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The six trunked Coral Tree. December 2025. Oil on panel. 9.5 x12' oe 21 x 32 cm.

The six branched Coral Tree, December 2025

The six trunked Coral Tree. December 2025. Oil on panel. 9.5 x12' oe 21 x 32 cm.
The six trunked Coral Tree. December 2025. Oil on panel. 9.5 x12′ oe 21 x 32 cm.

I went out last Saturday afternoon to see if I could rescue a painting that been stuck. I had done all my underdrawing and underpainting in November (in three or four sessions), but felt as though I didn’t know exactly how to resolve various issues: painting wiry trees in Southern California, with a new-to-me palette of colors.

In the mean time, I had found relative success by painting the tree next to it. Its form was simpler to grasp. It’s gesture, too. When you spend a few hours on location in each session, noticing how the light falls as the afternoon progresses, seeing how the shadows group as they define the foliage, you build an internal image repository of what it is you want to say. That light, there. Even though no particular stroke can ever define it: the effect is cumulative.

So I decided to retry the first tree. It has six main trunks or branches which intertwine, and it’s not always possible to see what is what. But if–as the artist–you know what is what, then you can place a spontaneous splotch of light accurately. If not, then not.

So I had already done my homework, the question was whether I could breathe some life into my ugly duckling. A palette of cadmium orange, titanium, ultramarine blue, cadmium red, cadmium yellow light and raw umber did the trick. Four bright colors earthed by umber, lightened with a strong titanium white, as needed.

I’m happy.

The Coral Tree, Oil on panel. 9 x 12.5" or 21 x 32 cm. November 2025

The Coral Tree, November 2025

The Coral Tree, Oil on panel. 9 x 12.5" or 21 x 32 cm. November 2025
The Coral Tree, Oil on panel. 9 x 12.5″ or 21 x 32 cm. November 2025

After a productive summer in Belgium, I began to dream of doing something similar here at my new home in Oceanside. I spent about a month refining the design of my pochade box to reflect the latest changes I have found helpful in the field. I bought a new travel stool and discovered I could carry all my stuff around in my bike bags–and also in the back carrier of my golf cart. Nice!

So in early November I began scouting for locations. The first and most obvious choices were the amazing coral trees planted near the front entrance to our community. I’ve admired them for years. There are three ancient mariners there whose gestural limbs astound. Their silhouettes are highlighted in the afternoon light as the sun goes down. I wanted to try out my chops.

The first painting of the first tree is still in progress iIt may or may not be salvaged). But the second attempt of the middle tree is pictured here. With a few caveats, I’m pretty happy with it.

Plein air set up for The Coral Tree. November, 2025. Oceanside, California
Plein air set up for The Coral Tree. November, 2025. Oceanside, California

I’m learning as I go, adapting my palette to the more intensive colors of Southern California. In this case, I broke out into titanium white (I usually use lead white) and cadmium orange (totally new). Also used a whole new-to-me range of purplish tones by mixing ultramarine blue with cadmium red (brought to earth with raw umber). That last combo helped me to describe the tree trunks. (I did go too far in one area but that will be easily remedied when the painting dries a bit more)

My last session was pure bliss. I was able to achieve that gentle, toothy grab from the surfaced glazed medium of my new, sable, oil-laden brush strokes. A dip into my egg yolk emulsion assists in their on-panel integrity while also assuring a quick dry. Soft, sensuous, like the Merovingian in the Matrix II would have said (referring the French language): “It’s like wiping your ass with silk”. Ahhhhh….. the private pleasures of the en-plein-air painter.