Blog
Who hasn't heard this winter called 'The Winter that Wouldn't End'! We've experienced it. Today that winter is joy. Truth telling here: I missed the two biggest snow storms of the winter, one in December and one last week, having been in Grandson Land at the time of the storms. That being said, the abundance of winter has endeared itself to me: its intense sun, its enlivening cold, its angry oceans, its sharp colors. Painting with fellow artists and a few souls who pass by and stop to chat is a delight.
Yesterday five of us painted at the Abol Bridge entrance to Baxter Park. We were treated to Katahdin's full sun face, crisp sky, and Abol Stream beginning to wake from her winter ice. We left the Bangor area at 8:30, saying again to each other, "Why are we doing this? If it weren't for fellow artists, we would likely each be at home working in warm studios." We encouraged each other and knew that, if nothing else, the day would be an adventure. That it was!
The trail to Baxter Park entrance at Abol was well packed by previous adventurers. Of course I had to try to go off trail to paint next to a large pine tree... bad idea. With my circa 1963 Camptrails pack filled with paint supplies, my wet paint carrier in hand, and the snow shoes still in the truck, stepping off the trail was absurd. It ended as I moved toward a depression in the land and went up to my hip in snow. Fortunately there was a lovely little maple tree near me which I used to pull myself up and retreat back to the trail with a somewhat swimming motion. Off-trail adventure tried and failed, I opted to stay in packed areas to set up my gear. Fellow painters had already figured that out. Throughout the day as we were bathed in light and the quiet, the experience of painting there was totally encompassing.
I am reminded of a comment in Robert Henri"s book Art Spirit when he talks about the experience of painting:
"I can think of no greater happiness than to be clearsighted and know the miracle when it happens. And I can think of no more real life than the adventurous one of living and liking and exclaiming the things of one's own time."
Yesterday we were doing just that.
Check out Michael Vermette's blog about the adventure http://michaelevermette.com/blog/73274/the-plein-air-connection-newsletter-march-18th-2014
The alarm clock went off early yesterday morning. Checking the outside thermometer and finding a temperature of 4 degrees, my thought was to go back to bed and skip plein air painting for the day. A phone call from friend and fellow painter, Michael Vermette, confirmed that we both had some reluctance to go out in the cold... but we decided to give it a try. What a great decision! Three of us met up in Bangor to car pool to Acadia National Park, with the intent of hiking to Great Head to paint. We added two more in Ellsworth and kept on going.
Bundling up for cold weather painting is a hoot. How many layers can one put on without being so stuffed that 1. you can't hike and 2. you can't paint when you arrive at the destination. I had four progressively warmer layers on my top, bottom, feet, hands and head! Add then the back pack with painting supplies... Well it is fun and challenging and reminds one that summer painting is a breeze in comparison.
We parked just off the Schooner Head Road and followed the closed park road to the Great Head Trail. There we were encouraged, for a moment, that others had been on the trail and broken it out for walking. The moment soon transformed itself into concern for footing as the trail became icy... Three of us stopped along the way to paint... thus the name of this painting, 'Along the trail to Great Head'. The fact that we didn't reach the planned destination was of no concern as we were treated to the winter sun and sea, solid rocks with snow cover, and clear, crisp air. We had been rewarded by the decision of the early morning.
February 4 dawned cold and bright. A few hardy souls decided to paint near the reversing falls in Blue Hill. With Alison Dibble as a guide, we met at the Trade Winds store in Blue Hill at 9:00 AM and headed out to paint. This boat house, the snow, and the ice floes caught the morning sun with their reflections on the still water. I was drawn to the simplicity and quiet of the place where I stood to paint.
In the afternoon I turned 180 degrees around and was treated to the sun from the west, playing on the other end of the cove. The quality of the light had changed, as had the tide, but the experience of being in that changing environment on a winters day remained spectacular. This little study emerged in the late afternoon. I finished it as the sun was setting and the light was disappearing quickly. 
With each painting that day I was captured by the magical feel of the place and, even more, by the feel of being outside in the sun and the air and the deep quiet. Nuggets of gold are the menu at the feast of painting. One can be filled to overflowing at that feast!
