Trauma du jour, averted. Day 13, Nov 13, 2009

Friday the 13th. Which I’ve always, contrariwise, maintained was a good luck day for me. And it was, as my lost Fed Ex package, for which I paid 4 times the actual cost to have two-day shipping and which I desperately needed to get on with painting, was found at the Beatty Merc, having been accepted-by-signature by friend George, who owns the place. Fed Ex called at 7:55 this morning to tell me that the package, which I had reported (in a rather heated manner) as not having been delivered in spite of their tracking record saying it had, was at the “Lost River Trading Company.” This is actually the Beatty Mercantile, but Fed Ex hasn’t updated its records, nor its delivery personel, since last February. But we knew what the LRTC really was and George was just waiting for Jer to show up for groceries to hand it to him.

I could get to work with a full bottle of Liquin:

I use Liquin instead of linseed oil because it dries faster and therefore enables the inept painter to cover up errors more quickly. I brought what I thought was an ample supply, but I didn’t really know enough about the linen and its capability for absorption to work the surface properly. So my supply was depleted, and my first Fed Ex delivery was coming from Wisconsin via China and will arrive next week. Hence the panic about the missing second-day air shipment (with extra costs for hazardous materials). I was imagining losing a full 9 days of working time, and that pushed me to a meltdown worthy of a 3 year old. Luckily Jer averted his eyes.

I also found a bit more titanium white among my supplies; for some reason I brought a lot of zinc white but neglected the titanium. Zinc is a cool white; titanium is a warmer color, and more importantly, is the most opaque of the whites. Finding a bit more was a coup. Next week, when my shipment from Dick Blick in Wisconsin via China arrives, I’ll have a new titanium white to work with.

The non-Soho paints also represent an advance from the Soho paints, which are big tubes full of lots of filler. As they should be, having been bought for so little money. But it’s a bit of relief to have “real” pigment with its greater oomph.

So, after retrieving the Liquin package from George, who chided me for not stopping in more often, I spent the rest of the day getting paint on the Linen panels. They now are fully covered with something.

It’s time to begin painting. There’s a long way to go yet, but not as far as it was yesterday. I am planning on working the skies first (the mountains get worked continuously, as I paint other things) and then re-tack all the panels up about 2 feet and work the desert basin floor. I will be sure to have another adult nearby as I move the panels, because I don’t fancy falling off the ladder without someone to cart me off to the emergency room. The studio is a fine and  private place, but none, do there, I think, have a cell phone that works.

I am also learning about painting on these linen panels, particularly using odorless mineral spirits (the substitute for turpentine). The Gamsol mineral spirits are less toxic than Turps and a lot less smelly. They also can be used to cover an area much more evenly, and that seems a real advantage. I can add the detail and the thick paint later; now I just need paint all over the linen — it”s a bit like putting on primer on a precious wall in one’s house.  I’ll undoubtedly find out how I’ve gone wrong as I continue the process.

Late in the day, Richard Stephens  dropped by with another pentatonic flute, this one with a drone — sort of  like a flute bagpipe, where the undertone is a constant bass. Richard can control the amount of drone included in his melodies. I think I need one, but probably without the drone.

As I was looking at the far distance down the Amargosa desert, I saw a bit of blue glow and I swear I heard one of the flute notes that Richard played the other day. His showing up today confirms it — I need to have a pentatonic flute to keep my spirits up as the weather turns chilly.

Other than that, the sun shone, the temps dropped a bit but so long as I kept the north and east doors closed, the sun warmed the studio through the big south doors. The mountains continued their mysterious changes, and I am keeping my exercise gups up trotting back and forth from painting to door to see how this or that slope goes which direction. And where those blasted shadows are now.

Reporting, as usual, from Goldwell House, in Beatty Nevada, which is much warmer than the Barn. But much less picturesque.