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“A man paints with his brains and not with his hands.” – Michelangelo

6/5/2012

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"El Rancho Hotel" Gallup, NM (photo)

View of Bluewater Lake, NM (photo)

En route to Albuquerque from Gallup, NM (photo) - how's about that incredible mesa!

Day 28 – Tuesday

Arrive Gallup, New Mexico, look for State Park, have a look-see around town. Find very quickly the El Rancho Hotel on historic Route 66. Famous for hosting movie stars and politicians such as John Wayne, Spencer Tracy, Katherine Hepburn, Kirk Douglas, and Ronald Reagen, the region was ripe for western films. By reputation, Gallup is a rough city; heard it from several sources who knew the city well. “Stay on your guard.” Okay, I shall.

The motto is emblazoned across the front of the hotel just below the iconic neon sign: “the charm of yesterday, the convenience of tomorrow.” Like it.

I get a late start on the morning, waiting endlessly for a call from Bowie that never comes; whatev’s, his loss, don’t care to discuss it any further.

:)

Catch what I thought was a breakfast restaurant, only to sit and knock out taquitos at 11am – but good, so good. A few hours at the library for WiFi, blog-posting, and research of Gallup and Albuquerque. A walk around the immediate area, looking for a something to paint.

Try to paint the El Rancho from across the street, two hours. Gets scraped. I am painting window dressing and not painting foundations; hence, the gestural paintings are suffering for it.

If you don’t know where you are going, you are sure to get there, you know? I am frustrated because I want so badly to knock out a painting, maybe even a good painting; but oh, how romantic, to be in these sexy and exotic locations - I am being ironical - the drama simply should drip from the pen, to exploit a phrase, something, I am sure, many a decent writer has certainly experienced.

I really need to focus down the process, not be so loosey-goosey, but actually need to have a plan, a ground-plan; my problem-solving skills are not thus far entirely economic. So I pack it in and let us head closer to Albuquerque, try to get to Bluewater State Park.

Actually arrive several hours in front of sunset, that's a first: “meet it is, I set it down thus” (Hamlet). Might actually get some painting done.

Beautiful drive up into the hills. No ranger, pay the fee at the metal drop-box (only $10, bonus!). Set up camp and head for the lake, 200 yards away, have maybe an hour before the sun pinches itself into the lovely mountaintop.

I start painting.

Jeffrey, please, let's not waste our time again, a good drawing, get the values close, do not wait for inspiration, but try to keep everything harmonious and tight, the values tight. Going along nicely. I see someone approaching in my periphery, a man and his teen son, maybe 13. A conversation yields that they are from Wheaton, suburbs of Chicago. I keep painting. Can we watch for awhile, can I take some photos? Sure, thank you for asking. More conversation, they are actually doing my same trip in reverse order somewhat and in less than a quarter of the time. Do you know this place, hey, be sure to see etc etc. At one point, the father asks the son, "you wanna get going back to camp?" The son is watching very intently, says, "no, I want to see more of how this turns out." Big smile, him and me, both of us.

Get close to what I think is a decent start, then no more light. Dad and son leave. A call to Clarence in Albuquerque to coordinate schedules and arrivals tomorrow and he tells me check in for the… what’s the word? Venus Transference? It will be a dark spot on the sun as Venus passes in front of the sun just before it sets, won’t happen again for over 120 years, he tells me, wear some heavy sunglasses, don’t look directly, might hurt your eyes, too intense.

Well, I couldn’t see it, but apparently some folks in the campground had the proper gear and were able to see it. That's kind of cool. I can’t wait till the next time to really see it (120 yrs). Venus Transference, good title for a painting, hmmm.

Pack up, back to tent early, watch a dvd (I think it was "Serpico", bought it last week in a cheap bin, couple of bucks) and asleep. Next leg of journey starts tomorrow in Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and Taos. ¡Hasta mañana!

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“Painting is easy when you don’t know how, but very difficult when you do.” – Edgar Degas

6/4/2012

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"Venus Transmogrified" oil 36 x 24" 2007 {SOLD}

Day 27 – Monday

Up early to start packing car, and the Camp Host comes ‘round, asks if I am staying another night. Nope, just last night again; so we settle up for the additional third night, $14, and he writes a tag for the car, tells me that I will need that to use the showers. Um, showers?! Yeah, didn’t I tell you when you checked in the first night, just down the road, not quarter of a mile, is the main station, has all the modern facilities.

Oh, well, that is nice to know, three days later.

Car is packed and I head for the… modern showers. Wow, they are very clean, lots of room, nice to know. I then take my newly-washed self to breakfast, then to library, then I am out of here. I am heading to Winslow, AZ, after reading a couple of the links Diann had sent to me. I will be “takin’ it easy” very soon.

You see, I was told very clearly by a fellow I met at the charity event yesterday, Miguel, that Winslow is not to be missed; an artist community, it is teeming with art and artists. I actually will be going an hour out of the way to Albuquerque in order to stand on a corner. And that is just simply okay by me. Plus, I have had a shower today and that makes me happy.

And this is wild! Miguel is an artist and is displaying in the Olive Oil store many of his jewelry pieces and necklaces that he makes. He and Sonja have been inquiring about my art, so the website is brought up on the store computer, everyone huddled around.

Up comes “Venus Transmogrified”, one of my personal favorite pieces to date – it sold two years ago – and without prompting he says, “reminds me of David Bowie and Glam.” I exclaim, loudly, “Exactly! I always thought so, but you are the first person to actually say so before I did.”

He continues, “I should send an image of this to Bowie tonight. I know him and his wife, you know.” “Oh, really, do you?” “Yes, I was a make-up artist professionally in L.A. and worked with Iman (his wife) for more than twenty years.” “Is that right? Huh.” My incredulousness has betrayed me in a big way; I am a big fan of Mr Bowie.

So, glass of wine in our hands, we continue discussing all things Bowie, L.A., theater, and, of course, art. His girlfriend is an artist in northern California, north of Santa Cruz, in redwood country; he tells me I should get in touch, gives me her cell number – it goes into my phone. Wild. But that's how it works in this crazy world.

So, I pull into Winslow, only an hour and a half drive, and immediately go in search of a street named ‘Winslow.’ I find it, no one around, and I march into a business on the corner, a title company. Ask the receptionist if she might snap a photo for me. She laughs, says most people usually go down to the park few blocks away and have their pictures taken there; they pose with a statue, guy with a guitar, but I will be happy to take a picture for you. I then drive for a wee look-see at the town then decide to cave in and take advantage of the tourist photo opp with the guy with the guitar.

It is so early in the day that I really think I should move on, try to get closer to New Mexico before sunset, and decide to shoot for Gallup, New Mexico. Will find a campground there. I will get up early, do a couple of paintings in Gallup and head for Albuquerque in the morning. That’s the plan. Also, cell reception isn't great, might be better in Gallup, and if David Bowie calls tonight, I want to be sure to be able to take the call. Right?

Oh, and I do have something very sad to report. My straw hat - the one that I wore many times on stage when playing van Gogh in the one-man VINCENT, the same straw hat that joined me when first I began painting out-of-doors, in all kinds of inclement weather, the straw hat that, because of its derelict condition, caused painter friends of mine in Chicago to suggest to me, Jeffrey, that hat comes back with you to Chicago, you can find new painter friends - that straw hat has been forever retired.

With no further ado, no pomp and circumstance nor solemn ritual, the beloved straw hat was placed into a dumpster, near the newly discovered modern facilities at the campground, and simply thanked for good service. EDITOR'S NOTE: the replacement hat may be seen standing on the corner in Winslow, Arizona, and such a fine sight to see.

Stylin' in Winslow, with a new hat, purchased at Show Low Shell station, $6.99

Yes, sunbeam is pointing directly at the new hat. I am certain that the old hat, newly retired, has become a halo'd angel and, simply, is shining its light on its new brother

This is the halo'd angel straw hat... a moment of silence, please :)

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“Too many people like this painting… it must be bad.” - Francisco Goya

6/3/2012

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Makeshift Mobile Studio, Show Low, AZ 2012. Tecate Beer on picnic table at left, very important detail (photo)

Day 26 – Sunday

I awake with the sunrise, a walk around the little lake, all the while checking in for rattlesnakes; begin painting so as to finish early; do not want to belabor this one. It gets a signature at about 9:30am. I am hungry and ready for a big breakfast, knowing there will be a stipend by day’s end. I shall do my morning ablutions at the breakfast place of choice; on Friday night when I arrived, I did my nightly toilette at the Shell station when I got petrol, taking out my contacts, trading them out for my glasses, brushing teeth, changing into sleeping sweats etc. On Saturday night after 10pm, I went to Wendy’s, just down the street, without benefit of a purchase. Same m.o. - contacts out, teeth brushed, sweats to sleep in...

So I decide to drive into Pinetop-Lakeside and find a café. Do so, have a terrific b'fast, country skillet, lots of local flavor, is that chorizo amidst the eggs? - I am good with that in a big way. When I arrive at Picassol's Olive Oil store, I am early of noon, so I hang out, go through a locally-owned marketplace across the street, check out the fresh vegetables etc. Get to Olive store and unload paintings so as to show the charity folk some options; I will be happy to donate a small piece, as long as I am certain that my new painting has a satisfied owner. I show it, it seems to be met with approval. Always the insecurity creeps ‘round the corner, “What if….”

I meet a bunch of people, nice people – again with the NICE in this town– and I set up to paint. Love the fact that a small, hay-strewn pen near me contains three of the cutest alpacas you ever did want to see. Cannot find any of my photo references so as to kick-start a warm up session; Sonja, as per my request, prints a hard copy of a couple of photo perspectives of the cathedral in Santa Fe – I figure I can do some sketches so as to ready myself to paint from life when I get to Santa Fe in a couple of days.

I donate the 11x14” painting of the Carmel Mission, CA, and it receives a warm reception. Fast-forward to the auction: Sonja has sent one of her employees to ask that I stop painting and be present when they begin to auction my painting. She grabs the microphone from the auctioneer and introduces me, suggesting we are in the presence of ‘world-renowned Chicago artist, Jeffrey Baumgartner.’ A lightening bolt of trepidation strikes me, and I come forward saying, “I don’t know about ‘world-renowned,’ though I am fairly well-known in a certain part of Indiana, very small town.” I am laughing. I think the growing crowd appreciates this gesture, they laugh with me. Forsaking the microphone in this fairly intimate venue, I give some context to the trip and the painting and then fade back into shadows and watch as the piece sells successfully. I am happy to march up to and say hello, shake hands with the new owner.

The event winds down, I finish up the quick-study of the cathedral, and off I go, newly flush with the sale of artwork. Getting to New Mexico now will not be an issue.

Okay, time for “follow the bouncing ball” for those of you tracking this blog (or “riding along with you in the passenger seat”, as my mother refers to it), I have sold a painting – it is time for a wee celebration. I deftly do a budget review: need $250 for lodging five days in Albuquerque, two tanks of gas, at say, $45 each, breakfast at $10 plus tip, that leaves a whopping $50 or so on which to celebrate tonight. I am thinking dinner and a movie (steakhouse & “Avengers”); bottle of red wine for camp, maybe $9.99; small bottle of tequila for medicinal purposes (remember, it is cold nights); and … did I figure in popcorn? Okay, $10 popcorn etc, and yep, over-budget. Again. Need to re-define ‘wee celebration,’ will work on that tomorrow or when I arrive Santa Fe. Paint-the-town-red (or for painters, ferric oxide). What?! That makes no sense.

Oh, and when I buy the wine at the little marketplace I had visited earlier, cashier says to me, “oh, has the Renaissance Festival started already? I thought it was next weekend.” She indicates my wide-sleeved white cotton shirt and ascot. “No,” I say very simply, “that’ll be it tonight, just the wine, thanks.” I thought it was fairly funny. Remembering where I was, I was very nice about it.

Arrive back at campground after a return toilette at the Shell station and look forward to a good night’s sleep. By most measures, save for the over-budget part, a good day. A good night. And a big ol’ Devil Moon above.

Three alpacas, cute as you may please (photo)

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“The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don’t dare reveal.” – Elia Kazan

6/2/2012

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Day 25 - Saturday

Breakfast at Denny’s 7:30am. A “costume change” into painter’s garb – the Modigliani – and arrive 8:45am to set up for the Farmer’s Market, 9am-1pm. To the usual suspects I met last night, I bid Good Morning. Lots of people come by to say hello. I meet yet another Thomas, whose girlfriend, Julia, has completed two levels of Reiki training. Julia is giving chair massages in the park as part of the fair. I remember then that Diann will be holding a couple of Reiki sessions today in Chicago as Saturday is her day at the wellness center. She has completed her Master certification for Reiki training and is now Reiki Master. Woo hoo!

I begin painting a street scene that includes the iconic Thunderbird Motel sign; frustrated, I scrape it after an hour and a half, and begin another from a different perspective, same oil panel. This one, too, will be scraped in an hour. Feel as if I am out of whack, out of practice these four days dealing with car issues.

A woman approaches, Sonja, asks if I might consider doing a painting of her Olive Oil store with her in it; uh oh, a commission and a portrait to boot. These can be anxiety-filled. We agree to meet at her store at 4pm. I pack up at 1pm and head to the library for WiFi access and work on the blog till 3pm.

Meet in PineTop-Lakeside, city very near Show Low, maybe fifteen minutes from my idyllic, rustic campground.

Oh, and I learned today the origin of the town’s name as the fair was located around a park statue near City Hall depicting two men playing cards at a table, replete with cowboy hats, and a brass plaque at its base with the history. In 1870, C.E. Cooley and Marion Clark - two ranchers having staked out 100,000 acres conjointly, then deciding that both could not reside happily together on the massive plot – commenced a marathon card game to decide who would own the land solely. Exhausted and with a three in his hand, Clark finally stated, “If you can show low, you win.” Cooley drew the deuce of clubs, lowest card possible, and as legend has it, replied, “show low it is.” The Main Street is also named “Deuce of Clubs” in deference to the legend. And here I thought it led to a casino.

Anyway, Sonja is also a breeder and proud owner of Alpacas. She shows me several photos; suggests perhaps I do a painting of her and a favorite alpaca, “Picassol” for whom the store is named - “Picassol’s Olive Oil” - standing in front of an interior wall, the shelves of which are adorned with many several what appear to be samovar-like olive receptacles. I learn that the Alpaca is akin to the camel, of South American origin, and resembles the llama. Okay, cool. I quote her my prices, ask what she wants to spend, and decide to do a 16 x 20” at the 11 x14” price, as really it helps me out in a big way as well. Remember, I am coming off car repairs.

Safeway. Six-pack of Tecate and a deli sandwich, and I return to campsite so as to set up easel. I decide to paint smart and proceed first by making several drawings as I am using a composite of three different photo references, one of the store interior, one of Sonja herself, and one of Mr. Picassol, the alpaca. I then lay in a quick oil sketch on canvas paper that I have packed along with everything else from my studio gallery. I wash up a bit in the kitchen sink that also I have brought with me - kidding.

Confident that I have a composition, I begin. I continue painting well after sun goes down and the moon is fully lit up. No problem, I can finish in the morning and easily make the noon deadline. Even time for breakfast. Another Tecate, breathe in this beautiful night. The campsite is situated on a small, albeit beautiful, little lake. I take in and commit to memory the reflections of this new moon. To bed.

"Show low it is...." Statue, Show Low, AZ

View down "Deuce of Clubs" Main Street, Show Low, AZ, the Thunderbird Motel (photo)

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“The task of art today is to bring chaos into order.” – Theodor Adorno

6/1/2012

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Day 24 – Friday

Chaos, indeed. The must-get-to-Jerome quest starts with arrival at Kia dealership at 7am. Yes, I have bid all what I hope is a final fare-thee-well. Mechanics will look at it, but are stacked with other vehicles scheduled today. A great conversation in the waiting room about the trip and things to see in the region is joined and enhanced by another gentleman, Thomas, who adds a great deal of perspective and information on Jerome and Sedona.

Thomas is a retired teacher of History (more than forty years' teaching experience) and has recently been working on a literary piece, a compilation of all the fascinating people that he has met and their personal stories; a bit like Studs Terkel, I suppose. I lobby for inclusion by enhancing all of my stories, including being raised as a wealthy Arabian prince, who once was near-death after wrestling with a Big Black Bear deep in the Sequoia National Forest… Thomas is laughing at me and with me.

Both of their cars are serviced within hours, they depart; more waiting, more new arrivals. But I am getting organized, Atlas out, and pouring over my spreadsheet regarding the travel itinerary – it is clearly labeled “Draft” as I must needs remain flexible in departures, arrivals, and destinations. If I have learned anything, I have learned this need for flexibility, and I do not mean in the yoga-sense.

By 11am I am on the phone with travel secretary, Diann, as we develop a plan of attack for the end of the journey, when she will meet me in Brown County, Indiana, for the last few days, five weeks hence. I will be tent-camping in the Brown County State Park that final week. Too, I will participate in a painting event in Greenfield, Indiana, on Friday & Saturday end of June. Back in Chicago July 1st.

She makes a reservation at a B & B for one evening near Nashville, IN, where we can take due advantage of many sights, including a visit to the historical studio of turn-of-the-last-century painter, T.C. Steele; it is his influence, and the deep and revered tradition of Indiana plein air painters, that really underlines this entire odyssey for me. In that I am originally from Fort Wayne, IN, born and bred, I hope to walk and paint in his footsteps - as well as in the footsteps of the other artists belonging to "The Hoosier Group" - not unlike so many painters before me have done in the steps of Monet at Giverny.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T._C._Steele

Seven hours later, I have a new fan for the cooling system and a new deficit of $233, which, of course, while an unanticipated expense, beats the estimate that I had yesterday of over $1,000. But I must confess, it is a dent in my funds. So, I am on the road. Willie Nelson is singing in my heart. On Hwy 17, I spy some signs that suggest it is closed ahead, which doesn’t make any sense to me. I think about taking a bypass and catching up to Hwy 17 further down the road. I continue to head North, see another sign “closed due to accident in left lane, ten miles” – surely I will be able to move through this effectively.

Nine miles later, a complete stop. Twenty minutes. Twenty-five. My heat gauge heading North as well, to the Danger Zone. Temps have topped 115 degrees today in Phoenix. I begin subtly FREAKING OUT. My a/c shudders, then it begins spewing hot air, the gauge nearing Red Zone. We haven't moved. Off with my shirt, roll down the windows to make it cooler inside. Ten more minutes of this and I am done, completely over it. Chicago actor/artist and best friend, "Kia" will be found in the ashes of a burned-up vehicle on Hwy 17 which blazes with too-much-stuff, a fiery Arizona Inferno, smoke from a mass of contemporary painting masterpieces, as yet unseen, billowing forth.

Not gonna happen, not today, not when I have direct access to a Guardian Angel. I pull into the median (this will now be considered “off-road”, Arizona-style) and for a moment, I really think my little Sportage likes it – forget the damn mountains, up and down, give me a little off-road adventuring and I am your’s for the asking. Hell, we can go anywhere together! You, me, and all four of my cylinders!

I get up to speed and the gauge returns to normal, a/c kicks up nicely, shirt back on. I am immediately on the phone with my travel secretary, my hands are shaking a bit. It is very simple, I think to myself: Jerome and Sedona, for whatever reasons, are not meant to happen. End of story. A decision now four days in the making. New plan. Diann tells me, with the aid of her Google Maps, in the comfort of her office and Chicago's 53 degrees temperature today, to get to Shea Road (yep, was just there an hour ago), go east and get to Payson. Done. I am on my way; Jerome and Sedona will be another time. I am actually considering a promotion for her to Vice-President of Travel.

Payson. Elevation 5,000. Will climb to 7,000 later today. A fuel stop. A DQ Blizzard (I feel strongly that I have deserved it). I pat the dashboard, the Kia has been a champ, negotiating the mountains once again (I privately promise to her, the Kia, some off-road business later). Atlas out, I am heading for Show Low (interesting name for a town), can camp there and will provide a striking distance to New Mexico in a few days.

Arrive Show Low, charming as heck. I see a vintage Motel sign that I really want to paint tomorrow sometime. Near it, I see what looks like an art fair, something, tent-booths and people milling about. I will need to come back. Go in search of the state park, consult Atlas, find it, only to learn it is sold out for the weekend, big park, presumably hundreds of sites. I even get a bit of attitude from the ranger, "yeah, see, we take on-line reservations now and, you know...." He lets it linger there in the air as if to say, you might have done well to make an on-line reservation. Dude, if you knew the day I have had today, I think about getting out of the car and popping him a good one in the nose, but I politely inquire after other campgrounds in the area.

It seems a chore for him to hand me a map indicating two others on the opposite side of town. Dude, might I borrow your computer to quickly make an on-line reservation... never mind, appreciate your efforts on my behalf and all that, and off I go searching. I find a place, Show Low Lake Campground (that name again) and inquire with the Camp Host if there is room. He looks a tad confused, says, yeah, there's only two others camping, you make three. I hesitate asking if I need to go on-line to make the reservation, but I pay my fee for two days, $14 each, and he points out the outhouses - and I am being generous in description - as well he tells me there is no electric nor water. Well, there is a bin with water and a spigot, good too, you can really drink it, he says.

So. We will go at it primitive this weekend. Cool. Quickly set up tent, jump in the car, have maybe another hour before sunset and go to visit the fair. It is small-town, which is its heart and charm. I meet couple of folks, suggest I might come and paint in the morning, do I understand there is a Farmer's Market here tomorrow? Yes, and you should go meet that person there, is the organizer. Okay. She is very nice, says how nice it will be to have me painting tomorrow. See how NICE everybody is? Cool. Too late for Safeway, don't want to cook, a Mexican food joint across the street. It is delicious! Two beers and well.... welcome to Show Low.

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“A man paints with his brains and not with his hands.” – Michelangelo

“Painting is easy when you don’t know how, but very difficult when you do.” – Edgar Degas

“Too many people like this painting… it must be bad.” - Francisco Goya

“The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don’t dare reveal.” – Elia Kazan

“The task of art today is to bring chaos into order.” – Theodor Adorno

Jeffrey Baumgartner

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