My Short-Lived Career As A French Impressionist Painter - IWAS

Monet, Renoir, Bazille, Pissarro, Cézzane. I think spending one's time as a great painter would be a pretty awesome life. At least in this day and age.

Nature morte avec Tacoma -Garé

Still Life With Tacoma - Parked

Reading about the Great French Masters of Impressionism is fascinating, and though their fame and fortunes were varied, most managed to fully enjoy the perks that go along with such artful notoriety. Admirers of all gender followed them about, they enjoyed large versions of their works on famous gallery walls, and spent time with good friends, painting “en plein air.” French for “in plain air.”

A fancy term in a way-cool language for the enjoyable practice of painting while sitting/standing/lying about in the great outdoors. The whole premise behind en plein air is to capture the conditions surrounding you at the very moment they unfold in front of your easel'd canvas. I think that would be the best way to go about pursuing the art of this Art.

And many of the French Masters seemed pretty adept at creating these types of scenes. I've been very impressed with their work in multiple museum visits throughout my life. Borrowing others' characterizations here... "their work is noted for open compositions, emphasizing movement as an element of human perception and experience, and depicting light and it's various, ever-changing qualities, all the while captured through thin, visible brush strokes."

Yes, they really knew what they were doing. And yet, as is the case with many artists in this life, some were not as “successful” as one might expect, during their lifetimes. How sad it is that often we have to expire before our time is due, before gaining fame for what we have stamped well upon this earthly travail.

Then again, most of us will remain as unknown after our stay is complete, much as we were during the journey. Such is the way of life. Yet, there is always a chance to become known for SOMETHING.

La Grande Inondation - Station-service d'essence

The Big Flood - Gasoline Filling Station

I think I could actually do this. And though the only French I know seems to come out late at night when I stub my toe on the bed frame, and I cant' cook worth...but sure can cook...beans, I do like this style of painting. These works of art that boast of “not too much fine-line detail” in their makeup, end up being a great characteristic of accomplishment for we less-than-Masterly artists. Also, I have been told I make a good first impression upon interpersonal introduction. I think all these things combined may help qualify me for this future role as an Impressionist.

There is, however, a slight problem regarding this whole painting thing. All the major brushwork I've done to date is “hanging” on the sides of my garage, with splintery T-111 as my canvas. If only grandiose size and human sweat and perseverance were a measure of great artistic endeavors.

If so, I'd be right up there with all these French Masters. But somehow, mural-sized garage walls in Window Glaze-Putty Brown just don't whiz-bang the critics. I could toss hand-fulls of egg yolks like the old days, and viridian or cadmium yellow into the can of Sherwin-Williams, and the thing would STILL turn out to be a well-painted, light-brown garage.

That's why I've decided to head in another direction in pursuit of this new endeavor. I know I've heard SOMEWHERE...that if you don't have the proper tools, or skill set, or time and inclination to learn said-skill set, or all of these qualities in an artist-wannabe combinational stew... just use what you've got.

And my small camera is about all I've got, in the way of this painting thing. And By Eureka, it works! See for yourself.

La Grande Inondation - Le Hungry Hereford, tout ce que vous pouvez manger Emporium

The Big Flood - The Hungry Hereford, All You Can Eat Emporium

A brief bit of art history. This whole thing started a few months back. I was riding shotgun in my friend's Subaru, off to somewhere now long forgotten, when she suddenly veered left across traffic, bumped hard into the local Grocery Market parking lot, slammed on the brakes, and announced, “I forgot something or other I need at home, hope you don't mind.” She glanced over and said she'd just be a second...more as a statement of afterthought than an apology...as she popped the door latch and hopped out of the car.

“You coming in”?
I glanced up at the darkening skies. “No, it's starting to rain.”
“It's sprinkling!!!!”
“I'm OK here...I'll sit and pursue further dryness.”
She smirked, “Suit yourself, I'll just be a minute.”

I could swear I heard a slight, breathed response as the door closed hard behind her. Possibly it was only the rush of the wind against the rubber door jamb, or wind-tossed branch-swishing of the now bending Sweetgum trees, stuffed randomly into the parking islands beyond, but either way, it sure sounded a lot like a whispered “weather wuss”, as the door slammed shut behind her. I'm sure it was just the wind in the trees.

As she headed across the lot, the wind picked up steam, and the rain began to blot out visibility through the side windows. She quickly took off into a dead run toward the supermarket doors.

I felt a bit more vindicated concerning my new, wind-born nomenclature, as the skies fully opened up, well before she entered the store. Sprinkle schminkle, this was a full-on deluge! Large, domesticated house-mammals tumbling from the sky couldn't hold a candle to what was falling on the vehicle by now.

Gomme sucrée sous une averse torrentielle

Sweet gum In Torrential Downpour

Boredom in the front seat set in rapidly. I sat there, poking around with the AC vent and other controls, with little else to do but poke about at the AC vents and other controls, since she had omitted leaving me the ignition keys and the all-important 'accessory' radio key setting.

I very briefly contemplated one of those annoying, sophomoric tricks of old, turning everything “on” within vehicular reach, just to get a rise out of her when she finally got back and started the vehicle once more, but reason and maturity soon put that idea to rest. Plus she would probably slug me when the car started.

Looking up from messing about with the dash, I noted that the rain was REALLY coming down. In sheets of wind-born waves of rain. Huge-mongous cat and dog stuff. And with it, the constant river of runoff down the windshield and side windows. The painterly visuals I beheld coming at me through the windows smacked me like an artistic Mackerel fish.

All the items less fortunate than myself, getting very very wet beyond the vehicle cab, looked incredibly surreal through the rain-streamed glass. They reminded me of the French Impressionist paintings I'd seen in all those museums of old. “Ooh, en plein air”...said with best French accent. I suppose “en plein vehicula're air”, would be more exact.

But at least it was dry in THIS open air. This could work...no need to get out and take all that 'art in the true outdoor's' stuff TOO seriously. I was just fine in the dry, warm front seat.

Ample stationnement, pas d'attente – Suburbia en arrière-plan

Ample Parking, No Waiting - Suburbia In Background

Grabbing my carry camera, I started clicking away. Several decent images were captured, but all too soon the wind died down, the clouds shriveled up, and my clear-view watery canvas waned as quickly as it had sprung up. Unfortunately, everything outside the windows went back to artistic, semi-boring once again.

I was happily viewing my short lived new enterprise on the LCD screen, when a huge, dark mass suddenly appeared outside the driver-side window. My friend swung the door wide and huffily jumped in beside me, wetter than a nutria stuffed in a drainpipe.
“You were smart to stay in the car!”

A fact not lost on me, as she wrung her shirt sleeves out onto the floorboards beneath her feet, and started the vehicle. We drove off, weaving our way back out into the traffic and beyond, and wherever it was we were going at the time. I sat there, looking at my images, grinning like a Cheshire as the sun peeked through the clouds once more.
“What are you looking at?”
“Just some photos I took while you were getting soaked.”

She didn't seem all that impressed. But I was. What Masterpieces! What ART!! The French Impressionists have nothing on me. Time to get them out to the world. My future is set. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get a 200 gallon water tank in the trunk, with 12 volt pump attached, run hoses up to the sprinkler system taped above the windows, and then spend my time driving all over creation taking pictures through the “rain curtain”, just like the en plein air French Masters.

Something tells me it might be easier to take a few art lessons and learn to paint like the Impressionists instead.