Day 3: The Rey Residency - Grand Theft Adirondack

Well, after nearly getting lost forever and starving to death yesterday (I had lunch almost an hour after I normally do), I have started to settle into a routine and get a lot of work done.

I spent the morning today working on a painting for an upcoming book. I managed to get quite a bit done and I'm happy with how it's coming out.

You can see the obvious influence of Curious George, right? Right?

After slaving over a painting all morning, I biked over to the Curious George Cottage and started on a sketch for an alphabet book I'm illustrating for Sleeping Bear Press.

Having trouble with the kid in the front right. I might just change him into a fire hydrant or something. That will teach him to be hard to draw.

I also did some work on a personal project.

Don't ask.

And created a new Olde Tyme Portrait.

This is how I've been grooming myself during the residency. I look dapper.

I decided that the day was too delightful to spend all of it hunched over a drawing board in a cottage, so I biked over to the town center and hunched over a drawing board in a different location.

Work, work, work...

I was looking for a spot to sit on the delightful beach and found, to my great joy, that there was one plastic chair sitting all alone on the deserted shoreline. I quickly stripped off my shoes and socks and dragged the chair to the edge of the water and sat down to draw.

I had been working for 15 or 20 minutes when I sensed a disturbance in the force. A feeling that I was being watched.

Turning around, I saw a lady in a sun hat sitting next to the spot where I had dumped my belongings, staring at me.

Hard.

The kind of stare you give people who drive down the breakdown lane and then squeeze into traffic that you have been patiently waiting in. The kind of stare you give people who have 19 items in the 14 items or fewer line.

The kind of stare you give a guy who took your beach chair.

I patted down the hair on the back of my neck and went back to work, assuming that if it were actually her chair, she would say something. She never did say anything, and the next time I dared to turn around, she was gone.

So, lady, if it was your chair, I'm sorry, but I thank you. It was very comfortable and I hope to steal it again later today.

Eventually I tired of stealing chairs and headed back to my glorious abode to make dinner (pasta with spinach, feta cheese, and pesto if you're wondering).

Along the way, I took the time to take another picture of the inside of my pocket to share with you. Because I care.

This particular piece looks alarmingly organic to me. Maybe my camera can see inside my spleen or something.

Then I spent some quality time working on another personal project that involves staring at my friend Dave's beard for excessive period of time.

His beard is hypnotic. Do not stare directly into it. Do not look at it while driving or using heavy machinery.

I decided to head off to bed a bit early then, because I want to get up early to go stalk chairs by the lake.

Day 2 - Lost and Starving (or at least a bit hungry) In The White Mountains

Day 2 of my tenure as Artist in Residence at the Rey Center was marred slightly by my near complete inability to locate the nearest grocery store (about 20 miles away).

After spending many tense minutes deciding which balcony I should drink my morning coffee on,  I was naturally near a state of complete mental exhaustion. (See yesterday's post for all the gruesome details.) I dragged myself into the shower, cleaned up, got dressed, and headed out to load up on provisions for the coming days of artistic solitude, which require much in the way of sustenance.

In my car, I rolled down the windows and sang lustily along with Aretha Franklin as I rocketed down the highway and right past the exit I should have taken to get to the grocery store that I was assured by the locals folks, did, in fact, exist.

I left the highway one exit too late and found myself awash in new students, eager to begin the school year at Plymouth State College. Dodging the students, most of whom seemed intent on self-destruction, lunging into the street heedless of the traffic surging around them, I drove ever onward, farther and farther from groceries.

I pulled over and resorted to using Sybil, my GPS, to guide me to the store. I entered the name of the store and was given a location 27 miles away. I cursed freely and expressively and remembered that someone had told me that the grocery store was near a Wal-Mart. I'd rather chew a handful of hobo toenails than shop at Wal-Mart, but I wasn't above using it as a means to my end: groceries.

I asked Sybil to deliver me to Wal-Mart and was directed to one a mere 2 miles away. Just down the street was the grocery store, where I shopped with the heady abandon of a husband and father who no longer has to be concerned with his family's food foibles (Wife: no seafood; Daughter: no meat; Son: nothing spicy).

I loaded up on spicy Indian food, meat, and seafood and returned to my living quarters a happy man.

I spent the remainder of the day working on art in various locations around town. I biked everywhere so I could get a feel for the town and figure out where I'm going.

This is Waterville Academy, a world-renowned ski school.

If you go to the ski school, they make you race down this ramp,  hurl yourself into the air, and land on the inflatable pillow at the bottom. Personally, I think they should inflate the pillow, but I'm not a ski instructor, so what do I know?

This is the town library. I wandered through in the afternoon. It's just as adorable on the inside as it looks from the outside. They did not have any of my books on the shelves, so I stormed out in a huff.

This is the inside of my pocket, because I am a great photographer.

After a few fun minutes deleting the 50 or so picture I had taken of the inside of my pocket, I continued my tour of the town.

This is the town square. See the tent? A carnival is not coming. Don't spend a few hours sitting under there waiting for the show to begin. Trust me.

These are some shops and restaurants and The Rey Center.

See?

This is a horrible photograph of the front window of The Rey Center, where they have displayed one of my paintings and the drawing that I donated to them.

This is how you know where you are.

This is how you know where I am. These are posters which are splashed all over town. These made me laugh. I'll stop laughing if I find out that they are actual, real wanted posters and the police are scouring the area for me.

This is the town center from across the pond.

This is town center ten feet down the road from the last picture I took, because I am such a great photographer.

I continued my tour of the town witha visit to Margret and H.A. Rey's actual cottage.
When I arrived, I met my pal Birdie, who explained that she had just stopped by to see me (I was a bit late due to my harrowing grocery-related ordeal) and that the building's alarm was going off and we would likely be swarmed by police at any second.

Birdie managed to disable the alarm, despite that fact that she steadfastly refused to try my suggestion of smashing it with a rock.

Thanks to her brilliance, I was able to tour the cottage without being arrested.

The cottage. Note conspicuous lack of police.

A nice, sunny porch.

And in we go...

Large, monkey-friendly living room.

Original art by H.A. Rey.

Back door for easy escape during impending police raid.

A great room for doing crafts with kids.

And a wide selection of children's books. None of mine, however. I'm going to fix that...

It was too nice to work indoors, so I plunked myself down on the porch outside and got busy on some art.

Yesterday's output amounted to this:

Pencil and chalk on toned paper, complete with artist's thumb. Because I am a great photographer.

Don't ask.

In the evening, after my spicy Indian dinner, I  spent some time working on painting a spread for an upcoming book.

Then a bit of yoga, some reading, and off to bed.

That is the worst ending I've ever written.
Let me try again:

As I sat at the table painting, I heard a long, low growl from behind me. I spun around and screamed...


Yeah. That's better.

Margret and H.A. Rey Residency: Day 1 - Oh, the Humanity!

Day 1:
I need to apologize before I even begin this post, dear readers. It's been a very difficult time here on my first morning as the Artist in Residence at the Margret and H. A. Rey Center.

I was forced - please, delicate readers be warned, this gets graphic and I will include photos for proof - I was forced, before I had even had a cup of coffee this morning, to decide which of the three balconies I should sit on to drink my coffee and read.

Balcony #1 with views of the distant mountains?

Balcony #2, overlooking the nearby trees?

Balcony #3, which looks up at the home of my hosts?

How am I supposed to make decisions like this before coffee?

Eventually, and after much internal deliberation, I selected Balcony #1 because the chairs looked more comfortable than the others.

I've decided to post daily blog updates to warn my artist friends who may be considering applying for this residency next year. Don't do it! Please, please, please. Spare yourself this ordeal.

The description on the website describes the accommodations for the artist as "a guest cottage". 

Yesterday, I arrived with my family and found this to be my "guest cottage":

ONLY 3 stories tall? You call that a guest cottage? Why, it's barely large enough to accommodate me and 20 or 25 of my closest friends. WHAT IF I WANT TO HAVE 26 PEOPLE OVER?!?

Walking inside, we were shocked at the conditions I was to be subjected to for the next 2 weeks.

My family is knocked off their feet as they witness the huge, airy, beautiful living space on the third floor of my "guest cottage". They beg me to come home so I will not have to endure 2 weeks of suffering in these conditions.

The bright, open kitchen with the sliding doors that overlook the Mad River.

Kerri tried hard to provide me with some semblance of comfort , but even the wine rack was ill-suited to my needs. WHY MUST I SUFFER SO?

Another view of the top-floor space where I will be forced to spend most of my time working away at the craft I love.

The view off one of the balconies, showing the house of my incredibly kind hosts, Chris and Len. They're probably sitting up there right now, laughing over their coffee, because they only have one huge deck to choose from, not 3, like me.
My suffering knows no bounds.

The study, with its tasteful decorations and comfy reading chair, complete with a small built in table PROVIDING ME WITH YET ANOTHER CHOICE FOR WHERE TO HAVE MY MORNING COFFEE.

Alex is such a great kid, he offered to spend two weeks sitting in the chair so that I wouldn't have to make yet another coffee-related decision.

The master bedroom, where I will be forced to try to sleep on the comfy king-sized bed.

The upstairs bathroom, where I must look at nature as I brush my teeth. I don't know how I will survive these conditions.

Tori, my brave daughter, offered to spend the two weeks ensconced in the downstairs living room, to guard against unwanted visitors like zombies, bears, moose, and chipmunks.

I explained to her that that was what the high wooden gates out front were for, and sent her back home with Kerri and Alex so they wouldn't need to suffer with me.

After we arrived and settled in a bit, I was greeted by Birdie and Margaret, who took us on a tour of the lovely town of Waterville Valley.

If that weren't enough  for one man to endure, I then attended a dinner with the Board of Directors of The Rey Center. There was delicious food, lovely wine (which did not even come out of a box, like the wine I am accustomed to), and sparkling conversation with a really nice group of people. And all of it took place in the beautiful home of my hosts, Chris and Len.

This house, in case you have forgotten.

I will be posting on my blog daily so that I can continue to warn all my artist friends about the  conditions I am being subjected to. Please, my friends, heed my warning: Don't apply for this residency next year, using this link right here:

http://thereycenter.org/artist-residency.html

Let me do it, so that you won't have to go through what I am going through. That's how much I care about you, my friends. That's how much I care.