Sorry, Dear readers, for having ditched you like that. It was so hot that I was just wiped at the end of the day. Then on the Stewart Cassiar, internet access was slim. I’m safely home now.
I peeled the tape off one of the Highway of Tears dresses. Here’s a snapshot:
and here’s a closeup. They’re not super clear, but I think you’ll get the idea.
Peeling the tape is interesting. I’ll have to make a video of that, or a step by step set of photos.
I had the privilege of making another river journey with Western Arctic and Yukon Historian David Neufeld.
We had painted the river at intervals the summer of 2012, as part of David’s place-based historical practice. He is writing a book about the history of the Yukon River. This time, we stayed put for a few days at Blanchard’s Woodyard just north of Minto, on the other side of the river from the Hell’s Gate Rapids, and at Fort Selkirk. It was a wonderful 5 days for me. The quiet of Blanchard’s Woodyard was the perfect tonic for how worn down I had gotten along the road. And in Fort Selkirk, I got to perform in an ad hoc ukulele concert in the tiny old Catholic Church.
These paintings are all 9×12″, oil, $275 ea.
I’m planning to include them in my upcoming solo show at the North End Gallery in Whitehorse, YT in February of 2015, but please contact me if you’re interested in them sooner.
Cliffs across from Fort Selkirk
More cliffs across from Fort Selkirk
Rainy Day, Island from Blanchard’s Woodward.
David’s boat, from Blanchard’s Woodyard
Cool Clouds, from Blanchard’s Woodyard
Evening Cliffs, from Fort Selkirk
Hixon wins.
50 km fell right at The Whistle Stop Pub. Fortunately there was a great space to paint from up near the road. It was hot for Itsy. Halfway through I walked into the bar (a painter walks into a bar) to get a ginger ale to go just for the ice to add to the dog’s water.
Just after I put the painting away, someone did a u-ie in their pickup to check out what I was doing. Finally! Maybe it was because it was so hot I didn’t have the high vis vest on.
The last one I did, July 2, was just outside Prince George. A fabulous storm rolled by in front of me, adding drama to the sky. I was glad for it as it cooled things off for the dog. I was also glad it didn’t rain right into the truck, but instead, I got to see lightning walking by.
After a lovely musical evening with the Two Rivers Gallery curator George Harris and his wife Anne, where Itsy had a great time playing with their son William, we began driving home. I took the Stewart-Cassiar (37) to preview it for painting next summer. The highway 16 towards the 37 begins to be the “Highway of Tears”, famous for disappearing women. I hope to enlist a human companion to paint that part of the road next summer, perhaps as far as Prince Rupert. I have some ideas for additional things to add to the project for that section… more on that later.
The 37 will be a challenging highway to paint – very narrow shoulders, few pullouts and those that exist likely busy with logging trucks, lots of bugs. Also very remote. I will have to provision myself carefully, and perhaps be prepared to sleep with no campground one of the nights. Bring a fresh box of pic coils and full length lightweight pants. That was good to learn.
Dinner at the Bell 2 lodge was wonderful if the camping was buggy and there were few trails for walking Itsy. Salmon on a bed of seasonal veggies nestled into squash puree. I had been kind of hoping for the luxury of a hot turkey sandwich, and this blew that dream out of the water. I will plan to stop there next year!
Itsy, packed and ready to go, for the last day of driving.
It was so good to reach the Yukon, to see things on the road I recognized. One 11 and then another 12 and a half hour driving day later, I arrived home to cool weather, rain, and the comforts of home.
Christina Hart, Ursula’s Mom, kindly gave me some lavender-scented ostrich oil. I had been putting it on my painty ankles. I found that made the paint rub off in the bath, particularly with the pumice paddle I have for my feet. In the future I will use a barrier cream, oil and this method for keeping less paint on my skin.
In fact, I will use it tomorrow, when I start with the Plein Air painting festival organized by the Yukon Artists @ Work cooperative. Painting 6-11 Sunday then 11-4 each day till Thursday, with an opening Thursday evening at 5:30. I’d better prepare my panels.
Alas, I have no pictures.
But I painted near Langley this morning, then North Vancouver this afternoon.
For each of them, of course, the highway is big and busy. So I had to find vantage points off the road. That was actually kind of pleasant, having the whoosh and thunder a little further off. I had a great viewpoint from a field near exit 66 in Langley. In North Vancouver, the highway is insulated from the houses by walls, but I found a leafy viewpoint with a lovely pullout I could back into. It was kind of cozy. The road crossed right across the top third, but below you could see the tunnel that led under the highway for pedestrians to cross from one residential area to another.
From there, it’s only 20 km to the ferry.
So tomorrow I will look at the ferry terminal. Maybe I will paint the access to the terminal? Still figuring out how to deal with ferries. I might paint 30 km up the 99. I might cross over and paint the first painting down towards Victoria. But I’ll hold all these things loosely and see how they pan out.
It’s nice to feel caught up with myself again, without any need to double back. After a few days I’ll be heading back North, where this whole system of painting evolved. I’ll have to watch out for bears along the Stewart Cassiar, but in a way, that feels like almost home.
As I painted across the prairies, I became aware of some of the decision points that shaped each painting. The road doesn’t curve a lot, so there are few right curves. Most paintings look down the highway from the right hand side, which makes the road move left to right through the picture plane.
Sometimes a side road can be used to get a bit further off the highway, especially if the ditches are precariously steep.
First question – where does the horizon go? I tried to mix it up, high, low, middle, etc. A straight line across for that was a good start.
Then I identified landmarks for roughly where the right and left side of the painting would fall.
These questions were decided by using my two hands with thumb and forefinger making right angles to form a square.
Drawing starts at the horizon. Perspective is worked out in relation to other things, especially things on the horizon. I also used the hand square – oh yes, that hits the side about a quarter of the way up, etc.
Many commonplace sights did not fall into the picture plane. Cows, for example. I saw lots of them, but you could see them looking right or left, not down the road. Also, alas, no oil pumps.
Today I arrived in the mountains. There’s a lot of mountain between the sky and the road here, whereas in the prairies the road and the sky kiss each other, obviously in the distance, but if you think about it, all the way down the road’s length. (Whew.) More practically, the sky and the road surface tend to both have freer brushwork in my paintings.
Here the mountains stand as chaperones between the sky and the land. But the clouds and mountains get up to some pretty funny business. The road will get smaller in these paintings, I think, unless I leave the sky out entirely, which is also possible. Though I do like skies…
Nicole Bauberger Paintings 