St. Rochusstraat 37
Eindhoven, Netherlands
2 October 1997
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
4 x 6", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
This was painted my second year staying at Ad and Ankie's apartment in Eindhoven where many, many fellow singer songwriters have been hosted and a number of beautiful albums have been recorded and produced.
The light is exceptional in this 3rd floor room and I'm afraid that I came nowhere near to capturing in this little painting the way the light played on the roses. Determined to paint something, I included in this little arrangement a small teddy bear given to me once by a club owner who insisted that the bear must go on tour with me. That very moment, I placed the bear in my guitar case where he lived throughout my touring years.
I think of this painting as the beginning of my working relationship with Ankie Keultjes who is largely responsible for my albums Ephemera and The Glory. She also beautifully produced and performed on The Watchman (Ad van Meur's) albums.
Most of old Eindhoven was destroyed during bombings in the 2nd World War so, though the city was established at least by the end of the 12th century, it has a very modern feel. There's an enclosed graveyard near St. Rochustraat with a large wall listing columns of names of people (some entire families) that were killed in a terrible Allied bombing. (See A Bridge Too Far for a good description of the ridiculousness of war and its tragic mishaps.)
Eindhoven also boasts the largest park of any city in The Netherlands. This park includes a theater, lake, organic farm, prehistoric village, stream, walking paths, gardens, aviary and more. Fortunately, Ad and Ankie live about two blocks from the park and I spent at lot of time walking there, often with Blaue the Border Collie (and a well-worn frisbee).
Eindhoven Roses
Rathaus from across the Mach See
Rathaus from across the Mach See
Hanover, Germany
9 October 1997
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
The short version of this story is that I'd performed in Dresden at some weird spot decorated as a 1950's Americana Diner with disco balls. I'd picked up a bug on my way to Hamburg and by the time I arrived in Dresden, my voice was almost gone. I pleaded with the booker but he pleaded back and my sense of wanting to fulfill my obligation won out. So I played and sang as much as I could until I had no voice left at all at which point I was able to go to the hotel where I broke into a full-blown fever with all the drama of chills and shakes and sweats and I won't go into any more detail.
The next day, my agent invited me back to her place in Hanover to recover. I tossed and turned in her guest bed (or maybe she put me in her own bed and moved herself to the living room - I forget now) for a few days and finally had to get out of the apartment and into the air. So I did and took my paints with me and walked to this man made lake then followed the trail around. I think that Hitler had the lake built and on the beautifully overgrown landscaped trails around it, there are sculptures of fine examples of Aryan youth in vibrant poses of strength and health.
It was chilly and windy but I settled down for a bit to paint this and am glad that I did. It's just about all I remember seeing of Hanover!
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.
Along the Rhine
Along the Rhine
Germany
28 September 1997
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
In Köln I played at a basement club referred to by the owner as a puke hole. I think it was mainly a punk club but I played completely unplugged and could have heard a pin drop. I was relaxed and the gig was fun though the spots were blinding. George, the owner hosted me overnight in his apartment with a fabulous view of the spires and Dom, the old tithe house and Cologne-Rodenkirchen suspension bridge. After a good breakfast he put me on the train down to Heindenheim.
I think the ICE train along the Rhine was called the Friedrich Schiller. I'd been on the route before and would travel it again. Good thing because it was really a delight to watch the castles, vineyards and little towns slip by. Although I made this painting in one sitting, I was traveling on a high-speed line (ICE) so it was a composite of several scenes flying by.
When I arrived in Heidenheim I learned that my agent had neglected to make arrangements for a room but everyone was very kind and someone came up with a solution. I performed by a large poster of an American Indian with a quote of a Cree Indian prophecy:
"After the last tree has been cut down
Only after the last river has been poisoned
Only after the last fish has been caught
Only then will you find that money cannot be eaten."
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.
Offenberg, Germany
Offenberg, Germany
26 September 1997
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
On a beautiful morning after a delightful night performing in the Gasthaus Schwabenhans (I'm not exactly sure where), I took a walk in Haslach along the edge of the Black Forest where the air was fragrant, flowers spilled out of boxes at every charming window and at least eighty percent of the people I passed were outfitted for serious hiking in Lederhosen, good shoes, thick socks and sporty hats.
I was given a lift up to the Offenberg train station and, with a couple of hours to wait, walked around in the very hot sun until I spied these black swans on a milky green waterway. I sort of remember being slightly hung over and was probably dehydrated so the railing I worked on was welcome support. Studying the shade over the water kept me cool. Though I thought the painting was a bit rough in execution, it was charming in its own way and gave me a sense of accomplishment before heading up to Köln for a concert that night.
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.
from Rue de L'Orient
from Rue de L’Orient
Bruxelles, Belgium
21 September 1997
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
This was the first and last thing I saw on the way in and out of Europe my first two tours (although I'm sure the crane was not up the whole time). In fact, I first arrived in the dark so this was my first view of Europe from Monique and Arnaud's apartment on the Rue de L'Orient. I painted this just before taking the train up to Eindhoven for the beginning of my 1997 tour.
I am so fortunate to have such dear and generous friends in Brussels who always met me at the airport, provided a warm bed and bath after landing and before take-off, and an open, family welcome on each visit. Visiting with them each year (and then with their new addition, Ignaz) became such a regular part of my life for a while, that I sorely missed them when I quit the touring. They loved and accepted me through jet lag, head colds, awkward disorientation and crankiness.
The life of an independent traveling musician is largely strung together between the ports of these sorts of households along the road. Monique and I were friends long before I ever started to tour and when I went over to Europe, we had the opportunity to reconnect after many years, her husband and I became acquainted (he's a darling) and I was able to meet their new baby and see him grow into a young boy.
The people who open their homes to musicians do a great service by making certain kinds of live musical performance viable in a world where such activity is becoming increasingly rare and difficult. I'll take this opportunity to thank each and every one of the many, many lovely people who hosted me throughout the U.S. and Europe during my touring years. It was a privilege to be invited into the private domains of strangers and make acquaintances in p.j.s over breakfast and to learn a bit about their lives.
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
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
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.
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
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
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.
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
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
4in. x 6in., archivally matted & backed to 8 x 10
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
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.
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.
Tombeau Grosso
Tombeau de Famille Francois Grosso (1894)
Nice, France
24 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
After a stroll along the Promenade des Anglais on a sunny day, so brilliant it was almost blinding, I climbed the steps of the Colline du Chateau, a lovely park that rises from the sea to a magnificent view of the Baie des Anges. On the way up, I stopped by the Bellanda Tower and tried to read what the plaque there said about Hector Berlioz but could not translate it. [However, as Werner Pfarr points out in his comment, you can read the plaque translation on the Bellanda Tower link.]
At the very top of the park, I wandered through two cemeteries. I think that one was a Jewish cemetery and the other was filled with tombstones of angels. The largest angel statue was of the famille François Grosso. The engraving on the tomb described François Grosso as a prominent civic leader (there is a Boulevard named for him) who lost two young children within a year of each other. The statue shows an angel with a finger to her lips, reminding the cherubs to not disturb the children they are carrying up to heaven.
I fussed with the color of the sky back at my hotel room until I could not take it any further, then headed out to the Cathedral Notre Dame Saveur to hear a performance of the Bruckner Mass.
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.
Palais Princier
Palais Princier
Monaco
23 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
6 x 4", archival mat & backing to 10 x 8"
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
I am increasingly reluctant to write this posts. Not to post the paintings, mind you, but to write the stories behind them. I suppose that any sort of looking back has its own set of hesitancies. One part of me thinks that stories should be somehow cheerful or filled with interaction and plot and so forth. Why? Those sorts are rarely the stories I fall into as a reader. And what stories would those be, anyway? (I'll stop on that track now before riding away on the train of digression).
In fact, this solo touring was just that, solitary. And I was not in a very strong emotional state, quite the opposite. I felt isolated, bereft and worried. The settling in Nice for a couple of weeks took away the daily rush and distraction of travel and performance and I was left to settle into my own not very ebullient psyche. Of course, this was exacerbated by the fact that I was in a foreign country surrounded by the babble of a foreign tongue (perhaps the only time you will hear the fine language of French referred to such). At another time, even at another time of year, I may have easily slid in and out of relationships and semblances of conversation with residents and fellow travelers. But not that November.
Still, even bobbing up and down in my own little sea of depression, I managed to pull myself out of the lumpy bed each morning, pack my paints, look at the map and decide where to travel to explore and paint. Emerging from the hotel, I would keep an eye out for a coffee and brioche on my way to the train station. It was fabulous, really. With the Eurail pass I'd bought for touring, I was able to hop on the little train at Nice and be off to any destination I would feel like up and down the Côte d'Azur. What a treat. On this day, I picked Monaco, where Grace Kelly became a princess.
Kelly was a big name in Philadelphia where I grew up. Grace Kelly's father owned a big Brickworks and her brother was a city councilman. Both John Sr. and Jr. rowed on the Schuylkill River for the Vesper Boat Club where some of my high school friends competed "all together". My father was not in Vespers but rowed single skull on the Schuylkill for years.
I first walked down to Monte Carlo but it seemed shuttered and barren. So back up the steps to the palace. Monaco felt like a toy kingdom, diminutive and clean. In fact, I really didn't get the whole picture of Monaco. The day became increasingly raw and overcast and I'd read nothing and made no preparations for the visit, I'd only packed my paints. I could say that about each day really — I mostly let the painting lead me. The painting kept me company and gave me purpose.
Before the wind came up and temperature dropped any further, I opened my knapsack and set the paper block on a parapet along the city wall. Just as in Grasse, eventually my fingers were frozen stiff so I packed up and finished the painting back in my hotel room.
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.
Vieux Grasse
Vieux Grasse from l’escalier de L’Hotel de Ville
France
21 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
4in x 6in, archivally matted & backed to 8in x 10in
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
On my first full day in Nice, I took a bus up to Grasse, the perfume capital of the world. Before the perfume industry fell to products that smell like embalming fluid and every Tom, Dick & Harry had their own signature scent, I used to enjoy memorizing perfume scents and being able to identify them out in the world. Most perfumes developed in the last quarter century give me a brutal headache.
I thought it would be fun to tour the perfume factories in Grasse. Fragonard was the only one open and their tour was interesting enough, especially because we were able to gather around the perfume organ where the "Nose" sits to test the scents. You can visit the beautiful new International Perfume Musuem site and sniff around for yourself.
After that I kicked around and ate lunch in a garden looking out from high up over the Côte d'Azur, then kicked around some more beginning to feel bored with isolation until I found myself in the old city where the walls of the buildings were rubbed deep with rose and orange and yellow and peach. After climbing an old narrow staircase, I turned to find the perfect vantage point to study the Place de la Poissonnerie. Although I was out of the sunlight, the temperature was dropping, and the wind whipped around the stone walls, I pulled out my paint sack and started in to this one. At a certain point, I had to stop because my fingers were so stiff with cold that I was having trouble working. I seem to remember shaking a bit, too. So I finished this off back at the hotel room later in the afternoon and into the evening.
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.
Nice
Nice, France
30 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
4in. x 6in., archivally matted & backed to 8 x 10
US $195 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
It was a long night of a train ride from Milan to Nice in a very cozy compartment where every possible sleeping spot was filled. Lots of interruptions by border guards checking passports as we crossed from Italy into France then from France into Monaco and back into France again. I'd had cancellations and a gap in my tour for ten days so I decided to base myself in Nice for that period. After arrival I found my way to the tourism desk where I asked for the most acceptable, least expensive accomomdations. The two lovely women there said they had just the place and sent me off to the Hôtel Pastoral on the rue Assalit. I walked over and met Monsieur Noël Dumas who would be my host for the next two weeks. My room was perfectly simple with a sink and bidet, armoire and chair by the French windows looking over the roof where Monsieur Dumas hung his laundry by pots of bright red geraniums. The bed was sort of lumpy and sagged deeply in the middle but hey, for $14 a night in Nice, I was happy. Not only that, Monsieur Dumas had a bird. I couldn't quite figure out what kind of bird it was but every morning it whistled La Marseillaise. I kid you not. Monsieur Dumas said "He ees a nationaliste!"
After dumping my bags and guitar in the room, I took myself out for a walk down to the sea. Bleary and a little sick from lack of sleep, I walked along the sea wall that wraps around the cliff you can see above. Delighting in the windy sea air I inhaled deeply just as I saw a humongous wave rise over the wall. It happened so fast there was nothing I could do but let it wash over me. And wash over me it did! Even my good Patagonia jacket could not protect me. It was such an outrageous thing to happen that I had to laugh! I was just across the street from an elegant hotel and in I sloshed with my sopping blue jeans, socks and sneakers, rivulets of water streaming off my hair. The concierge took one look at me and immediately passed a stack of lush white towels across the desk directing me to the rest room. That helped enough to get me back to the hotel without leaving a river in my wake.
As I sat down to breakfast the next morning and opened the Nice Matin, there on the front page under the headline was a photograph of some other poor fool about to be creamed by a wave in the same spot where I'd stood. I no longer felt like a freak.
I'm posting this painting out of order for the sake of the story. I made this on my next to last day in Nice when, after procrastinating much of the day, I forced myself to sit down where I happened to find myself on the beach.
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.
Firenze
Firenze, Italy
17 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
I stayed in Tuscany for a few nights. Mostly, it was very confusing and exhausting because mostly, no one I met spoke English and my agent had neglected to arrange for me to be met at the train station or for proper accommodation. In one instance, I boarded the wrong train going in the opposite direction of my destination. There was a lot of talking myself down from intermittent panic attacks and carrying on as best I could when I really needed a good, uninterrupted night's sleep.
One night I stayed at some sort of country hotel although hotel might not be the best word. It felt more like an empty convent. Very bare bones with cold terrazzo floors. The woman who hosted me did not speak English but I managed to understand from our conversation that in June and July, the place hosted children from Byelo-Russia who had been poisoned from Chernobyl. You can learn more at The Chernobyl Project and about these children through one of the rescue organization sites . That conversation put my mild discomfort into perspective. I took Pipo, the resident dog for a walk at dusk through the Tuscan hills. Then I was carted off to some incredibly loud and raucous bar where I was set up on the floor in the middle of the place. I could not hear myself think let alone sing but there was a crowd seated on the ground and standing around me paying rapt attention so I did my thing and ripped up my poor voice in the process.
The next day, I was off to Bologna for a radio interview and record store performance. I knew the DJ who'd set that up and he spoke English so it was good to visit and the day went pretty well. The DJ used excerpts from my CD for the interview to save my tattered voice. The most memorable thing about that day was the memorial in the waiting room at the train station for the Bologna Massacre. The effective memorial incorporates a massive crack in the wall and the hole that was left in the floor by the blast.
For the other nights I stayed on a Biodynamic farm at a Rudolph Steiner community. That was right up my alley. It was beautiful and interesting and the people were great — not to mention the food.
I was so close to Florence that as soon as I finished my duties and before I had to go on to the next gig, somehow, I got myself there. I don't know what day it was but not long after I arrived I discovered that the museums were closing at noon or one. I managed to duck into some Medici room and am embarrassed to say that I can't remember what that was. And somehow, I managed to convince the guard to let me just run through part of the Uffizi. That was sort of ridiculous because I really did not even have time to orient myself before I had to run out again.
The day was raw and rainy so I just walked myself across the Arne, leaned against the river wall and painted this picture as the skies gave way to a little late afternoon sun. It was an o.k. way to contemplate Brunelleschi at a bit of a distance, away from the long lines to get a look inside.
Before I left Italy, I performed at a fabulous folk club in Udine where everything — the audience, the host, the food, the room, the vibe — was exceptional. I also managed to run around Venice for a long afternoon on a day when the water was at its lowest mark in years. I'll go back there any time.
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.
Vasto
Vasto, Italy
14 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
Vasto was like Brigadoon. A place out of time with a little bit of magic or historic curiosity around each bend. This ancient city has never been developed because it's built on a cliff subject to landslides. In the above painting, you can see one historic curiosity where the new and the old city walls attach with two different types of arches. Through this opening you are looking south past Vasto Marina, into the Adriatic mist.
If you missed last Sunday's installment, go to Amico in Vasto and Vasto Marina to read the first two parts of the story and hear my song on the experience.
Lino Salvatorelli was my host. He'd booked me into the Teatro Rossetti named for the poet and revolutionary, Gabriel Rossetti who, upon losing his cause, fled his birthplace of Vasto for England where his two children, Christina and Dante Gabriel were raised. It was a lovely evening in an old, old theater. As no one I met in Vasto spoke English, most of the audience had no idea what I was saying or singing but we enjoyed ourselves. Having spent the first couple weeks of this tour in the former East Germany where most people only spoke German or Russian, I was getting used to the scenario.
Lino owned a CD store called Kangaroo. He took me on a tour of the city and because everyone knew Lino, I met a lot of people, ate some great food and finished the tour at his friend Franco's sign making and sculpture studio. After Franco saw the paintings I'd made so far, he found me before I departed and sent me off with a gift of 4 pans of Lukas watercolors all wrapped up in tin foil. A very sweet and encouraging gesture.
It was difficult to leave Vasto but I was on to the next gigs in Tuscany, Bologna, Udina and so forth. I took the train north along the Adriatic coast and leaned out my open window watching the old beaches and beach towns slip by, wanting to stop at each place.
I left a piece of my heart in Vasto.
Also see: Vasto Marina and Amico in Vasto.
Amico in Vasto
Amico in Vasto, Italy
13 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
I headed north up the beach till I stopped and sat down with my back against a big overturned row boat. There I made the Vasto Marina painting I posted last week. When I finished, I continued in the same direction to the end of the beach.
A large, white dog came down from the rocks and over to greet me at about the same time a man brought a dog on a leash towards me from another direction. As soon as the white dog had sniffed and licked my hand, he turned, bared his teeth at the leashed dog and both started barking and making threatening noises. Oh, Great!, I thought. Trapped on an Italian beach in the middle of a dog fight. The leashed dog was led away by his laughing master. The white dog came to my side and would not leave no matter what.
I did not want to get involved with another animal and when we got back to the overturned rowboat, I sat down. The dog lay down beside me and went to sleep. After a few minutes, I stood up very quietly and headed back towards the apartment. A few hundred yards up the beach I looked back just in time to see him emerge from the other side of the row boat looking in every direction. He spotted me and high tailed it in my direction. Except for the time I spent in the apartment, he did not leave my side for the next three days. I tried to bring him up at night but he was a confirmed outside dog and at night lay down in front of the apartment entrance where he greeted me first thing each morning.
I surrendered to his companionship because, after all, I really needed it. He was my friend, so I named him Amico. Language was not a problem. Eventually, I learned that he was a Pastore Abruzzese, a regional dog bred from ancient lineage specifically to guard sheep in the Abruzzi mountains. Naturally, I became quite attached and was heartbroken to leave him at the Marina beach when it was time for me to go up and perform in Vasto. Our little tryst inspired a song.
Listen to the song
Amico in Vasto
(Pastore Abruzzese)
I freaked out in Verona
boarded the south bound train
my head was split with anger
and my heart was dulled with pain
Some fool had to leave a message
that my best friend ran away
the home I thought was anchored
floated off to yesterday
Lost and alone
so far from anything familiar
there was no one I could talk with
to relieve myself
Crazy with grief
the new moon cast everything in darkness
I tossed weightless in the strange air
like an autumn leaf
I arrived on the feast of San Martino
when the grapes turn into wine
it was summer in November
as the sun began to climb
The wind flew dry off the Adriatic
I was beckoned by the blue
I walked down to where the coastline changed
and that's where I met you
You ran to my side
as if you'd been waiting for my arrival
you leaned into my legs
as if you'd come back home
When I looked in your eyes
I could see that your love had found its mission
you were my guardian out of heaven
on a three day loan
Pastore Abruzzese
Amico, my Amico in Vasto
We stood in the waves and got sandy
I painted a picture of you
we climbed the palace steps together
and panted at the view
I bought you bones and cheeses
and I fed you at the fountains
I followed your gaze to the crescent moon
as it rose above the mountains
Steadfast and sure
you gave me the company I needed
and the unconditional love
that asks for nothing in return
I don't know where you came from
but I'm grateful that you found me
you saved a wandering soul
from drowning in the dark
Pastore Abruzzese
Amico, my Amico in Vasto
Where would you go when I left town
who would put food out for you
would you find some new soul you could shepherd
would they love you like I do
On the morning I was leaving
you appeared shampooed and shining
on a rope beside a young boy
who would love you like I do
Steadfast and sure
you gave me the company I needed
and the unconditional love
that asks for nothing in return
I don't know where you came from
but I'm grateful that you found me
you saved a wandering soul
from drowning in the dark
Pastore Abruzzese
Amico, my Amico in Vasto
©1996 Suzanne McDermott/Drexel Road Music (ASCAP/STIM) All Rights Reserved
For everything you might want to know about Pastori Abruzezzi, visit Marco Petrella.
A few years later, I told a bit of this story and sang the song for some nursing home residents in Philadelphia. Afterwards, one of the women grabbed my forearm and asked, "So? Did you bring the young man home with you?"
Also see: Vasto and Vasto Marina.
Vasto Marina
Vasto Marina, Italy
12 November 96
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
So, there I was in Pesina, with a few days before my next gig, drinking too much Italian table wine. The TV was always on in the kitchen. As the ancient neighbor made the morning Polenta, fetching newscasters interrupted Sissy Spacek and Whoppi Goldberg spouting fluent Italian in The Long Walk Home to advise of a pending rail strike. My host and Italian agent insisted that I immediately board the next train to my next gig.
Before I knew it, I was jostling along on the Italian rail system. After lots of personal space in the 1st class compartments on the orderly German trains, I was now shoulder to shoulder with chatty, freely gesturing compartment-mates. Not that I had any idea what they were chatting and gesturing about. The corridors were packed. We were rattling south along the Adriatic Coast but night had fallen and I had no idea what scenes were flashing past the window. It was a long ride with a lot of Italian coming at me and I accompanied myself with two glasses of wine. By the time I arrived in Vasto, it was very late and I was very weary. I had no idea who was supposed to meet me or where I was supposed to stay.
A very kind man found me at the station and while I couldn't understand a word of what he said, I went along with him. He took me to a bar with loud music, which did not help me understand the situation any better, and there we met some people who apparently discussed and decided what to do with me. I was driven to an apartment complex, let into an apartment and told something... I had no idea what.
Early the next morning, I woke up slightly hung over, wondering just what in the hell I thought I was doing. In the throes of despondent emotional thrashing about exacerbated by allergic reaction to histamine and alcohol, I happened to look out the window. Wait a minute! What's that? It's the beach and the ocean! I was out the door in seconds flat, not even checking for a landmark to find my way back. I was on the beach. My feet were in the sea. That was all that mattered.
Also see: Vasto and Amico in Vasto.
La Rocca, Pesina, Italy
La Rocca, Pesina, Italy
10 November 1996
Watercolor on cold press Lana paper
4in x 6in, archivally matted & backed to 8in x 10in
US$ 295 (includes USPS Priority Shipping)
Email me to purchase
From Alkmaar, I traveled through Germany, night after night for a good three weeks. Most of those dates were in the former East and it was all very interesting and each stop in Jena, Weimar, Bautzen, Dresden and the rest was a story in itself. Finally, I left the order, clocks and chill of Germany (which I was becoming accustomed to) and boarded the train past Kufstein and the jade green Inn River, the darkened Alps, to Milano and then to Verona where I was met by Donato and Marina LaRocca. Donato, Marina, their full-grown son, my guitar, large suitcase packed with CDs and I crammed into their tiny car with Donato at the wheel and raced off (and I do mean raced) down the ancient narrow, curving roads up towards Lake Garda. I was already exhausted and now unnerved by the ride.
Not in the house ten minutes, Donato called that there was a message for me on the answering machine. I climbed the dark, narrow stairs and found my way into the unlit office, figured out how to work the answering machine and finally listened to the message. It was my roommate telling me, rather briskly, that my cat of seven years had disappeared into the White Mountains of New Hampshire one dark and stormy night. Sorry, she said, there was nothing she could do. And that was it. Between the incessant traveling, my exhaustion from the long journey of that particular day, the first year anniversary of my mother's death and the simple fact that this roommate did not call upon the sense god gave her to not leave such information on an answering machine in another country, well, I just freaked right out and began a head first plunge into a rather serious depression. Not the best start for the Italian leg of my tour. And being suddenly unable to control the flow of tears did not make me the best dinner companion but, somehow I managed to fulfill all of my performance obligations with a very good front, pro that I was. Everyone was very kind. Bob Neuwirth came to visit the day after I arrived and he sat and gabbed with me as I made the above painting of Donato and Marina's house. Later we split the bill at my house concert there. Of all people on earth, Bob was a good choice to show up at that particular moment.
My great fortune was that in my hands I held the tools for my recovery — the new little paintbox and watercolor pad. Those and a magical encounter, just around the bend.
Alkmaar
It's Sunday and, as promised, it's time for my tour paintings post. Rather than start right off with the first of this series, I thought that I'd set the scene with my preliminary venture. I may be new to the painting blogosphere but my little secret (no longer) is that I've been at postcard (size) paintings for exactly eleven years.
Towards the beginning of my first European tour as a singer-songwriter, I performed at Atlantis in Alkmaar, Netherlands. Not too long before that, I'd landed in Brussels with a fresh head cold and was already exhausted from dragging around a suitcase filled with CDs, my trusty guitar on my back, and, as I was on my own except for the club folks, audiences and occasional host, lonely.
With plenty of time before catching the train to my next gig in Nijmegen, I took advantage of the gorgeous October day and walked around Alkmaar, enjoying the architecture and remnants of the Cheese Market. Turning a corner, I discovered the marvelous Theo Groothuizen where I bought a Winsor Newton field kit, small watercolor block and sketch pad. This morning, I dug out my journals from those tours and found this entry dated:
"16 October 1996. ...Bought field box of watercolors. Sat on bank of canal and made tiny sketch of house that caught my eye yesterday. Great fun. Got covered with little green bugs from tree I was sitting under..."
As long as I'm setting the scene, let me show you the studio that served me for a decade.
Closed:
Open:
A slightly later addition without which I could not work — a selection from my fine, old linen napkin collection:
If you go to Diary of a Studio you can watch as my present studio emerges. But for ten good years, I painted everything out of this little knapsack. Stay tuned for Sunday postings where I'll share many of them with you.
Alkmaar, Netherlands
16 October 1996
Watercolor and Pencil on sketch paper
available to select collector of Tour paintings
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 post by working your way up from the bottom. (This post is the bottom!)
