Kesler Woodward

Twilight

Orison ©Kesler Woodward 2020 Acrylic on Canvas 36" x 24

In this strange, uneasy time of pandemic and social unrest, I seem to be drawn in my work again and again to the hushed calm of twilight. We are blessed in the Far North with long hours of twilight, not just in summer but in every season of the year.

Here in Fairbanks we have 70 straight days each spring and summer when it doesn't get dark--when it is continuously either broad daylight or "civil twilight." Civil twilight is when the sun is less than 6º below the horizon, and you can still see details and read a newspaper out-of-doors. In the wee hours of the night, dusk and dawn are prolonged as the sun slides briefly just below the horizon and re-emerges soon after. 

Canticle ©Kesler Woodward 2020 Acrylic on Canvas 20" x 16"

I find the relative darkness of the deep forest comforting in these long days of bright sunlight, and at this time of year I paint spruces as often, or even more frequently, than the birches and aspens I so love. Individual birches are a continuing wonder to me, but spruces shelter, shade, and provide both a welcome contrast to the brilliance of the day and a more dramatic stage for the sun's rise and fall.

Solstice ©Kesler Woodward 2020 Acrylic on Canvas 24" x 36"

Even on the winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, when here in Fairbanks we get only 3 hours and 42 minutes of true daylight, and the sun struggles just one and a half degrees above the southern horizon at its zenith, we have almost six and a half hours of combined daylight and civil twilight, and the gloaming is just as beautiful as it is in summer. This is a view of the winter Solstice from the broad Tanana River just outside town, when the brief sun colors the deeply frozen, snow-drifted river and backlights the dramatic bluff overlooking it.

Summer Night

Summer Night ©Kesler Woodward 2020  Acrylic on Canvas  36" x 36"

It has not been dark here for weeks, and it won't be again until August. The dramatic burgeoning of daylight has nearly reached its annual zenith, and as usual I'm enchanted by the beauty of the summer night. This year even more than most, I've found myself looking up, especially in the evening, at the treetops and the sky. The light of every season here is remarkable, the low angle of the sun at this latitude giving us hours of twilight even in winter, but it is the soft, ethereal light of summer evening, when the sun just ever-so-slightly dips below the horizon at midnight, that seems most wondrous.

I don't usually post images of my paintings in their frames, but I did this one because I so appreciate and want to acknowledge the company that has custom-made all the frames for my paintings for more than 25 years, Metropolitan Picture Framing in Minneapolis. I discovered their frames at a museum conference all those years ago, and I knew that they were what I'd long been seeking--beautifully crafted, elegant "floater" frames that were more than nice enough for display in museums, but clean and simple enough not to distract from the paintings themselves. I order them by phone, and they make the 2 1/2-inch deep frames to my specifications--ash wood, pickled-white finish, black-painted interior, pre-drilled holes for the screws that secure the painting's stretcher. They are shipped in sections, with wedges that enable me to put one together in minutes whenever I need it. For a quarter century, I have called their number and Lea Ann, in the same welcoming voice, has answered, "Hi, Kes. What can we make for you, and when do you need them?" It was a great comfort to me when I received an email just a couple of weeks ago, saying that they'd returned to work from their pandemic shutdown, were all well, and were fully back in business.

The Buried Giant  ©Kesler Woodward 2020  Acrylic on Canvas  30" x 40"

The Buried Giant is named after a favorite novel of mine by Kazuo Ishiguro, the Nobel Prize-winning author best known for his novel The Remains of the Day. As usual for me, the title came after the painting was completed, when the atmosphere in the painting reminded me forcefully of the fog of forgetting which is at the center of that strange story. You'll have to read the wonderful novel to understand the reference, and I hope you will. I will just say that the painting was not intended to be "about" memory and forgetting, much less about that novel, but it seems to me very much in keeping with it, and is perhaps in subconscious response to this strange pandemic time.

Crown ©Kesler Woodward 2020 Acrylic on Canvas  20" x 16"

Bare treetops about to leaf out in the lengthening days of spring, imaginary mist, the light of the summer night... I have so little say over what I paint. All I can do is go to my studio each day, begin to work, and see what happens there.  

Painting Through the Pandemic

Eventide ©Kesler Woodward 2020 Acrylic on Canvas 20" x 16"

Though I am every day grateful that I have a nice studio to work in, and that I do the kind of work that can be done while sheltering in place, it took me some time to find my way through the worst of the malaise and general weirdness of the current pandemic and settle into making new images.

I could never make paintings about this global crisis itself, and I certainly didn't set out to do so. I almost never know what a given painting of mine is about until I've finished it and sit back and look at it, and the titles always come after. But I firmly believe that everything I do and see shows up in my work, and when I look back on my last several paintings, I see even more than usual the interplay of light and darkness--sometimes contesting and at other times gently but inexorably giving way.

These are smaller paintings than those I was doing through the fall and winter, quieter, less certain, maybe even chastened.

Whisper ©Kesler Woodward 2020  Acrylic on Canvas  20" x 16"  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Threshold ©Kesler Woodward 2020 Acrylic on Canvas 30" x 40"

 

Liminal

Liminal  ©Kesler Woodward 2020 Acrylic on Canvas  36" x 48"

In this highly unsettling, deeply fraught time of pandemic, running on snowy trails in the beautiful forest in the returning light of early spring is a tonic. The burgeoning light splits the darkness, and here in the North we are grateful for nearly an hour more of it each week. It is a dramatic, a Liminal time, at the threshold between darkness and light.

Apricity ©Kesler Woodward 2020  Acrylic on Canvas  20" x 10"

I finally completed Liminal this week, in mid-March--a time of year when despite deep snow and nightly temperatures well below zero, even at first light spring seems just around the corner, and by mid-morning the sun provides warmth that can be felt on our faces. 

The much smaller painting Apricity, by contrast, was painted in January and early February, at a time of year when the sun at this latitude, even at its daily zenith, provides little or no perceptible heat. 

Apricity is "the warmth of the sun in winter." It's a purely visual warmth which reminds us, on days like the one in this scene--when it was 40º below zero on the south bank of the Chena River--that warmth will someday come again.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And one last thing, for now. I've just learned from Makenzie Demmert, TV Producer at KUAC Public Television here in Fairbanks, that Into the Woods With Kes Woodward, the 9-part television series that she produced for KUAC in 2018, is now available for viewing on PBS nationally, through PBS Passport. If you contribute at a modest level to your local Public Television station, you are eligible for PBS Passport, and you can stream any or all of the episodes for free, at this link: Into the Woods with Kes Woodward

You can read more about the series on one of my earlier website posts, at Into the Woods. It was very popular here, but when it was aired in the fall of 2018, and shown again the following year, it was only viewable locally and live, on KUAC-TV. Many Fairbanksans who don't have televisions or who can't receive the local broadcast, as well as people from other parts of Alaska and beyond, asked how they could see it. KUAC developed a 2-disc DVD set of the entire program which is still available through the station, but now it is also available for streaming to anyone who contributes modestly to his or her local Public Television station.

 

New Paintings for a New Year

Tapestry ©Kesler Woodward 2020  Acrylic on Canvas  36" x 36"

A longtime friend visiting our home a couple of weeks ago, seeing paintings of mine from at least four decades on the walls, asked me about the "evolution" of my style. I laughed and told him that I don't think my style "evolves," so much as "meanders." I have consciously tried to avoid adopting a set style or technique. I'm always wandering among different ways of working I've developed over the years, in an effort not just to say, but to discover for myself, what it meant to me to be in a particular place, at a particular time, in specific weather and light.

Hope ©Kesler Woodward 2020  Acrylic on Canvas  16" x 20"

Tapestry--a view of one of my favorite places in Denali National Park--and Hope--the low Northern sun bursting through the boreal forest--are images of a sort that I've made many times, but I haven't tackled them in this way way for years. I've been painting for some time primarily in thin veils of transparent color, chasing a kind of luminosity that only transparent paint on canvas can provide. But for these new scenes, I wanted denser, richer paint and less literally natural color. I turned to a strange, highly idiosyncratic way of working that I developed almost two decades ago--laying in the image loosely in strikingly unrealistic, bright colors, and then building up layer after thick layer of contrasting hues on top, each layer covering most, but not all, of the layer beneath. The result is a thickly textured surface that is flecked with bits of the mostly-buried contrasting hues throughout. The colors move toward the natural as I work, but they never become literal. They remain carriers of content, of feeling, rather than description. 

It is an odd way of working...a bit like painting in the dark...as I try layers of color almost arbitrarily to see what effect each will have in combination with the layer before. It takes three, four, or five times as long as just painting the scene, and it is disheartening, and looks ghastly, for days at a time. When it works, though, a day finally comes when it suddenly "gels," almost without warning, and the result is an image that captures much of what I felt I wanted to, but didn't know how to, say. They are maddening paintings to make, but some of my favorites over the years.

I almost never take in-progress snapshots of my work, but I did this time, as I worked on Tapestry. I hope you'll enjoy seeing the way this painting looked over the almost three weeks it took me to complete. You can click on each of the six images below to see the in-progress painting at a larger scale.

  

  

Last Big Painting for 2019

Snow Country ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Acrylic on Canvas 48" x 60"

There will be drawings, and perhaps even another small painting, in the few weeks remaining in 2019, but Snow Country will be my last big painting of the year. It's a view of Mount Dan Beard from the Sheldon Hut, a tiny cabin perched on a 200 ft-high rock outcropping at 5000 ft elevation on the Ruth Glacier in the Alaska Range. Dorli and I spent 5 days there with two friends, several years ago, and it was easily the most spectacular place I've ever been. Just seven miles from the summit of Denali, it is a world of perpetual whiteness, punctuated only by rock outcroppings too steep for the snow to ever cover completely.

Painting this fairly large canvas was, despite the looseness of the brushstrokes themselves, an incredibly slow, deliberate process. As always, I wanted the scene to be very realistic from a distance and completely abstract, altogether painterly, up close. But rock outcroppings are already so abstract in form that unlike trees, forests, or other subjects that are replete with immediately recognizable silhouettes, capturing the crenellations, snow slides, cornices, and drifts while keeping the paint lively--not just descriptive--was an exacting balancing act. Even more than usual, I had to keep walking away from the canvas to see exactly where I was in the scene, approach and attack a small section of rock, snow, and shadow quickly and freely, make myself stop and walk away to get my bearings again, and re-engage to tease out just a bit more representational form. It was a patient dance of stop and start--slow, almost meditative--and it was especially satisfying to see this very specific, highly distinctive mountain's form emerge on the canvas bit by bit, day after day. 

Replenishment

Replenishment  ©Kesler Woodward 2019 Acrylic on Canvas 48" x 60"

I'm not certain why I've been painting mountains, glaciers, and falling snow for the last month, rather than birch trees and boreal forest. I've been reading and thinking a lot about climate change, and about how the coastal glaciers I began visiting more than four decades ago have almost all shrunk dramatically in that time, but I didn't go to my studio and decide to make paintings about climate change. It's hard--for me at least--to work that way without simply illustrating an idea. I'd much rather discover, after I've made a painting and asked myself what it was about, that I had something to say about it.

I've painted mountains and glaciers for decades, but it's been some time since I turned to them as subject matter, so when I finished this painting, I sat and looked at it from across the studio and asked myself, as usual, "So what was that about?" The snow arrived very late this year here in Fairbanks, as it has for several years now, and I'm sure that the falling snow in these paintings came in response to my perennial eagerness for it. But when I cast about for a title, Replenishment came to mind immediately, and I thought, wryly, that Alaska's glaciers must be longing for it at least as much as I have been.

As soon as it was done, I prepared another large (4 ft. x 5 ft.) canvas and tackled another glacier that I know well, imagining that it, too, must be dreaming of the snow and cold that enabled it to grow and spill from mountaintop to sea, and which it needs, in its season, to continue to thrive.

Glacier Dreams  ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Acrylic on Canvas  48" x 60"

Since my last post, and before making these big mountain, glacier, falling snow paintings, I finished the half-dozen new pen and ink drawings I set out to make of some of my favorite birches in our own yard. I'll get around to having them framed individually, eventually, but for now I'm enjoying having them push-pinned as a group on the painting wall in my studio, where they catch my eye with delight daily, as I paint.  

Six new pen-and-ink birch portraits on the wall in my studio. For titles, sizes, and individual images, click on the Available Works Album at the top of the right-hand column above and then on any of the individual thumbnails. 

Fall Comes Like a Fire

Morning Journal ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Acrylic on canvas  36" x 24"

Much of the time I'm painting images that are out-of-season. In summer I often long for the hush of winter, and I paint snow scenes. And as much as I love the winter, after being enveloped in whiteness for six months I find myself dreaming of the brighter colors of spring. But the fall, which turns the boreal forest from green to gold in a few short weeks, captures me every year. Two new paintings are personal responses to that glorious blaze.

Like a Fire ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Acrylic on canvas 20" x 16"

The smaller painting Like a Fire addresses that notion directly. It's a scene from early September, just a stone's throw from my studio. Our bright fall leaves are mostly yellow, but a handful of aspens turn orange and red on occasion, and a few weeks ago I was struck by how much the rampaging transition to fall, with whole sections of trees still green and other boughs blazing yellow, orange, and red, looked like sudden flame engulfing the forest. 

 

 

 

 

 

Dooryard Birch ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Pen and ink on BFK Rives paper  15" x 10"

Since finishing these bright fall paintings, I've heeded the note to myself I posted some time ago in my studio, saying "Draw more!" In Dooryard Birch I revisited my current favorite tree, just steps from my studio door. I made a drawing of it several months ago with bold strokes of pen and ink. In that summer drawing, I tried to capture some of what I saw as that birch's remarkable vitality and strength

So what would it look like, I wondered, if I tackled drawing the same tree with a thinner pen, and searched for different parts of its personality? The new Dooryard Birch is the same section of the same tree, drawn from the same angle, at the same size, but in it I've tried to capture a little of that still young-and-growing tree's delicacy, its vulnerability, and a different element of its sensuality. I honestly don't know how much of those qualities come through in the finished drawing, but this is the way I think about my work.

 

 

Unfurling ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Pen and ink on BFK Rives paper  15" x 10"

As usual for me, one painting or drawing leads to another, and another, so for now I'm still drawing portraits of some of my favorite trees in our own yard. I just go to my studio every day and go to work, so I'll simply continue until another image calls. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rubenesque ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Pen and ink on BFK Rives paper  15" x 10"

That Time of Year

That Time of Year  ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Acrylic on canvas  36" x 36"

Fall comes early to the forests of Interior Alaska, and it is too fleeting. Leaves begin to change color in mid-August, by the first week of September they cover the ground on the trails where we run, and by mid-September the branches are bare. The changes in the understory are just as dramatic, and anyone who lives here and pays attention might guess what week it is in my new painting That Time of Year. It's the last week of August. The bunchberries are red, the early-fallen aspen leaf hasn't quite finished changing color, and the ground around is dark and rich with the detritus of early fall-- leaves already down and decaying, bits of color brightening the forest floor briefly in the duff, before becoming soil.

The title--chosen as is usual for me after the painting was finished, when I sat and pondered what it was about--comes from a Shakespeare sonnet that I love. This is not a cheery-bright evocation of autumn, but an effort to capture some of the season's bittersweetness--the darkness that is returning after a long summer of light, anticipation of the cold and stillness of winter that will inexorably follow, and the determination of the forest to flare with brief brilliance as it enters into night.

Old Friends  ©Kesler Woodward 2019  Acrylic on canvas  30" x 40" 

I do try to wrench my attention from the beauty of individual birches, but after painting mountains, streams, light in the trees, and the forest floor for weeks or months, I seem inevitably to give in to wonder at the beauty of a new birch that I hadn't noticed before, on the trail as we run. Or, as in Old Friends, the growth and change in individual birches that I've painted over and over, and that have become in fact just that--old friends. So in the midst of responding to the changing seasons, the dance of light through the forest and through the year, the flash of sun on bright northern waters, and the majesty of the mountains, I make portraits of birches, day after day, and year after year. I can't help myself.

Four recent birch portraits on paper ©Kesler Woodward 2019  

And one last thing, for now. I am grateful to the Nevada Museum of Art, Bill Fox, Director of its Center for Art + Environment, and Sara Frantz, its Archivist and Librarian, for organizing and mounting a small exhibition of my work there this summer and early fall. Kesler Woodward: The Harriman Alaska Expedition Retraced features several of my paintings and a number of my sketches and notes from that extraordinary 2001 voyage along the coast of Alaska, when I served as Expedition Artist for a Smith College-sponsored retracing of the route of the last great exploring expedition to Alaska--the 1899 Harriman Expedition.

The exhibition opened on June 29, and continues through October 13, so if you're in or near Reno, Nevada before mid-October, please check out the Center and the Nevada Museum of Art, and my exhibition. The Center for Art + Environment  is an internationally recognized research center that supports the practice, study, and awareness of creative interactions between people and their natural, built, and virtual environments. Housed at the Nevada Museum of Art, it is home to a research library with archive collections from more than 1000 artists and organizations working on all seven continents. For the last several years they have been duplicating, organizing, and indexing a vast array of my images, notes, publications, and other materials related to my life as an artist. The online searchable database of that material will go live soon, and I'll post a web address for it here on my website. In the meantime, you can get some sense of what will be there by clicking here for the online finding aid to my archive. Below are a few of my Harriman Expedition Retraced works in the current exhibition.

Iceberg, Hubbard Glacier - Harriman Expedition ©Kesler Woodward 2002  Oil pastel on paper  30" x 42"

 

 

 

 

 

 

College Fjord, Harriman Expedition ©Kesler Woodward 2007  Acrylic on canvas  16" x 20"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rising Mists, Tracy Arm - Harriman Expedition  ©Kesler Woodward 2002  Oil pastel on paper  17" x 24"

 

Bounteous Streams and Birches Built of Marks

Bounty  ©Kesler Woodward 2019  acrylic on canvas  36" x 48"

When I've just completed a painting, I never know until I get to my studio the following day what I will feel called upon to tackle next. Bounty--a paean to cold, free-flowing water rushing over rocks in an unnamed but very specific Alaska stream--is typical of my most fluid, loosest kind of painting. It's all transparent glazes, the white of the canvas signifying froth, and I'd like to think it makes the viewer's eyes dart as mercurially as my brush did for days, teasing the freshet's structure out of the canvas.

I am so caught up in the challenges of each painting until it's done that I seldom think about what might come next, but if I had wondered, I'd have probably imagined I'd work next on something similar. 

Instead, what followed were several drawings--pen and ink, sharp black lines on beautiful, creamy white heavyweight paper--as linear and sharp as the painting I'd just finished was loose and liquid. I very seldom make finished drawings, but I was inspired by having recently seen the drawings of two Alaska artist friends--Norm Campbell and Elizabeth Eero Irving --whose work is very different from one another, and from mine, but both of whose work I very much admire. 

 

A Dooryard Birch  ©Kesler Woodward 2019  pen and ink on paper  13" x 8" (image)  15" x 10" (paper)

 

Of course my drawings, for all their black-and-white crispness, are the same mix of representation and abstraction as the rest of my work. From across the room, they are birch trunks--portraits of birches just outside my studio door. But up close, they are all nested marks, surfaces built of a myriad pen strokes, in which I want you to get as lost as I frequently am, when I'm working on them.

Sentinel ©Kesler Woodward 2019 pen and ink on paper  13" x 8" (image)  15" x 10" (paper)

 

 

North Window  ©Kesler Woodward 2019  pen and ink on paper  20" x 28" (image) 22" x 30" (paper)