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When I was a teenager, I would often free climb on the mountain beyond our house in Yosemite Valley. My siblings, cousins and friends had been climbing cliffs and boulders our whole lives, and I thought I was pretty good at it. It seemed to be an easy trip up, looking for hand and footholds, using cracks, pits, pocks, vegetation or whatever to hoist myself up higher and higher. Once the objective is reached you simply retrace your steps, right? Well sometimes. Climbing on the north side of the valley, somewhere near North Dome Gully, I wasn't paying attention. Paying attention is an important attribute in any pursuit. You might get some skin off your nose if it is in a book(or nowadays texting) and walk into a tree, but usually don't get a serious or fatal injury. My brother Matt, who was an awesome athlete and climber when young, once told me that it was climbing that taught him how to really pay attention. Another way of putting it may be to be mindful, to be in the moment. He never left checking his gear to his climbing partner. He always always checked it himself. That has served him well I am sure, through all his years of fishing the wild Alaskan waters in his and his wife Ceri's little boat, the Helen A. 

North Dome Gully isn't a picnic hike, like going up the Mist Trail, or the Four Mile Trail.  Not a real trail, it is more of a scramble than a hike, and it is easy to get off route if you are not mindful. So; seventeen years old, athletic and in good shape, I started off alone one summer afternoon. It was fortunate that it was summer with its long light days. Did I tell anyone where I was going? No, I didn't. I loved pitting myself against the mountain, conquering it a piece at a time. Being outside, being young, being unafraid, it was all so glorious. Everything was swell until I noticed that I had somehow gotten in a place where I could not see how to proceed, either up or down. Hmmm....what to do? Break open the gorp or trail mix to the uninitiated. So I sat on that ledge for hours, eating gorp and watching the shadows move across the canyon announcing the wan of the day. Though summer, it was beginning to get cold. I did not fancy spending the night there without gear, food, water, or another soul knowing where I was. This was the moment of reckoning. I looked at the chasm between the ledge I was on, and freedom, about 5 or 6 feet across. Loving sports, I had participated in events like the running broad jump, 100-yard dash, and more. The trouble with this situation was the 800 or so vertical feet of air between me and the rocks below, no chance to build up speed and momentum, and a chance that I wouldn't make it. Soooo...I jumped with my heart in my mouth, and made it! Whew! That wasn't so bad. 

  Sometimes you have to take risks to save your life, and, if you pay attention, the best path may reveal itself to you if you don't panic. This can be true in big ways as well as small. When my children were little, I switched from oils to pastel, thinking it would be a safer and quicker medium. Although I enjoyed pastel for many years, I missed oil, but I was in a rut. I felt like a rank beginner, having been away from them for so long. Nonetheless, I am loving oil again, and loving my paintings. Is there something you want to do, somewhere you want to go? What is holding you back? If you are ledged out, and can't go up or down, maybe it is time for that wild leap

Today is my mother’s birthday. She was born 93 years ago in the little town of Groveland California, where her Dad headquartered as the Doctor on the Hetch Hetchy project. Hetch Hetchy, from the Miwok word hatchhatchie, meaning edible grass, is the name of a valley in Yosemite National Park, drained by the Tuolumne River. It was dammed and flooded in 1923 to accommodate San Francisco’s water and power needs.

Helene Angela Degnan, known as Nell, grew up in Yosemite Valley, raised by her dad, Dr. John P. Degnan, aunt Mary Ellen, and paternal grandparents, John and Bridget Degnan. It was a magical childhood she and her sisters enjoyed. They spent summers at play by the Merced River observing nature close at hand. Later this was shared with us, her children, who played by that same river.

Of course, a parent has many influences on a child. Beyond food, shelter and etiquette, my mother made all seven of us deep lovers of nature. It has manifested itself in many ways, coming out in poetry, music art, and lifestyle. She noticed things like light rimming leaves heavy with dew, turning them into jewels. On our many walks around Yosemite Valley, we learned the names of trees, flowers, birds, and rocks. Mom knew all the Miwok Indian legends about Yosemite, and where many of the grinding rocks were in the woods by our house near the chapel.

My mother always made sure I had plenty of art supplies. She bought reproductions of famous paintings and hung them around our house. We had place mats that were copies of Renoir, Van Gogh, Pissarro, and other artists whose work she loved.

Today the world is very different from my parent’s era. It is different again from my childhood. Things are speeding up at a dizzying rate. Still, there are constants that are markers. Markers in that they remind us who we are. For me it is going back to the river, recalling those nature walks with my family when we were little, and basking in that glow. 

The last conversation I had with my mom was on the phone. She was in a sterile hospital room describing to me the birds and flowers she saw out her window, and the Sierra with cumulus clouds gathering over them that dark August day.  She was unfailingly kind, gracious, and a child of nature. 

 This past week my brother Peter came north to visit us. We took time to do things that we did all the time as kids. Explore! An archeology site in the high desert across the state line in Nevada is about 2 hours away. Pretty remote, over some rough dirt roads, the 7,000 year old petroglyphs give pause. It is fascinating to imagine the lives of people who made this rock art. Obsidian shards are scattered across the ground, vestiges of tools made for survival. Did the maker contemplate the beauty of the form, appreciate the emerging knife or point in aesthetic terms? As a kid climbing around caves near our house in Yosemite Valley I remember seeing orange circles drawn on rocks. Made by human hands like the grinding stones all over the woods where we played, they were remnants of past lives.

There is a thread stretching across the centuries between those art makers and  todays. Why did they make art? Was it for decoration, a pleasant pastime? “Petroglyphs are powerful cultural symbols that reflect the complex societies and religions of the surrounding tribes,” is what the website for Petroglyph National Monument in New Mexico states. There are many recurring symbols in the rock art. Geometric patterns, and human and animal figures are common. They tell stories. Is that the main purpose of art, to tell stories?

Before recorded history, storytelling was a major form of communication. It carries the seeds of cultures going back to their geneses. In my own Celtic roots the Seanachai, or storyteller is a very important member of the society. Humans are hardwired to be attuned to stories. Art is a visual language. Each painter, sculptor, designer or creator of any kind has their own particular spin. Certain themes and currents may run through an artwork indicative of the time and cultural influences the artist lives in, but there is something in the work that is unique to an individual.

I believe art exists in all kinds of ways in our contemporary society. It is in the skylines of cities, and little county parks. The way someone like my husband plants flowers amongst the lava rock walls he built is an artform. I recall my children engrossed in building their castles and villages in the sand along the Merced River. All the while they talked to themselves and each other, telling stories, making sense of their place in the world. What is your artform? How do you make sense of your place in the world?

On long trips I enjoy listening to books on tape. Lately it has been Harry Potter for the third or fourth time. I think there are many valuable insights in this series. J.K. Rowling is a genius at depicting adolescent behaviors, and human foibles.  One of the many refreshing things about Harry Potter is its lack of over the top preoccupation with safety. In our culture, I have noticed  “be safe” has become a very common farewell, replacing “have a great time.” It seems we are becoming a world of wusses. In HP, a great game of Quidditch involves flying at breakneck speeds on brooms, dodging bludgeons, and, in general, having a rousing good time. There are no overprotective helicopter parents at the Quidditch match!

In many areas being safe can insidiously seep into your expression, whatever it may be. Art is susceptible. I think it should be actively resisted. It is easy to slip into a formula of creating that meets with the approval of the majority. History has shown that to be the case. The Salon des Independants was established in Paris in 1884 in response to the rigid traditionalism of the official government-sponsored annual exhibit. Paul Cezanne, Paul Gauguin, Toulouse-La Trec, Camille Pissarro and other now well-known and admired artists, established the annual exhibit to present their work to the public with no restrictions. They didn’t want to be safe!

I am passionate about landscape painting because I love the land and grew up in the mountains. Landscape painting is currently a very popular genre, especially plein air, which is done outside. This has its pros and cons. The increased interest has also increased the amount of collectors seeking work, which is good for artists. The temptation to recreate a certain look over and over again is not. In all work, one does not want to remain stationary. Like a growing child, the spirit and body change with experience, nurturing, and time passing. The romantic notion of the artist pursuing his passion in all kinds of conditions is deeply embedded in the collective conscious. People are interested in stories, and that one seems to be among the most compelling. The American character was born on independence and pushing beyond barriers. That ideal is something I hope is inherent in my work.  Is not any pursuit more thrilling when not homogenized? What do you think? 

Moira Donohoe’s Art Blog/Special Places

There are special places, where everything seems right, where I feel in touch, and where I do good work. Last week while in one of those places, a terrific thunderstorm pummeled my little tent with wind and rain, but inside was cozy and dry. It held up to everything Mother Nature hurled my way. My backpack represents freedom, adventure and living close to the bone. Sky blue hiking boots carry me over rocks, creeks, and up and down mountains. Inside my backpack my pochade box holds all the art supplies I need for a few days. Small canvases and palette fit into the lid which also doubles for an easel. Paint, brushes and painting knives fit into the drawers. I love gear… gear for the outdoors, gear for painting…gear for life!

It is not always possible to be in these places, life calls with other responsibilities that need attention. Still, while there, there is no phone service or Wi-Fi, no deadlines, no obligations. What is there are wild canyons, granite domes and jagged peaks, chill glacial water, and soft green meadows fringed in dark forests of fir and pine. The experience isn’t just confined to the visual. There are scents that feel like coming home…sap, rain-washed air, wet sage, lupine, and river smells. The picture wouldn’t be complete without mention of the scolding squirrels and chipmunks, squawking jays, and wind in the trees.

Contrast deepens awareness...aloneness and companionship; mountains and desert; yin and yang. The company of family and friends is an anchor that keeps me grounded. One’s needs are met in company in different ways than what aloneness brings. Take morning coffee for example. At home I am so lucky to have it brought to me fragrant and hot as soon as I wake up, every day. While camping recently a friend had a steaming mug ready for me when I emerged from my tent blurry eyed. I sustain myself while alone with the ritual of making coffee, and that ritual is comforting and reassuring, and it makes me more appreciative of those things enjoyed in company. Much of life offers opportunities for contrast. I usually paint alone, but sharing the experience outdoors with friends adds a vital and uplifting dimension.

Sometimes when I am feeling stuck, I can bring myself to special places mentally. I put on gentle instrumental music, close my eyes and meditate on those soft meadows and glacial water, and the wind in the tree tops. It is a time out, a smaller but vital version of the experience of being there. In this way, I am there, wherever I am.

What about you? Do you have special places where everything seems right, where you feel in touch, and where you do good work? What do you do when you feel stuck?

Artists spend a great deal of time alone. Whether or not one is naturally inclined to enjoy solitude, some is necessary to develop talent, instill discipline, and hear the creative muse. Beside the requisite for aloneness, to achieve success as an artist and a human being, seeking the society of others is also necessary.  It is interesting that this duality which offers contrast and variety, is also responsible in part for varying degrees of anxiety in some artists, including myself. On the one hand, showing up to practice your art form on a regular basis, will not alone get your work before the public and potential collectors, but a good portion of waking hours have to be devoted to the process. On the other hand, spending too much time on the marketing aspects of an art career is a potential hazard to your practice. Because of the hours and hours put into output, and the intense focus required, it is sometimes very difficult to attend to the other aspects of an art career, such as going to openings, having open studios, giving talks, demonstrations and so on. It is easy to get stuck in a rut in your ivory tower and the ideal balance is constantly in flux and different for everyone.

 I attended a very special and unusual opening last week. Special because of the kindness and warmth of the gallery owners Carol and Glen Skooglund, the staff and art lovers; and unusual because the norm of wine, cheese, crackers and fruit were replaced by homemade ice cream and cookies. It was refreshingly different. First Street Gallery and Frame Company http://www.firststreetgalleries.com/ is in Turlock California, Stanislaus County about an hour and a half from our place in Mariposa County. The sweltering heat of July so good for the amazing produce and other crops produced in the San Joaquin Valley, wasn’t there the night of the opening. The ambient temperature was in the 70’s, and there was a breeze. The featured show was “California Paintings Mountains to Sea” and I was the featured artist. I came not knowing a soul and left tired, happy and with a sense of connection.

Sometimes openings are painful and awkward. You come not knowing anyone, and leave not knowing anyone. That is likely the main reason wine is served: to reduce anxiety, and encourage mingling and sales. Of course alcohol at art events could backfire as well. I have participated in art fairs where free wine tasting was featured on Saturday, and beer on Sunday. I did not notice an increase in art sales. I did notice an increase of crowds milling in front of artists booths, blocking access, leaving empty plastic cups and paper napkins on tables next to and sometimes on top of artwork on display, and had to conclude that they were there for the free booze, and not the art.

No matter what a person does, I think it is important to push the boundaries and get out of their comfort zone. Sometimes it is self-initiated, but often change is thrust upon a person. I have heard it said that the best leaders are those who don’t seek power, but of necessity are compelled to assume leadership. It isn’t much of a jump to apply this to pursuing dreams. Sometimes things show up in a life that are not seemingly connected to furthering goals, but in retrospect may have been an important step in a direction that a person needed to go to grow. In my life I can say that teaching has been a catalyst for growth for me. When I first made a decision to pursue my art, and be an artist, come what may at age 21, I had no idea where it would lead me, and what it really meant. I had the romantic notion that I would paint and be in nature to my heart’s content, and everything else would fall into place. In a sense that has come to be, but not in the way I had imagined. It is through teaching that Life is revealing itself to me in so many ways. When the opportunity to teach art for a college first presented itself, I was scared to death and very reticent to accept. I did go on to teach and have been doing so for 25 years, and I think it has made me a better artist if not person.

Moira Donohoe’s Blog

Outdoor (Plein Air) Painting

Painting outdoors or en Plein Air is enjoying huge popularity these days, but it is not a new phenomena. Extremely popular among artists it has also captured the collective imagination of the country. Since the French Impressionist in the later part of the 19^th Century began painting outdoors to capture the effects of light on form, painting in the open air has experienced ebbs and flows. It was avidly pursued on this side of the Atlantic in the later part of the 1800’s, and the early 20^th Century, and groups such as “The Society of Six” based mostly in Coastal California, and “The Canadian Seven” in Eastern Canada actively painted and promoted the art form. Santa Catalina Island off the southern California coast was and still is a hot spot for plein air painting. Many art groups around the country have their branch of ardent outdoor painters, such as Yosemite Western Artists based in Oakhurst California. www.yosemitewesternartists.org/  and the Modoc Plein Air Painters, www.facebook.com/groups/ModocPleinAirPainters/   www.alturasartcenter.com/  in Alturas California

Alturas is high desert country in north eastern California and quite different from the Yosemite area where I was raised and still live part time. Contrast can bring dynamism to a painting, so too perhaps to life. We had not been in Alturas long before I discovered the Art Center where I began teaching art classes through Lassen College.  Margo Curtis was the much loved and respected resident teacher who was retiring. She was a tough act to follow. The first class I taught at the Art Center for Lassen College was drawing.  About 18 people had signed up, and among the names was Margo Curtis! OMG! One of the staff there told me that one student was “the” Modoc County Arts Council, the county being so small in population that Ken did everything.  Well, I gave it my best shot, and today I count some of my good friends and colleagues from that group. The current exhibit at the Art Center Gallery is Modoc Plein Air Painters, The group began informally as friends who enjoyed painting together outside. Now we have a monthly date during the months that one can feasibly paint outdoors here. Subjects are varied from mountains, aspen groves, to sagebrush steppes, and we’ve planned painting trips to the coast, Sierra Nevada, and Southern Oregon, with thoughts of going further afield in the future. 

What child if given the opportunity wouldn’t love being out in nature smearing paint around on paper in response to the life around them. That’s the way my love affair with paint and brush began. I painted outside in the meadows of Yosemite as a child, and later took gear hiking on the high trails in the Sierra. Going outside to paint has its pros and cons. The biggest best thing to me is responding from the gut, in the moment, on the spot. Paintings done outside have a freshness that is sometimes lacking in studio paintings. They also are challenging at times. I personally have gone out in all kinds of weather, as have many die hard painters. It’s not always what I prefer, but it certainly makes you feel alive. Then there is the proverbial fly in the ointment which translates to fly in the paint, or mosquito, or gnat, or no see um. Once while teaching a pastel workshop in Yosemite, one student who paused to consider his work took a bite of his prussian blue instead of the granola bar he had in the other hand. Another time in another workshop, the same student spilled his entire palette of 200 or so pastels as he watched his easel somersault down the creek embankment it had been perched on. These are just a few of the possible occupational hazards. Still in all, the positive far outweigh the negative. Around the country plein air events and competitions are growing in numbers. Plein Air magazine has an enthusiastic following, and plein air workshops in all media abound. For me I can combine two long abiding loves, being outdoors and painting.

I recently attended a Celebration of Life for a very special person. She enriched the lives of many children, including my own. As their kindergarten and first grade teacher, Ti was the perfect mix of sweetness, discipline, and fun. I began teaching Art as a volunteer in the Yosemite Valley Elementary School when my kids began their school careers. A project inspired by Ti stands out these many years later. It revolved around the pioneer apple orchards in Yosemite. The apples ripened in fall, and the kindergarten/first grade made a field trip to James Lamon’s Orchard every September. Planted in the 1850’s, it was one of the many orchards frequented by the Valley children for generations.  Others were by the chapel, and around our house in the Old Village, planted by my Great Grandfather, John Degnan, at Camp Curry, and by Rocky Point picnic area. The day at the orchard picnicking, playing tag, and collecting apples, was the culmination of a week of study about the orchards, the varieties of apples, and the natural history of the apple tree. The Apple Book was a handmadebook filled with the drawings and sentiments of the 20 or so students of the 1996 Kindergarten/1^st grade class of Yosemite Valley Elementary School.

Apple Blossom Time

Apples played an important role in Pioneer America. Yosemite, where my family settled in the 19^th Century, was very isolated, especially in winter. My grandparents told me they ordered their bare root apple trees from “Monkey Wards” catalog (Montgomery Wards). That and Sears Roebuck catalog, saw many pioneer families through various needs. The trees were planted and carefully tended. Pies, cider, jelly, and numerous other dishes were gleaned from the apples. They were stored in a root cellar and used throughout the long winter. Apples were a mainstay, not a frivolity.

The Yosemite Apple Trees are important to me as a descendent of those pioneers. Growing up in Yosemite we continued the tradition of gathering apples in fall. Our Grandpa loved to make pies and jelly, and used all the apples we brought him. Wood smoke, coffee on a crisp morning, and the smell of pies baking, heavy on the cinnamon, encapsulates all that is good about the season. Although my grandpa is gone, I have his pie recipe, and my children collected apples from those very same trees.

The painting “Apple Blossom Time”, is one of my favorite paintings. Its success is in the expression of uninhibited joy, the promise of spring, the sunlight and colors, and the freedom of childhood.