Mile 359

 This is a post about process. There is a finished product and there is the process, just as there is a destination and a journey (that initially seems long, but with audio books and coffee on hand, nine hours in human travel time to get to a completely different view is really pretty amazing.)

This particular journey was to Breckenridge, Colorado last month, a wonderful respite in the mountains, with beautiful scenery and great food. And horses and bike riding and adorable chipmunks. But that is not what I painted. 

Instead, on the way back home we grabbed some Subway sandwiches on the edge of Raton and drove a few miles down the road to park and enjoy them in that most socially distanced of places, that stretch from Raton to the Texas border, where the last of the mountains slowly melt back into the plains, and an extinct volcano stands nearby (Capulin monument) to remind us of a long gone, ancient time. (this photo is from 2016 but extinct volcanoes don't change much in four years)

It was a quiet, hazy day, the haze due to the smoke from the California fires drifting eastward, and I shot two photos with my camera. The first photo became a small painting, Near Raton, that was sold to a friend, but the second photo also beckoned so I bought a larger, landscape oriented canvas and began painting another moment of the lure of the open road, Mile 359. I wonder where Mile 1 began?

The second painting took longer and was reworked many times. Here is the photo:

The beginning:

More brushstrokes. At this point looking back I actually like this roughed out version. It has energy and life and a sense of the actual journey, especially in the close-up.

Then I started refining and detailing.

And then glazing, reworking, glazing, reworking, stepping away, coming back, reworking. The process was not as fun at this point. My eyes were as glazed as my painting. But eventually I had to call time and decide it was done. Maybe.

This painting took longer than nine hours but coffee was involved.