Do you ever notice how even though you plan things out, even though you think you know what you are going to do, that sometimes it seems like the universe just has a different plan for you? I have come to realize that this little idea or actually this little truth is an integral part of art making. The surprises, the “I never thought I would make art like this” moments are what, in the end, keep all of us coming back for more. You just never know, even though you think you know, even though you plan it all out, what exactly is going to happen next.
Experiencing someone else’s art, taking a right turn instead of a left or simply giving up out of frustration; these seemingly insignificant moments sometimes set us upon a direction, help crystalize where we are headed. These moments, these pivots are rare but they always come. We just never know when.
Today I would like to share the story of one of these moments. Like all of them, this one was unexpected and it altered the course, the path of art making for a good dozen years. This particular moment was not mine.
It was my father’s, Clifford Wilton. In his words:
“In 1991, my wife Ann and I built a house near Aspen, Colorado. We spent a strenuous seven months mid-wifing the house into existence and felt we needed a break. Sculpting and painting for a week? Perfect.
Ann signed up for a marble carving class in the mountain village of Marble, and I joined a painting group, also in Marble. I spent a day digging out my painting stuff from storage, tubes and cans of oil paint, a home-made easel, a couple of canvases and a TV table to support a large glass palate. It was a good thing, I remember thinking, that I would not have to walk far from my car.
I met my new friends for a day of painting from nature, plein-air. The group of eight or nine artists gravitated to the center of the little town. There wasn’t much there, a few houses and a small church. It was a slab sided structure, with lots of whitewashed clapboard. The group drew up their little stools around the church and set to work, “plein-airing” away.
My artistic senses rebelled against such an uninspiring subject so I gathered up my gear and set off down the hill toward an aspen grove. It was hard going. The grove became a forest and was getting more and more dense. My load was getting heavier and more cumbersome.
After about half a mile I came across an old Chevy pickup truck in its final resting place. Thirty-five years before it had been lustrous red. Now, in the dappled sunlight it had weathered to a greyish pink. Its hood was sprung, lights smashed and the tires had not seen air, plein or otherwise, for years.
In a flash I knew I had found my subject. I had found my inspiration.
In the months I spent in the Colorado high country, I formed a defiant and somewhat contrary view on the much-vaunted Colorado landscape. The snow-capped mountains were certainly majestic, the valleys rich and green with rushing mountain streams.
But I became aware of a much different countryside. Dotted throughout the valleys were rural settlements where families lived surrounded by an accumulation of junked cars, trucks, and rusted farm machinery. Once, all that stuff had been new, often even attracting one’s neighbour’s admiration for each new acquisition.
Now, it was just sad. Someone, I felt, should acknowledge this man-made landscape. Someone should create a memorial to these metallic graveyards. That old Chevy truck I stumbled across in the woods that day made me that someone.
For several years after, I sought out junker cars and painted them. The years of decay, the slip from manufactured iron to rust abstracted their forms. Which in turn, led my work into a semi abstraction too. And then, gradually, many years after painting that first Chevy truck my paintings became wholly abstract.
Ann and I eventually moved to Oregon and my interest in the Colorado landscape faded. I don’t know what my work would have been like today if I had not taken that path into the woods that day. It was, looking back, how I found my way from plein-air representation to large, entirely abstract studio paintings. Today, my art is no longer derived from what I see outside of myself, but is drawn entirely from what I see within. And for this I am truly grateful.”
My father, always an inspiration to me, continues to paint and more recently write. He resides in Ashland Oregon with his wife Ann. The blog image above is one of Cliff’s junker car studies. Oil on board, 5” x 7.”
What has been your recent inspiration? Did you know it was coming?
Inspiringly,
Nicholas and Clifford Wilton
15 Comments
Hi! I’m
Nicholas Wilton
the founder of Art2Life.
With over 20 years experience as a working artist and educator, I’ve developed a systematic approach that brings authenticity, spontaneity and joy back into the creative process.
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This is a great inspirational story! Taking the path less traveled certainly impacted your Dad’s art, which I love by the way. I have also felt the need to be a part of the plein air troup, I tried abstracting the landscape, which was fun. Recently, I hung up my outdoor easel and decided I done….. lugging all the equipment and trying to go larger, meant a bigger haul. To top it off the enormous bee that got a good hunk out of my upper arm, which took months to heal, was my sign, my permission! I am always looking for those signs, the permission, that inspiration to do something outside the norm. It is usually there, just beyond the bend!
What a great, in-tune dad you have! I love how he went against the grain to find his own spark of inspiration AND continued on with it. When travelling in the Blue Mountains of Virginia I was similarly struck by the shacks that were overtaken by green growth. Never did stop to photo or paint but who knows….maybe someday!
My art, also, is derived from what I see within. Nice vocabulary to use when asked about my process.
Thank you for a wonderful and thoughtful story of how our journeys through art making change as the years go by. Love your dad’s work, too.
Loved reading your dad’s words. So sweet! I agree that one day, following inner guidance, can change the course of life, and our art.
Great post. I love that rebellious streak.
You certainly have your father’s gift of writing too!
This is perfect. I have found that my favorite abstracts came from a floral or landscape that just didn’t work. In my “‘F’ it all” moment something really cool happens. I’m not as inhibited and I try things that weren’t planned. I keep getting pulled back to controlled works, but I really should explore the “other” moments. Thanks for the post!
What a wonderful story! There is always a lot of hidden subjects buried deep in abstract…love it!
Great painting. I see similarities with your work Nick
Thanks for the wonderful story. I just finished a plein air workshop,even though I prefer abstract. My favourite part of your dad’s article was how he painted intuitively. I use to do that, then decided I needed ‘a plan’ to be a good artist. As I learn more, I realize it is more about ‘what works for me’. Even when I plan & try very hard to follow ‘the plan’ something always goes sideways & sneaks in. Thanks again for all that you share.
What an awesome story !! I can totally relate to the fascination with the old, junk cars as I use the wonderful rust, patina, and decay as inspiration for the background of my abstract paintings. Thanks for sharing🙏
Wonderful story! I had a similar experience when I began painting/teaching in my 20’s. Too long to share here but it was life changing…in my art and on a personal level. I need to tap back into that young girl somehow, get past the years of responsibilities and over-thinking that are always my biggest stumbling blocks. Thank you for sharing a glimpse into your father’s self discovery!
Interesting read for me, Nicholas and Clifford, as I live 5 minutes from Marble…the church, the few houses, pieces of imperfect marble and pieces sculpted to perfection. It is a fertile valley, inspiring artists still as it has been for many generations. What each of us ” sees” and is inspired by is worthy enough to change our lives. If it’s easy for us, we likely aren’t learning, as a pet trainer once said. Nice to hear our incredibly beautiful valley mentioned in your blog…Signed…a learner…Laura 🌻
Nicholas and Clifford, I live 5 minutes from Marble, Colorado where there is still a whitewashed church, a few houses and plenty of discarded and imperfect and beautifully sculpted marble. Material valuable enough for the Lincoln Memorial, The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and many more. It’s a fertile and beautiful valley teaming with artists who go out of their way for the impossible moments. It was fun to hear it mentioned in your blog posting, Nicholas. Create On…Laura 🌻
Sounds wonderful