A Painter's Musings on the Visual World

I remember my grandmother reflecting in her last years that she had ridden on a stagecoach and seen man land on the moon. What a remarkable span of years. On the 50^th anniversary of the moon landing we have thousands of times more computing power in our pockets than the astronauts had aboard Apollo 11.  As I write this my husband Roger is on a 49-foot boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I can watch their progress on my cell phone in the mountains of New Mexico tracked via satellite over the internet and get instant emails from aboard that moving vessel.  As equipped as the boat is with every possible safety precaution, I imagine the worst, even though my husband assures me he is not a risk-taker. He rides every roller coaster there is and I have a hard time controlling my anxiety on Splash Mountain in Disney World. He did once tell me he would go into space if he had the chance.  I’m not going to call his bluff. 

Winslow Homer, Eastern Point Light

Roger's Alma Mater is Purdue University, called the “cradle of astronauts”, with 25 astronaut alumni to their credit. It was there at an alumni event some years ago that we met Neil Armstrong.  Roger was talking to Neil about his decision to choose Mechanical Engineering instead of Armstrong’s major of Aeronautical Engineering. The first man on the moon asked my husband his profession and Roger explained that he ended up being a homebuilder. “The world needs homebuilders too.” Armstrong replied graciously. And he was right.  We all cannot be astronauts or sail across oceans, or be homebuilders for that matter.

Perhaps it is that graciousness and humility that strikes me as part of a bygone era. When I think of the world 50 years ago, of impossible tasks realized and families riveted around small black and white screens to watch history in the making, I think of truly great human beings who were regular people, who did what they did then came home to lead quiet lives. I cannot understand what it takes to be an astronaut - to say goodbye to your family, climb on top of a rocket, be blasted into space not knowing if you will return. They are a strange mix of daredevil and meticulous engineer with a deeper confidence in their own ability than I can fathom. 

Larry Moore,  Atlantis, 20 x 20

We can’t all be painters either. It took a special set of skills for Larry Moore to capture the final launch of Atlantis from life. Before the launch he planned the painting: the position of the shuttle and the launch tower, all of which had to be accurately drawn. The sky colors of early morning and evening shadows still on the ground, leaving room for the plume which he had only seconds to capture. It is sort of a remarkable accomplishment and he did it while being surrounded by onlookers.

 Joaquin Sorolla, Bathing Time

If I were to compare Neil Armstrong to a painter it would be Sorolla.  Sorolla had a family, he collected ceramics and he loved his kids. He was not just some crazy genius – he was a fairly normal guy.  Outside of that, I imagine Neil Armstong and Joaquin Sorolla would be incomprehensible to each other, each of their achievements equally unimaginable to the other.

Jane Chapin,  Searching for Misty, 9 x 12

As painters we can see this in our own circle of non-painter friends and family who struggle to grasp how we do what we do. Even when we teach and we break it down to basics, to some it will always be smoke and mirrors.  They will try to find a magic brush or the perfect brand of paint. But unlike a moon landing, we do not have to get it right on the first try.  If there is a magic secret, it is work - trying and failing and trying again. It's not death defying and it's not rocket science. It's just work, even when we love it.

In my studio I contemplate putting a new color on my palette – my  risk-averse idea of living on the edge.  I have a drawer full of really amazing colors I have never opened – saved for that moment when I feel my wings.