’s watercolors at the Babcock Galleries on 57th
Street in New York (next page).
The first exhibition was March 17–29,
1930. The second exhibition was March
The artist’s command of architectural elements and the pleasure he takes in his
facility is evident in the crisp rendering of the steps leading down to the pool. The
viewpoint, right in the middle of the flight of steps but well toward the right edge
of the picture, adds to the drama of the scene, as does the diagonal emanating from
the lower left corner – usually regarded as a compositional “no-no.” Unsigned and
undated.
16
The dramatic angle and the
grandeur of the cathedral would
tempt many painters to make
these the primary elements of the
picture, but here the bold compositional element of the bridge
disappearing off the right side of
the painting, nicely balanced by
the subtle color contrasts between
the blue of the delicately rendered
sky, the beautiful red-orange of the
retaining wall and the translucent
green of the Seine assign the
church a comfortable secondary
role. The pale bird’s egg green
note just above the intersection of
the bridge and wall is particularly
arresting for an observant viewer.
Unsigned and undated (his daughter believes this was painted in
1913 on his honeymoon).
Exhibit catalog - 1930
was a graduate of the Yale School of
Fine Art and founder of a watercolor
school at Goose Rocks (Kennebunkport,
Me.). Peabody’s work might have been
somewhat overshadowed by the scale and
number of O’Hara’s paintings as well as by
his reputation. Peabody and O’Hara were
well acquainted but that both exhibitions
featured Latin American subject matter
seems only coincidence. Eleanor Roosevelt
visited the dual exhibition and purchased
one of O’Hara’s pieces. An exhibition
catalog of Peabody’s paintings, in a
modern format designed and produced
by Peabody, lists 24 paintings. The catalog
states that the paintings are for sale at a
price of $100 each, with no commission
charged by the gallery. None of the paintings sold, however, as they were all shipped
by the Corcoran directly to the Brooklyn
Museum.
Twelve of the paintings from Peabody’s
Corcoran show were included in a group
Untitled (Notre Dame) - n.d.
12.4” x 8.9”
17
Provincetown - August, 1924
11.4” x 9.5”
show at the Brooklyn Museum in 1933,
entitled Architectural Watercolors by
American Architects. The show included
215 paintings by 29 architects. The Brooklyn Museum issued the following press
release: “An Exhibition of Water Colors by
American Architects will open at the Brooklyn
Museum April 21st and will continue on view
through May 31st. The exhibition has been
arranged by the architects themselves and
represents their adventures into the realm of
picture art. The show will not be limited to the
water color technic [sic] of the architectural
rendering of a building but will include notes
of travel, and landscape painting. Twenty-nine
The election not to
frame the obvious subject
but to let it disappear out
the edge of the painting
is not usual, but while
an amateur (in the best
sense), Julian Peabody
was no ordinary Sunday
painter. The focus of this
painting is the gorgeous
red at the waterline of
the ketch tied up at a
Provincetown wharf. In
this perhaps we see the
influence of Winslow
Homer, whose work he
greatly admired, so much
so that he painted copies
of several of Homer’s
watercolors. Dated Aug.
1924 with notation
“Provincetown” lower left,
unsigned.
Archie Brown, mentions exhibitions of
Peabody’s watercolors in New York, Washington DC, Boston, Baltimore and Milwaukee. In addition, an inscription on the
reverse of one of his paintings indicates an
exhibition in Philadelphia.
In 1991, an exhibition entitled “New
England Gardens” at the Saint Gaudens
National Historic Site, at Cornish, New
Hampshire, included three of Peabody’s
watercolors together with the work of
several other artists, including Maxfield
Parrish. Peabody’s paintings were loaned
by the Rhode Island School of Design
(RISD) Museum of Art. By virtue of a gift
by his daughter, Daphne Peabody Murray,
the RISD Museum houses the Peabody
Collection of papers, drawings and books
of Julian Peabody.
Paintings: Besides their charm,
Peabody’s watercolors provide an interesting contrast to his chosen profession. The
architectural drawings in the Peabody Collection are formally precise, very detailed
and executed in unforgiving ink (examples
shown on page 12). The early watercolors,
Cornish, New
Hampshire, was an artist
colony where the Peabody
family spent summers.
This precisely rendered
formal trellised porch
provides an art-nouveau
setting for a melancholy
view of Ascutney Mountain
beyond – a classic tarot card
scene comes to mind. Judging from photographs in
the Peabody Collection at
RISD, this may have been
painted from the terrace
of Charles Platt’s studio.
Signed “J. P.” with notation
“Cornish” and dated lower
right.
of the best known architects of the country will
be represented in the show.” The exhibition
catalog lists 15 paintings by Peabody. He
also had an exhibition at the Art Institute
of Milwaukee in February, 1934.
On May 12, 1935, after his death, The
New York Times noted that a Memorial
show of some 60 of his watercolors of
France, Tahiti and New England was being
held at the office of his architectural firm,
Peabody, Wilson & Brown at 140 East
39th in New York.
In a report on the occasion of the 35th
anniversary of the Harvard class of 1903,
his lifelong friend and business partner,
Cornish - 1916
12.9” x 8.4”
18
especially, are rendered unselfconsciously,
sometimes with a hint of indecision or
awkwardness – characteristics that can
be particularly attractive to 21st Century
sensibilities.
Those special characteristics in
Peabody’s paintings are less pronounced
after 1930. This change coincides with his
beginning to exhibit and offer his work
for sale. The Great Depression had some
effect on the Peabodys’ finances and this
may have made selling his work more
attractive than previously. Whatever the
reason, it is interesting to note that there
is evidence of disappointing sales. Many of
the same paintings were exhibited serially
in several shows without being sold. Why
were so few paintings apparently available
to show in the 1930-1933 period?
Many, perhaps the bulk, of his paintings are unaccounted for and it will be
interesting to see what comes out of the
woodwork as Peabody’s watercolors become better known. Whether early or late,
the quality of his work varied considerably,
but his best paintings are extraordinarily
winsome.
The work of Julian Peabody harkens
back to a time when the worth of artistic
endeavor was not always measured by acceptance in the marketplace – an era when
active participation in the arts, including
painting, was approved as the mark of a
well rounded person.
While the buildings he designed were
primarily grand houses for the privileged
class from which he came, the modest
subject matter and unassuming treatment
evidenced in many of his paintings reveal
decidedly progressive sentiments – a notable digression, indeed.
Postscript: Across a wooded ravine
from the house that is now the Wake
Forest University President’s house (page
12), designed by Peabody for industrialist
Ralph Hanes (think hosiery), Peabody
designed a house in the extravagant English Hunt-Style for Hanes’ brother, James.
In 1972 James willed this house to the
Southeastern Center for Contemporary
Art (SECCA). Subsequently SECCA
constructed an outsized rectilinear concrete and steel appendage (about 24,000
square feet) to James’ hunting lodge to
house its exhibition and meeting spaces.
As odd as the arrangement might sound,
it is not entirely incongruous that a large
modern building, housing a contemporary
arts facility with a progressive agenda, is
physically connected to a piece of Julian
Peabody’s legacy.
Note: the paintings shown here by Julian Peabody
are in the collections of Daphne Peabody Murray and
Olivia Murray White.
Untitled (tree in a courtyard) - n.d.
8.8” x 11.6”
Likely a personal reminder of a pleasant place or moment, this simple painting oozes peace and quiet. The aqua and red-orange play at the right
is repeated in a minor key at the far left in the nicely awkward head-on view of the tile-capped wall. Unsigned and undated. His daughter places this
at St. Jean de Luze in 1926.
19
Construction
Portland, OR, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
20
wEST COAST ROAD TRIP
Approaching the Seattle area, I pulled
off the highway to get my bearings. A local
Moose Lodge caught my eye.
Fires
Hollister, CA, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Moose Lodge
North Bend, WA, 2013
Oil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
I spent time with old painter friends in
Sonoma and Berkeley then headed south.
The drought-fueled brush fires burning
in the hills near Hollister cast an ominous
pall on an otherwise beautiful fall harvest
afternoon (above).
In Portland, I got Scott Gelatly at Gamblin to play hooky and we went painting
beneath a nearby underpass. I liked the
orange flags and graffiti at this construction
site (opposite page).
After a pleasant evening with friends in
Mt. Shasta, I was waylaid by this railroad
underpass (below) as I was leaving town.
Pomegranate Grove
Near Lemore, CA, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Scripps Pier
La Jolla, CA, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
South of Fresno I pulled over to paint
what I thought was a tangerine grove –
turned out to be pomegranates (above).
Over on the coast, I found the sinister
looking Onofre Nuclear Generating Station
at San Clemente (below). It was just refitted
to extend its life for another 20 years when
it was discovered that some of the materials used in its remodeling were seriously
flawed. As a consequence, it will be decommissioned. Probably for the best – it doesn’t
look tsunami-proof to me. The landing strip
in the foreground is part of the Marine
Corps Base, Camp Pendelton. Altogether a
nice abstract subject.
In La Jolla I spent a little while at the
beach around Scripps Pier (above).
At Baker, CA on the way home, I sat
in the shade of a fence at the edge of an
empty lot used for truck parking. As semis
rumbled in and out, the hot wind kicked
up their dust on my painting.
Duck Pond
Near Paicines, CA, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Bulletin Board
Mt. Shasta, CA, 2013
Oil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
Love Me
Baker, CA, 2013
Oil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
The next day on a back road headed
toward Fresno, I caught this droughtstricken duck pond (above). A little on the
sentimental side for me, but every once in a
while I succumb.
21
Onofre Nuclear Generating Station
San Clemente, CA., 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
Just as I was putting on the last touches
(above), a crew of guys showed up and
began putting up a new sign on the empty
billboard. Glad I got to record this plaintive
graffiti cry before it was pasted over.
Sedona Microscape - Cold Joints
Sedona, AZ, 2013
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
22
Grounded in Sedona
(and how I got TBD)
Since everyone at the 2013 Sedona
Plein Air Festival was painting majestic
red rock formations, I assumed they didn’t
need my help, so I decided to look down
and paint what was in front of me. Some
of the results are shown here – kinda’ on
the abstract side.
Sedona Microscape - Gutter Shot
Sedona, AZ, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
After leaving Sedona, I wended my
way up into the Navajo Nation. I spent a
couple of cold nights off the beaten path
and then headed up to Shiprock, at the
northeast corner of the reservation, to
paint. Preparatory for which, I stopped for
gas, ice and stuff at a convenience store.
Alighting from Moby Van, I was immediately accosted by a little dog who
proceeded to adopt me. As I plied my way
back and forth from the van to the store,
he followed me, jumping up and down
enthusiastically, waiting by the door and
then following me again, licking at my
hand.
Sedona Microscape - Parking Lot
Sedona, AZ, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
I inquired about him at the counter,
and the Navajo lady said he had been
dumped out of a car the previous Friday
and had been sleeping on the doormat
since. I told her I had just been adopted.
She shrugged and rolled her eyes (apparently there are thousands of stray dogs on
the reservation).
After I got him in the van and started
to scout for a painting spot, it became apparent that he needed a bath more than I
needed to paint.
I looked up dog grooming on my smart
phone and found a number in Farmington, NM (on my way to Taos). I called and
asked about an opening that afternoon.
“Does he have tags?”
“No, I just picked him up.”
“No tags, no bath.”
So I found a vet in Farmington, figuring that I’d get a quick set of tags and
then go for the bath. When I got to the
vet’s, the receptionist gave me papers to
fill out. When I got to the ‘Name of your
pet’ line, I wrote ‘TBD.’ The receptionist
scanned the form and said “TBD, what
a cute name! Where did you get that?”
I had to explain that it stood for ‘To Be
Determined.’
Sedona Microscape - Raspberry Leaves
Sedona, AZ, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
At the end of the prescribed week,
Sarah and I took him to ‘Camp Bow Wow’
for the do-it-yourself dog wash. When the
receptionist looked at the paperwork, she
said “TBD, what a cute name!”
A friend helpfully suggested that maybe
there was a Navajo word like ‘Tebidi.’
Actually, it turns out that the Navajo name
for Shiprock is Tse Bi Dahi (rock with
wings). That settled it – TBD he is.
Sedona Microscape - Juniper Berry
Sedona, AZ, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
The vet gave him his shots, handed me
the tags and said “No bath for a week.”
Otherwise, the verdict was that he was
about a year old, generally healthy but
could use some better chow.
After three more days in Moby Van
with a smelly but otherwise well-mannered
little dog, I arrived home. The dog was
warmly received – his temporary name was
not. “It sounds like a disease, not a dog.”
Sedona Microscape - Boundary Marker
Sedona, AZ, 2013
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
23
A 30 pound bundle of perfect little
dog!
Alley Shot
Minneapolis, MN, 2011
Oil on cartón, 7.5” x 10”
24
Back Alleys
The upper digestive tract of urban life,
the back alley, deserves a second look as
plein air subject matter. Disagreeable?....
sometimes. Interesting?....frequently. Saccharine or trite?....never.
Dead End
Tucson, AZ, 1997
Oil on burlap, 7.5” x 13”
Bungalow Ct.
Fort Collins, CO, 1998
Oil on burlap, 13” x 10”
I painted occasionally with Shaun
Horne (www.shaunhorne.com) while he
was working on his MFA at Colorado
State University. The scene above is in
an old residential part of Fort Collins
that I painted on one of our outings. It
is painted on burlap primed with acrylic
gesso. Over the acrylic priming is an abstract under-painting in bright oil colors.
Combined with the irregular texture of
the burlap, this type of under-painting
can help provide complex and interesting
edges.
In Tucson I found the alley above a welcome alternative to more obvious scenes.
Like the painting on the left, this is also
over a bright under-painting on burlap.
Note how the dead end wall is dead center
in the painting – breaking the rules can
work sometimes.
The alley below, behind a strip mall,
seemed a lot more interesting than the
mall itself. I started with an initial wash,
which I brushed lightly off with my rag to
speed up the drying, so I could get on with
the job. I liked the effect and ended up
leaving much of
the wiped surface
alone. It was a
cold clear day
after a snow, and
extra cold in the
alley. I was glad
to be sitting snug
in my car with my
paint box on my
lap.
Cruising
around Minneapolis on a
September afternoon looking for a place
to paint, I spied the alley, on the opposite
page, framing a view of a bright green,
modern building. As I settled in to paint,
I was even more drawn to the pattern of
patches on the asphalt paving...a giant
arrow propelling the scene toward me!
South of Market
San Francisco, CA, 2001
Oil and pencil on museum board, 7.5” x 10”
Details within alleys can be fun, too.
Above is a really spiffed up alley in a newly
gentrified San Francisco neighborhood.
One of my favorite little paintings
(above right), is as unassuming a subject as
you can get – just a mud puddle with an
old chain link gate in an alley. The cobalt
Back Alley
Denver, CO, 2009
Oil on linen, 6” x 10”
25
Snow Melt
Fort Collins, CO, 1999
Oil on cartón, 6” x 8”
violet and cool blue reflections remind
me of the bitter day it was. I scratched the
chain links in with a bamboo skewer that I
use to sign my paintings.
I think many artists who seek to convey
beauty in their paintings miss the boat by
preaching too much to the choir. That is,
we all recognize that a lofty mountain peak
with the pristine lake nestled at the bottom or a lush meadow filled with wildflowers (perhaps with a modest young woman
picking a bouquet) are beautiful sights.
But doesn’t the artist’s job description
include seeking out and describing new
things, like unexpected sources of interest
and beauty, which his or her audience
might not have noticed or appreciated
before? Not that alleys and other unconventional subject matter are all that revolutionary, but they offer the artist and the
viewer an opportunity to step out of an
established mindset and engage with one
another on a less predictable, and more
interesting level.
It is worth remembering that the artists
our civilization remembers are those who
led public taste, not those who followed it.
Rogues’ Gallery - Dick Cheney
2011
Oil on burlap, 10” x 16”
26
USING PHOTOGRAPHS
(and other images)
I have nothing against using photographs for any part of the painting process,
and I use them along with web images, TV
images and magazine or newspaper illustrations in about 5% of my paintings.
I almost never carry a camera with me
when I’m painting, but I have occasionally
made paintings from photographs. Typical
are small paintings from excursions into
the Bolivian back country where time and
work constraints made painting impractical (above right and below).
My few paintings from photographs
frequently have tended to be less detailed
and more abstract compared to my regular
on-the-spot paintings. I think the reason is
that photographs provide me with considerably less information than being there
and painting the subject as it reveals itself
over time.
I experience plein air painting as four
dimensional – an unfolding 3-D event
Piglets
Coroico, Bolivia, 1998
Oil on birch plywood, 7.75” x 11.75”
Wet Day
Mishka Mayu Alto, Bolivia, 1994
Oil on burlap, 10” x 16”
in time. I relish observing and recording
what I’m painting as the light, shadows,
weather, colors, traffic, people, etc.
change, revealing rich new information
about what I’m looking at – all very different from a photograph, which records a
place in the absence of time. I don’t often
find myself rushing to fix my first impression before the light changes
or to capture some fleeting
effect. Rather, I feel impatient
to see what change is coming
next and how I might use it
in the fabric of my own little
“time tapestry.” The pictorial
incongruities generated by
working with time, rather
than a race against time, contribute to the “paintingness”
of the image.
On the rare occasions
when I have produced a larger
studio painting, my only
reference has been of my little on-the-spot
paintings. A photograph just could not
27
contain the
information or
trigger the feeling of place that
I want to work
from.
Being a
“paint anything,
anywhere” guerrilla painter with
an undogmatic
mindset, some of
my painting time
is spent in front
of the TV news
with a pochade box in my lap, painting
political satire (opposite page) or copying
other artists’ abstract paintings (below). As
an admirer of abstract paintings, in hopes
of uncovering some of their secrets, I’ll occasionally paint interpretive copies in my
own small format.
I also occasionally use commercial
images in mixed media paintings. These,
though still on my small scale, are really
studio paintings (above right).
With the above exceptions, I have not
found photographs or other 2-D images
to be particularly helpful in my own work.
After Bryce Marden
2008
Acrylic on paper, 7.5” x 10”
But, I sure wouldn’t want to do without
them altogether.
Mother/Daughter
1995
Mixed media on burlap, 10” x 7.5”
Then there is baseball on TV…
World Series #7
2001
Oil and pencil on museum board, 6” x 7.5”
the case of the
purloined
PAINTboxes
This all started with a Christmas trip to
the Bay Area a few years ago to visit family
and friends.
We were staying in an industrial area of
Berkeley with an old friend, Mary White,
a vibrant soul who ran the glass arts de-
partment at San Jose State University for
many years. When we arrived, she warned
us not to leave any valuables in our truck
overnight. When we said, “What about
these pochade boxes?” she said, “Oh, don’t
bother…they’ll be okay.”
Lo and behold, the next morning
our truck had been broken into, and the
pochade boxes were gone!
So much for our painting holiday.
Sarah sighed and said she’d had her grandfather’s paint brushes in her box.
We knew this was an irreversible tragedy, and we were so busy with things to do
and people to see that we didn’t mention
our loss to Mary until the following noon
(36 hours after our truck had been broken
into).
Mary was mortified and sprang into
action. She felt responsible and had to
do something. Zing went her printer and
up went the posters all over the neighborhood.
The poster
Here is Sarah talking with the lead investigating officer. The other policeman in
the background with his Crime Scene Unit van is busy dusting our pickup for
fingerprints. Note the pthalo green on our pochade boxes on the sidewalk.
Rolling our eyes at this obviously futile
gesture, we thanked Mary for her concern
and went over to San Francisco. As we
were stuck in downtown traffic, we got
a call from the Berkeley police asking us
to describe our pochade boxes and their
contents.
They had recovered them!—less than
three hours after Mary had put up her
posters!!
28
The ‘For Sale’ sign
Some kid had actually been trying to
sell them outside Amsterdam Art, over
on University Avenue. A mail delivery
woman, who had read one of the posters,
noticed him, and called Mary and Mary
called the cops.
If we were elated, the Berkeley police
were ecstatic. They had actually recovered
stolen property!
Three squad cars and the Crime Scene
Unit van met us in front of Amsterdam
Art. They had the kid in custody (he
claimed he wasn’t the actual burglar). They
asked us a blizzard of questions and dusted
our truck for fingerprints.
It turned out that whoever stole our
pochade boxes had left them and their
contents strewn all over the sidewalk a
couple of blocks away, where they sat for
an entire day. (Someone else called Mary
later and said that she had seen the boxes
sitting there and assumed that untidy but
momentarily absent painters were still at
work.)
We don’t think the police ever caught
the thief, but when we saw the fresh pthalo green smeared all over the paint boxes,
we told them, “Just look for someone with
green hands. It won’t wash off!”
Storage Problems
My “system”
Not selling my paintings has storage
consequences. This decision really focused
my attention on the problems of keeping
hundreds of paintings.
polypropylene to be an archival material
as it does not react with most solvents or
chemicals). Each sleeve has to hold three
things (also see photo below):
1. The painting
2. A backing sheet to give some extra
stiffness.
3. An inventory sheet (regular paper)
with information about the painting – title, subject, size, medium,
provenance (if sold or given away) and
history (shows, etc.).
Painting stored in a polypropylene sleeve
Ft. Collins, CO
09-08-12
Oil on canvas / Acrylic gesso
7.5” x 10”
Landscape: Buildings
10/12 - Painted a 9” x 12” studio painting
for Don and Vicki Mykles in exchange for
donation to 1+1
Typical inventory sheet label
finish. When a painting goes into a sleeve,
it is assigned a chronological number that
is noted on the sleeve.
All the information concerning the
painting is noted on the inventory sheet
(above) that is included at the back of
the sleeve. This information, in turn, is
entered into a spreadsheet that also includes fields for subject matter to help me
find paintings without having to thumb
through multiple file drawers.
My paintings stored in file drawers
Now, with some rare exceptions, I
never paint anything that won’t fit in a file
drawer. That solves two dimensions of a
three dimensional storage problem – the
third dimension being thickness.
Thickness is a factor, not only for the
issue of space consumed, but because I
store almost all of my paintings in polypropylene protective sleeves (I consider
1986. 1225 W. Oak St.
Contents of a sleeve
I almost never paint on anything thicker than 1/16”, usually thinner. Examples:
Unstretched canvas, linen or burlap; 4-ply
Museum Board, Carton or other paper,
suitably sized or primed.
Because polypropylene sleeves are most
readily available in “letter” size (8.5” x 11”)
or “legal” size (8.5” x 14”) that pretty much
determines the maximum size supports
that I paint on.
I wait six months or more before putting a painting in a sleeve because I want
to make sure it is sufficiently dry.
It is important to me to leave my archive of paintings is some state of organization for my family. The date of a painting
is scratched through the wet paint as I
29
Notes in a painting border
Finally, each painting is scanned to
provide a digital image of the painting.
I bought a scanner that will scan up to
11x17. In earlier years I took slides of each
painting. Now I’m going back and scanning the older ones.
I have developed the habit of leaving a
½” border around the edge of the painting
on which I write the title of the painting,
where I painted it and other notes (see
below). With the ½” border subtracted
from letter or legal size, most of my paintings are either 7.5” x 10” or 7.5” x 13”.
Of course this makes framing a pain in
the neck, but since I keep my paintings, I
rarely have to worry about it.
I have about 2000 pieces painted since
1991 (when I began adopting this system)
stored in the manner described here.
Choices frequently involve compromise. My choice not to sell my paintings
has made me compromise on the dimensions of my paintings. Other than that, all
my other choices are wide open.
- Thanks I want to express my appreciation to all those who helped make this Guerrilla Painter’s Notebook series
possible. First and foremost there are my wife, Sarah, for her generous support and cheerful editing, and
Alicia Davies and Nina Judson for their skill, enthusiasm and tireless efforts to produce these documents
and arrange their publications. To Emma Gross, Nancy Harcourt, and Monica Esposito who, over the
years, had pushed, prodded and otherwise encouraged me to begin putting my disparate essays together
in book form. And to my first wife, Jeanne, who gave me space to pursue painting from the beginning.
Among all the painters who have given me good company and thoughtful input over the years, I
particularly want to mention my son, Arthur, along with Chester Arnold, Deborah Bertola, Jim Biggers,
Paul Bridenbaugh, Jane Clark, Dawn Cohen, Doug Erion, Barb Haney, Shaun Horne, Linda Larson,
Christy Martell, Catherine Moreno, Daphne Murray, Tom Rush, and Mary White.
Others who have given me much appreciated support and encouragement include Douglas Adams
(deceased), Charles Campbell and the staff of the former Campbell-Thiebaud Gallery in
San Francisco, Lisa Chadwick and the staff of the Dolby Chadwick Gallery in San Francisco,
Dr. Mariano Morales Dávila and the Municipality of Cochabamba (Bolivia), Stuart and Beverly
Dennenberg at Dennenberg Fine Arts in West Hollywood (formerly San Francisco), Mark Gottsegen
(deceased), Ross Merrill (deceased) and Steve Sears (deceased).
For the article on Julian Peabody, I appreciate the generous research assistance of Dyan Scheurman at
the Brooklyn Museum, Suz Massen at The Frick Collection and Heather Winter at the Milwaukee Museum of Art. My particular thanks to Lisa Strong at the Corcoran Gallery and Emily Peters at the RISD
Museum of Art who extended me their hospitality and valuable time while I searched through their
respective archives. I exchanged several very helpful letters over the years with Julian Peabody, Jr., in the
course of which he introduced me to Lilian Shelton. Ms. Shelton shared her insightful thesis, Modestly
Grand, on the architecture of Julian Peabody and kindly hosted tours of the President’s House at Wake
Forrest University and the nearby SECCA facility. Patricia Davies, the daughter of Julian Peabody, Jr.
graciously provided access to her grandfather’s paintings and papers in her collection. Daphne Peabody
Murray originally challenged me with the task of researching her father’s life as a painter and then gave
me all the support, encouragement and patience I could ask for. Daphne’s daughters, Lydia Chapin and
Olivia White, likewise helped in many ways, including editing.
And lastly, my gratitude to all those who responded to the first two volumes of A Guerrilla Painter’s
Notebook with their generous comments.
For more information, please visit:
www.CarlJudson.com