In 2019, I backpacked over La Crosse Pass in Olympic National Park. It’s remote; no matter how you approach the pass, it takes two days of hiking just to get there. Because my goal is to hike every trail in the park, I needed to cross this pass off my list.
As I approached the pass from Honeymoon Meadows, the clouds were swirling on the peaks above. At the pass itself, the fog moved in and softened the outline of trees and rocks just before the rain began. I took a photo to commemorate the moment.
I painted this scene three times, trying to get the effect of the jagged rocks against the misty background. I’ll let you decide which one you prefer.
I think I prefer #3. I didn’t know about your pass challenge. What a wonderful way to spend time, get exercise, and be with nature. I hope we see more results from your hikes.
Thanks, Warren. I’m finding it more difficult to hike as I age. My fatigue level, especially in the afternoon, is limiting me. Maybe I won’t reach the entire goal. But close!
I’m wondering what goes through YOUR mind when you evaluate the three!
Thanks, for asking, Nancy. Unfortunately, I don’t see a lot of progress from number one to number three. There are elements in each that I like. The foreground rocks are better in two, the rockslide is better in three, the background trees in one, and the figure is better in number three.
In watercolors, my initial painting is often the most fresh and lively, because I’m working it out as I go. The later paintings improve a bit in composition and brushwork, but suffer the loss of spontaneity.
I just found your reply on this foggy morning in Hoodsport, where, from my computer, I can see nothing of Hood Canal but the top two-thirds of three old evergreens out my Canal-side window. If I lean back a little in my swivel chair, I can see what people call “the vacant lot” outside my left window, including most of the huge old gnarly (leafless) apple tree on the far side of the lot, and the tips of a few pale yellow blossoms of the dogwood tree on the left, near my house.. No wildlife or humans anywhere out there, that I can see.
As I look at your paintings, I am wishing I could be standing there and seeing what you see out on the trail– and/or seeing your paintings emerge! The whole process interests me very much. I paint wet-on-wet, and think of painting as mostly an intuitive process. In my case, I have no idea what will emerge, or how, or when, and I am not conscious of evaluating my work as I go. Also I don’t know what the paint will do as it dries, but sometimes I notice that, in some parts, the paint is a little wetter, or thicker, than other parts, and it feels as if they are inviting me to stop painting and sprinkle a tiny bit of table salt between my thumb and forefinger in some of those areas. Sometimes, also, I feel an urge to just stop painting and walk out of the room, or even out of the house so that I don’t let the part of me that might add something have its say. My favorite part is to come back in a few hours, and see what the painting and the salt did without me. I feel as if each painting “has a mind of its own” once it gets going. (This is how I approach my pottery also. The firing is the main artist, and I am just its assistant.)