The Farmers' Market by the sea in Santa Monica is always a lively place, but at holiday time it seems to buzz with a special excitement.

Many people don't realize that like Pasadena, Santa Monica has many architectural gems. This is a Greene & Greene Arts and Crafts bungalow sitting high on a bluff overlooking Santa Monica Canyon with a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean. Many years ago the owners, friends of mine, asked me to lend them my Jack Russell Terrier, Killer, to rid the crawl space under the house of rats. He came up empty handed.

The infamous Santa Monica stairs, mecca to fitness buffs who literally arrive from around the world to "do the steps." There are two sets forming a kind of loop actually, these concrete ones and wooden ones a couple of hundred yards to the east. From Adelaide St. they drop around 300 steps down to Entrada at the bottom of Santa Monica Canyon, a series of long dizzying flights, landings, and right angle turns. The workout freaks can be an aggressively arrogant bunch. While I was sketching one brushed past me and muttered, "That oughta be illegal."

Old Mountain Road, Upper Nyack, NY. This lovely stream ambles through woods and neighborhoods on its leisurely stroll to the Hudson River.

Visiting my family this past week I discovered a small cemetery near their home in Upper Nyack, NY. I'd passed by there many times in years gone by without noticing it behind the shrubbery and stone wall. It was a family cemetery, dating back to the 1600's

"Here lieth body [sic] of James Palmer departed this life November the 12th 1875 aged 33."

It's a self-portrait, intended as a study for the central figure in a larger painting.

Venice Beach, at the end of Washington Blvd. I always have to remember how much of what we see is defined by shadows.

Okay, not a quick sketch, and not done on location, but "sketchy" enough for me to post here, and done with reference to the many sketches I've done in this beautiful place on a hillside looking out over the Valdichiana Valley. It's la Pietra, in Cortona, where you can join me for personal guided tours of Tuscany and your own individual painting workshops, tailored to your needs. Contact me for details.

The lifeguard station on the Venice Pier, Los Angeles.

The corner of National and National in Los Angeles, half a block from my house. National Blvd. is the most perplexing thoroughfare in the city. Several times it reaches an intersection and does a 90 degree turn. At one point you can't go any further and must turn onto Overland, cross the 10 Freeway overpass, and pick up National on the other side. This has interested me as a place to draw ever since they erected the electronic billboard, which is constantly changing. I finally got around to it.

Technology hell: computer, modem, mouse, USB multi-plug, printer and scanner, iPod, Flip camera, external hard drive, camera and recharger, cell phone,  microphone, headset, television, VCR (2). Lo-tech dog.

Santa Monica, alley behind Main Street (just a couple short blocks from Arnold's office, where he is purported to have romped with his concubines). Watercolor, pen and ink on Arches Carnet de Voyage.

Playa del Rey, Los Angeles. I sketched the Szechuan Palace several years back and then revisited it. It's gone through significant alterations. Fun to document the changes in our world. This little guy is 6x8 inches, watercolor, pen and ink on Arches 300 lb.

Santa Monica, 3rd Street Promenade. There are no words.....

 

I saw this fellow sitting in the parking lot of a convenience store frantically playing air guitar and wailing what I guessed was meant to be heavy metal sounds. I handed him a five dollar bill. He grinned and looked at me gratefully. "Thanks, man," he said, and added, "so do you want to hit me?" "No," I answered, "I want to draw you." He seemed to enjoy posing.

Main channel, Marina del Rey, Los Angeles. I've watched the growth over the years from back when I first lived here on a houseboat, then on my Matthews 42 sport fisherman and finally my Fuji 45 ketch. When I first came here my friend Pancho Kohner owned the house on the far left and none of the other buildings seen here had been built. (Click on image to enlarge.)

 

Manchester and Sepulveda, just off the 405. An iconic Los Angeles landmark. (watercolor, 5x7")

Playa del Rey, home of the shackburger, and until you've had one you don't begin to know what a burger can be!

Malibu Creek at Pacific Coast Highway.

Los Angeles, the 405 North from the Palms overpass. We Americans show our disdain for precipitously rising gas prices by taking to our cars. (This was a good subject for an artist, because it didn't move very much.)

Santa Monica, 3rd Street Promenade.

 

I'm back in LA now, thinking of la Pietra, our place high in the hills outside Cortona gazing down into the valley where Hannibal defeated the Romans in the battle of Trasimeno, 200 BC.

Locals and tourists gather in Cortona's Piazza Signorelli to enjoy the Tuscan sun, Chianti, and espresso.  Cortona, one of the 12 Etruscan capitals sits high atop a hill with breathtaking views of the Val di Chiana far below. From the piazza take any of the narrow cobbled streets that wind their way upward precipitously. You might find yourself at the Porta Montagnina in the ancient Etruscan wall, or gazing at the tiny Church of San Cristoforo.

My mother-in-law, Lilianna Romanelli, 89-years old. Rome, March 2011.

Somewhere above America at 35,000 feet, headed toward Rome on 3/14/11.

On my way by train from Rome to Arezzo, I made the acquaintance of a priest who was reading and underlining passages in a book entitled Come Lui Ha Amato l'Eros di Gesu (How He Loved the Sexuality of Jesus). When drawing people I like to ask their permission first, and suggest they continue what they're doing without being distracted by me. In this case I didn't need to ask. The very friendly cleric never noticed what I was doing.

On the shore of the diminutive Isola Maggiore in Central Italy's Lake Trasimeno St. Francis of Assisi passed Lent in 1211 with nothing but a single loaf of bread to sustain him, after which he returned to celebrate Easter with his "brothers and sisters" at their retreat outside Cortona. This spot, marked by a tiny, rough-stone chapel, was where he first came ashore and later embarked after his 40 days of solitude.

 

I saw this scene unfold on the 4th St.Promenade in Santa Monica. I don't know if the guy's girlfriend ever caught on to his roving eye.

Rome, Italy. Ponte Milvio.

 

Memories of a long journey, Los Angeles to Rome via Toronto and Frankfurt. Late at night most passengers were asleep and the cabin darkened. I was chatting with a flight attendant in the galley area when this gentleman spoke briefly with another attendant, then went and got his prayer rug. I hurried back to my seat for my sketchbook.

 

Like a medieval vision rising from the surrounding fields and olive groves of the Tuscan foothills of the Appenine Mountains, Rocca di Pierla is a step backwards into the distant past. Only a narrow dirt road lined by crumbling homes circles the ruins of the castle, and strangers are greeted by chickens running free and the occasional friendly dog. My Italian wife asked a stooped and leathery local whose castle it once was. "Beh," he answered, "era cosi tanto tempo fa chi si ricorda (it was so long ago who can remember)?"