Anchor East

Anchor East
Watertown, Massachusetts
26 December 1996

The rest of my European tour was interesting but cold. From the edge of the Mediterranean, I moved up to the icy peaks of Switzerland. I think that my favorite gig was in Thun where I played at the very hip Club Mokka. On stage with me, amongst other intriguing items, was a large 1950's television set with a flying saucer floating inside the cabinet. I thought this was rather exciting because I'd written The Roswell Incident the previous summer and it served as a good visual aid to help set up the song.

After my last gig at the Rattlesnake Saloon in Munich, I was finally through. One day, I'll have to write about the places I've played. Each one was a story in itself. Anyway, I was driven, no, rocketed up the autobahn to the airport where I began my long journey home. Ah, but if only it were home. In fact, it was a rented room in someone else's house. If you've been reading since the beginnings of this tale, you'll remember that all was not well on the home front. At the end of the days it took to get back, between the bus stop and the house itself, I was informed that my initial upset at losing the second of my cats (the first had disappeared just before I left) was unwarranted because it was, after all, just a cat, and that it would probably be best if I looked for another place to live. I had only actually been in the house for six weeks before leaving for Europe and it was now just before Christmas.

So, for Christmas, I went down to Watertown, just outside of Boston, where I was graciously hosted by my friends Mark and Kit at Anchor East, Mark's musical home. Of course, I showed them the paintings I'd made and one afternoon, Kit asked if she could watch me paint. I don't think that I'd ever made an entire painting with someone watching over my shoulder but I was game and set myself up by the piano in the living room (where Mark hosted many wonderful house concerts by many wonderful musicians), and got to work. By the time I finished, it was almost dark and I could barely see the painting.

Three years later, I lived in this house for half a year. I recorded my Christmas album Out Under the Sky at the bottom of these stairs. The acoustics were marvelous and I recorded late at night when it was quiet and city noise was least likely to interfere. There was a Japanese student living up the street while I was there. She was studying English in Cambridge and we'd pass on the street regularly and promise to make dinner together and finally did. After dinner, I played her a little of the album and she said "I have heard this music! In my dreams!" I didn't realize that the whole neighborhood could hear me recording — which is just as well. I'm glad we didn't hear any complaints!

Anchor East
Watertown, Massachusetts
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
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Special edition of 5 signed and numbered $39 giclée prints

Every Sunday I post a new painting and story behind the watercolors I made while touring as a singer songwriter. Follow the stories behind the paintings of these serialized posts by working your way up from the bottom.

Antibes Juan-les-Pins

Antibes
France
1 December 1996

This was my last day on the Côte d'Azur and, as you can see, a glorious day it was. I spent the afternoon in Antibes Juan-les-Pins where I ate lunch and wandered aimlessly around the old town. I poked into Heidi's English Bookshop, found the most wonderful lavender oil at a little street market and walked by the Musée Picasso which was, you guessed it, closed. Finally, I settled down on the sea wall where I watched some old men play bocce ball before pulling out my paint kit.

After an enjoyable session, I was very pleased with the results — especially with the way the pigment and water formed a perfect ear for the little dog, and with the yellow color of the walls (one of which is the Picasso Museum) against the blue sky. The old men broke from their game and a few came over to look at my work. They looked, laughed and told me "This is a very famous scene! Hundreds and hundreds of people come here and paint that exact same scene over and over again." I replied, in English, "Yes! But they don't have your friend and his dog in their paintings, do they?" This is my favorite painting of all which makes sense because it came after making one after another almost every day for about two weeks. Practice is the way.

Making these paintings saved me from the despair of loneliness and provided me with activity and purpose when I might otherwise have become terribly lost. The painting was also planting a seed that would help me find my way through this touring singer-songwriter lifestyle. As I read back through my notes from this time, it is clear that I knew from early on that the incessant traveling and lack of stability was extremely unhealthy for me but I was in it up to my neck and had four more recording projects ahead of me.

The next morning, after checking out of the Hôtel Pastoral, Monsieur Noël Dumas walked with me, helping to carry my bags, to the train station. I really should have taken a photo of him and Jasmine, his cat. He was very dear and made me feel perfectly comfortable.

Then it was on to the last leg of my tour, through Chur, Domat/Ems and Thun, Switzerland, then Langenau and Munich, Germany before returning to my darling friends in Brussels who have always generously provided me with comfortable, homey landing and take-off accommodations for my European tours.

Antibes
France
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US$ 375 + USPS Priority Shipping

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Special edition of 5 signed and numbered $39 giclée prints

Every Sunday I post a new painting and story behind the watercolors I made while touring as a singer songwriter. Follow the stories behind the paintings of these serialized posts by working your way up from the bottom.

Bust of Jean Cocteau

Bust of Jean Cocteau
(before la Chapelle St. Pierre)
Villefranche sur Mer, France
28 November 96

On the 27th, I hopped the train to Eze. The train stops at Eze Bord de Mer, right on the sea. Not really knowing where I was going (sound familiar?), I looked for some tourist information. The kiosk was closed so I looked around and spied a small sign that said "Chemin de Nietzsche". Ok, I thought, I'll walk the trail. It looked like it might head up to the main village of Eze. It was a very nice walk although I must have turned off the trail at a certain point because suddenly I was in the brambles and climbing a very steep incline. I looked back and was surprised at the height I'd reached. It seemed closer for me to reach the top then to head back down so I continued up the rough terrain. Finally I reached the back patio of a restaurant, turned around and realized that I'd just climbed a cliff! No wonder I was so beat. I wandered around the very interesting, very old stone village and finally collapsed for some lunch. All I wanted to do was hop back on the train, get back to the hotel and lay down. This was not a day for painting. When I went in search of a bus to ride back down to the sea, I learned that no buses were running till May. May? Taxi? No taxis here! So I walked all the way back down to the train station. By road that time. I was tired but it was a lovely day (once out of the wind at the top of the cliff), the streets were pleasant and the view, fabulous.

The next day was Thanksgiving. Alone, even on the Riviera on a beautiful, sunny day, I was feeling pretty low. I bought a copy of the International Herald Tribune (which I read every day in Nice) and headed to Villefranche sur Mer where there was a chapel that Jean Cocteau had painted. I was disappointed but not surprised to find that la Chapelle St. Pierre was closed for the month of November. So I sat down in the little stone courtyard next to the chapel on the edge of the sea and made this painting of the bronze bust fine coated with verdigris. Old women sat nearby on the sea wall repairing big fishing nets. The sun danced on the sea. It really did. A lumbering Golden Retriever splashed through the waves on the sandy beach behind me. I thought about Cocteau.

The painting did not lift my spirits that day which really added to my woe. How can I be sitting on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea on a magnificent day like today, I thought, and have my head and heart lost inside a black cloud? I swung my legs over the edge of the sea wall and glanced through the Herald Tribune. My eyes fell on an Art Buchwaldcolumn, Le Grand Thanksgiving. I read it. I laughed out loud. What good medicine! I was lifted out of the shadows and very grateful. When I got back to the states, I wrote Buchwald a letter telling him the story and included a CD. He wrote me back a very nice note thanking me for the CD and for telling me what was going on in my life. "I'm glad I could make you feel good." he wrote.

Bust of Jean Cocteau
(before la Chapelle St. Pierre)
Villefranche sur Mer, France
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US$ 295 + USPS Priority Shipping

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Special edition of 5 signed and numbered $39 giclée prints

Every Sunday I post a new painting and story behind the watercolors I made while touring as a singer songwriter. Follow the stories behind the paintings of these serialized posts by working your way up from the bottom.

Maritime Alps

Maritime Alps from Pointe de Bacon
Cap d’Antibes, France
26 November 96

On the 25th I woke to a rainy day in Nice and decided to head up to Digne, the lavender capital of the world. I could live without lavender but life would not be quite as sweet. Lavender is simply one of the greatest treasures of my life experience so you know I was looking forward to visiting the place where the best lavender is grown. Even though it was November and the lavender was harvested in August.

I boarded the Chemin de fer early in the morning and off we went on one of the most rickety train rides I've ever taken. But it was fun and, as we ascended, snow began to fall. I didn't realize that I was headed into the mountains (another instance of deciding to head off to a destination with no plan whatsoever) but up we climbed and down the snow came. The landscape, the vistas, the snow were all beautiful and the rickety ride was sort of fun. By the time we got to Digne, I was ready to move my legs and see some sights but the snow had turned into freezing rain and the roads and sidewalks were all cold and slushy.

I was beginning to get the idea that if everyone in Paris heads to the south in August, everyone in the south closes shop in November. The tourist office in Digne was closed so I ducked into some little cafe and bought the single most expensive cup of tea ever. The café seemed to be the only shop that was open. I realized that lavender fields were out of the question. I had the address of Alexandra David-Néel's house and headed off to find that. All I managed to find were many, many puddles and suddenly it was time to head back for the train. Once on board, I took my soaking shoes and socks off and placed them over the baseboard radiators for the entire, miserably cold and wet ride back to Nice. Oh, well, I thought. I tried.

The next day, brisk but bright and beautiful, I set off for Antibes (again, with no plan). After coffee and a biscuit, I set off for a walk, having no idea where I was going. As it turns out, I walked the length of Cap d'Antibes. Fortunately. I did not walk around the entire shoreline but even the length of the peninsula was a hike albeit a lovely hike. I could find no place to stop and rest so, when I came upon a rocky outcropping, I sat myself there for a painting session looking back in towards the main coastline. As I worked on the foothills and mountains in the painting, I suddenly realized that I was looking at the first snowfall of the year in the Maritime Alps. The snow that had fallen as I climbed to Digne the day before.

Maritime Alps
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
4in. x 6in., archivally matted & backed to 8 x 10
US$ 295 + USPS Priority Shipping

Choose shipping US International

Special edition of 5 signed and numbered $39 giclée prints

Every Sunday I post a new painting and story behind the watercolors I made while touring as a singer songwriter. Follow the stories behind the paintings of these serialized posts by working your way up from the bottom.