Waving My Brush Attcha:
Artist living on the mountain in Carmel Valley, Cachagua

Patty lives deep in the mountains of Carmel Valley with her partner Tom and many animals. They enjoy a remote off-grid life style t their “Hodge Podge Lodge”. Her “tree-top” studio overlook the Cachagua Valley and Los Padres forest. This quiet reclusive life is inspirational in and to her work. Believing we should follow our passion, writing this blog satisfies another part of her “creative itch.“

A little about where I live and how I paint:

“I’m drawn to country, animals, aging barns and overgrown homesteads. Old buildings that lean and shed their paint grab my attention. They have untold stories hidden in their walls. These things draw me to my easel. Cachagua is rich with these historical subjects.

I knew some of the old timers in these places. I rode their ranches, drank their “grappa” and listened to their tales. I”m motivated by it’s colorful past, it’s today, and the animals… they grab me with their whispers. Cachagua has special meaning. I try to capture those whispers in my work. This quiet reclusive life seems to be truly inspirational.

Each painting has it’s own life, conveyed in its own way. Some paintings call to be done quickly and simply in plein air. Other paintings need detailed plans and preliminary color notes. Often I draw attention with precise shapes and edges, intense color and value contrasts. I use a limited palate of subtle earth tones and value changes. Conveying the emotion and message is the fun part… sometimes the hardest part.”

I grew up drawing horses and pictures on my school work, instead of the math assignment. A giant box of crayons was the ultimate gift. Artists become artists with a variety of credentials … life, brush-miles, artist mentors, workshops, educational degrees, instructional internet/books, and persistence. I’ve had them all and am still seeking. It’s an exciting search.

It was the 5th grade at Paiute Elementary School in Albuquerque, New Mexico, 1959. After school and while on my way home I was accosted by three school bullies. The leader and toughest was an unusually tall-for-his-age red headed kid (what else) named Kenny. He was drenched in freckles (what else) and was the obvious choice for spokesman.

He blustered up to me with the declaration of, “I heard what you said about me.” Kenny’s two thugs, standing close behind him made grunting noises in support of his statement to me.

I thought at the very least it was going to lead to a punch in the nose for me. At this point, I suppose Kenny expected me to run away screaming and crying for my mother. Leaving behind more fodder for the “trail of terror” Kenny was probably expecting.

Instead, frozen in place and in an act of unsolicited response, I replied in a very matter-of-fact and casual manner (while miming a glance at my non-existent wristwatch), “You know, Kenny (using his name implied I knew him, which I did not), I’m in a hurry, but for you, I have just enough time for a good beating.”

I’m sure that in part it was my deadpan delivery that caught him off guard. Kenny’s two lackeys hadn’t a clue as to what I was talking about. They were along just for the ride, anyway.