Escape to the Coast

Albert Bierstadt was a German-born American painter. He was well known for his landscape paintings of the West. To authentically paint these scenes, he actually joined others on their journeys to a part of America they had not yet seen. When Bierstadt brought his paintings back home to the east coast, people did not believe what they were seeing because they had not seen nor experienced the landscapes that he had painted.

I chose this painting of the ocean in California because I grew up in Northern California. If you are from there, and you want to take a drive out to the ocean, you say that you are “going to the coast.” From my hometown of Santa Rosa, driving to the coast took about 45 minutes.

My teen years were filled with the divorce of my parents, the normal drama of girlfriends, and the angst and newness of boyfriends. One of my favorite things to do was to escape out to the coast, especially very late at night, never planning which particular road I’d take. There was a tangible feeling of comfort as my Jensen-Healey sports car and I would wind our way through landscapes of farms, redwood trees, and small towns. My 8-track tapes kept me company as they played Cat Stevens and Leo Sayer––I was in heaven. For several hours, into the dark of  the night, I could leave my youthful problems behind. I owned the night, and it felt good.

Escaping doesn’t last forever, and I eventually had to return and face my reality, but having somewhere to escape is food for the soul. Just as the ocean appeared to have no end, when I drove out to the coast, my time alone there was as an eternity.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Albert_Bierstadt_-_Farallon_Islands,_California_(c.1872).jpg

Desperation

My dad is a graphic artist by trade, so growing up, I learned a lot about art. The art gene missed me. On a good day I can maybe draw a respectable stick figure. But art theory and art history permeated my childhood. I cannot tell you how many hours I spent wandering through museums with my dad, talking to him about different paintings and why they were good. All this to say, I have an interesting relationship with paintings. I feel like I know when one is good, but I could never tell you what it is that makes it that way.

Le Desespere, Gustav Courbet

Le Desespere by Gustave Courbet is a painting like that for me. I feel like I know this man. There is something about the expression in the eyes and the gentle tugging of the hair that is striking to me. I can see in this man's face that same kind of blank panic that grips me more often than I like to admit. The warm tone of the painting, and the sharp contrast between light and shadow makes my breath catch- it stills my heart to a stop. When I look at this painting feel like I'm caught in a moment that I've been in a million times. The moment before simmering stress breaks into full panic.

This painting meant a lot to Courbet, too. It was a self portrait, and he carried it with him wherever he went, even into his exile from France. I understand that, on a certain level. As much as desperation and panic are unsavory parts of my life, I have to remember them. Somehow, remembering the times of disorientation makes reality seem more real, and the present more tangible.

Photo Credit