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Painting Canada - A room with a view
A room with a view
In real estate, the three most important things to remember are; location, location, location. It’s not much different with painting. Three steps to the left or right can mean the world of difference in composition, light, and whether a painting is successful or not. Such was the case when I set out to paint the rainforest.
I had decided to explore a trail that traveled through the forest to the beach, looking for painting sites. I got to the empty parking lot early and hoisted all my gear onto my back. At the start of the trail there were two outhouses, and I decided to take advantage of one while I could. (I really have come to appreciate outhouses on this trip – I’d like to write a book rating them for campers, you know - two, three and four stars; like hotels.) From my seat I nudged the door open with my foot – there had been no cars in the parking lot – and admired the view. A perfect painting lay before me, framed by the sickly green interior of the outhouse. (Which makes me wonder if the parks get some kind of a deal on sickly brown and green paint for their outhouses. Why not buy all the rejected cans of paint and really decorate those things? )
I set off again and explored the trail all the way to the beach, but nothing appealed to me nearly as much as the outhouse view. As I walked back, I considered the risks. It was a weekday, and early, and besides, the parking lot was empty and I hadn’t seen a soul on the whole trail. I decided to go for it.
It was impossible to set up inside the loo, for it was far too small and green to make paintings in. I chose instead to place my easel right next to the door, out of swing range, of course. The smell of toilet chemical was a bit distracting, but better than the alternative, so I endured.
You know where this is going. It took less than half an hour for the trail to begin to get busy. Some hikers walked right past me, too absorbed in their surroundings to even notice a fellow painting an outhouse. But most of them saw me, and I could hear their jokes and giggles well down the path. Kids were the worst. “Mommy, why is that man painting the outhouse?” and “ Hey, mister – that painting really stinks!” A myriad of other embarrassing questions and jokes walked past me for the rest of the day.
Because of the location of the trail, most people would have to enter the outhouse from the far side. They couldn’t see me until the last moment, just as they were about to open the door. Some, frightened by me, let out funny little gasps. Others turned on their heels and left, too threatened by my closeness to their personal space. A few smiled and said hello, then walked inside and went about their business like they were used to having artists paint next to them in outhouses. I did feel rather badly for some of the more obviously urgent cases, who out of embarrassment or fear turned around and left.
I was really beginning to regret my choice of location, except for the fact that the painting was going so well. I worked as fast as I could, hoping to get done before too many hikers would return from their excursions, and this time not be so patient or friendly. I hurriedly packed up my gear and walked the short hike back towards the parking lot.
I’ve been thinking again about that guide to outhouses. Maybe they could be rated on cleanliness, graffiti, paper availability, and of course, whether or not there is a view.
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