After a while it seemed -extravagant? to keep the place for occasional visits throughout the year, so we decided to put it up for sale. We doled out the estate as best we could, divvying up most items and donating the rest.
My folks were very good at supporting me throughout the years and had bought several paintings which resulted in an ample collection that got disbursed to various family members. There were a couple of artworks that did not get picked during the "lottery" we concocted. They were unclaimed early and crude works by a very young artist- me. So I took them and planned to toss them in with other crappy artwork of mine when I have a Crappy Art Bonfire.
One painting however seemed to beg for attention.
Refrigerator Art
I painted an oil when I was 15 and my folks kept it in the same manner as many parents do, only this piece was not slapped on the refrigerator door with magnets. It hung on the walls of all three of their Alamosa homes miraculously surviving each move (where it could have gotten conveniently overlooked, misplaced). I really never asked what they thought about it and maybe it just faded from everyone's awareness like a an old carpet stain.
In 1967 when I was 15 I signed up for art camp. It was also a music camp sponsored by the six counties of the San Luis Valley called Camp Bristol. They sequestered us valley kids on a dude ranch above the mountain town of Creede. We were housed in large platform tents with a mess hall and bath house. During the course of the week the art kids were taught painting at various locations. We piled into a bus and were taken to places to paint on location- my first plein air experience although the Russian instructor did not call it that. Can't remember his name now. (His assistant I do remember- Nancy Christensen. Her father was Mark Hatfield an excellent graphite artist and teacher at Adams State College who also taught my wife Cynthia when she was doing her graduate work there. Nancy ended up teaching music to our daughter at Polston Elementary in Alamosa. Small world,no?)
One trip took us to Lake City, a cozy town in the midst of the great San Juan Mountains, like Creede. I remember the adventure distinctly. Another kid and I dispersed from the drop-off point to explore possible subject matter in the town for our watercolor kit that we had for that day. We came upon a couple girls our age in a city park and talked them into letting us paint them- as in directly on their skin. Although our preferential painting surface was obvious we settled on painting their arms and shoulders with patterns and symbols, etc.
Being hormonally distracted we lost track of time and got back late to the rendezvous point. The bus had already left so we sat there wondering what to do. Soon the bus returned for us (fake out), we got yelled at and then headed back to the ranch.
The trip to Creede resulted in the painting I am talking about. I found an old two story hotel-looking structure that was all weathered and decrepit posing under the brilliant blue sky of the alpine domain.
I was taught what I call Fat-Brush technique in this art camp where you use larger brushes to paint, even to indicate details. It is very common for beginners to want to paint small and use dinky brushes and our teacher offered only large brushes and canvases.
Other things I learned at art camp:
A rock guitar riff from Jim Lamb whose band played at the camp culmination dance;
A lengthy dirty monologue about the kingdom of Xerxes; and-
It is forbidden to make-out with the daughter of a Mormon bishop behind the mess tent.
My High School Art Teacher
When school was back in, my art teacher wanted me to put in a painting for the local all-high school show, so I showed him my Creede painting. He suggested that I do some alterations and being the student, I followed his suggestions and altered the piece accordingly.
Jake Charlifu was my high school art teacher and a pivotal mentor along my art journey. Mr. Charlifu, "Chief", taught and spurred me into art as a profession not so much in rote technique but more in attitude and mental state. One day he asked me what art was and wanted a response the next day. My brilliant young mind came up with "Anything that comes out of Man." The next day he stared at me through his thick glasses, took a beat and spit onto the floor. " Is that Art?" Still looking for the answer.
Jake was primarily a potter and when I thought about it these many years later I know he was trying to teach me composition and color relation in my painting. But that 15 year old young artist felt mislead, something which I realized I still carried with me as I dusted off the painting decades later.
Restoring the Painting
When I hear about restoring a painting I think of a technician in a lab cleaning an old masterpiece under a magnified lens with exotic solvents. When I took hold of the Creede painting and took a good look at it, I decided to restore it in a different sense. To restore it to the vision when I first painting it.
I remembered the most striking thing for me at the time was the intensity of the pure blue sky on that bright and clear summer day at 9500 feet above sea level. If you have not seen that before it is hard to explain- if you have seen that alpine blue- you know what I am talking about.
Well, my art teacher suggested I mellow out the sky to harmonize it with the brown of the building. I protested that the contrast of the old weathered brown building against the vivid sky was a key feature. I mixed up a wash and muted the sky with dull browns.
He also wanted me to alter the rocks in the left foreground- they looked like potatoes ( he was right about that). There was a low rock wall of river stones that came out from the hotel so I put them in, attempting to show the view from a ground level perspective- it did not come off as such. So I altered them as well- putting in a splotch of white (I thereafter thought it looked like a big bird poop) to break up the potato shape and plopped in a pine tree in front of the rocks to obscure them.
Those alterations complete, I entered it into the show and brought it home afterwards, to hang in that state for the next 52 years.
Back to the Future
When I drug the orphan painting up to my studio and leaned it against the wall, I decided that even if it ended up in the Crappy Art Bonfire it should be in a restored state- restored back to my 15-year-old vision. It could then transition into ash with dignity? honor? I know, weird.
I could still see some of the pure blue of the original along the margins and matched that in a light overlay- a cobalt-ultramarine mix. I then scraped and sanded out the pine tree that I had plopped in front of the rocks. I could distinctly tell from the paint and brush application that this was an angry little tree.
I blended the transition of the restored to the original trying to match the technique of the young artist. In a sense I was forging a work based on the evident execution- a peculiar time warping. This was me but then again not. Certainly my "mature" brain did not recall the exact thought process from a half century ago.
So what did I think of the painting now? It was certainly not the work of some prodigal genius. It was high school art. But now it felt somehow lighter, relieved. An artist friend remarked that she could see semblance of my current technique in the primitive handling of paint. I liked that although the windows were uniform in reality the painting had them slightly different sizes from each other.
But, as seems to be true with all my creations, I am still too close to be truly objective. Perhaps in another 50 years?
Finally restored or reverted, the piece was now ready for ...... what? A new home or a match?
I also knew that the building had been purchased by the Creede Repertory Theater (CRT), was restored (not unlike the painting) and was now boarding actors and theater associates.
I had an errant thought that I could donate the painting to the Theater if they were so inclined.
New Home
During Labor Day weekend I was doing a painting demo at the C.Waters Gallery in Creede where I have been showing and selling my work for many years. I met Brandon Davis from the CRT and as we chatted I blurted out my idea. Brandon thought it would be a great donation. I cautioned him to not commit until I sent him a pic of the painting. Even then- the CRT said they would take it. They were very thoughtful to allow me to present the painting in a little lobby ceremony topped off by a wonderful play performance of "Hazardous Materials" which Cindy and I enjoyed immensely. Thank you CRT.
I am glad that the painting now hangs in the CRT offices.
Somewhere in the time continuum, a 15-year-old fledgling painter is also smiling.
