Second paint-out morning and the intrepid plein air artists (Miri and me) scout out a hidden corner of a lovely valley. Acres of sunlit sage overlooking green pastures nestled in the arms of surrounding hills. It was still early when we stopped on a dirt road; sunlight was brushing the tops of the sagebrush turning them into whimsical, dancing candelabras. 

I pulled out my sanded board, slapped it on the easel and started to lay down color in hopes of capturing that nimbus of back-lit sage – my heart was captured by the early morning show and my head despaired as those beams shifted, the angle of light changed, the magic dissipated. The breeze tugged at my board, a truck rattled by raising a dust cloud that drifted, swirled and settled.  I sighed and worked on, hoping to capture those swaying, glowing branches. They don’t make a color labeled ‘sunshine on sage.’

My pastel board was taped to a thin masonite support, and when finished I laid a sheet of glassine paper over the painting to protect the fragile surface from smearing (remember the little glassine envelops we used to collect stamps in?). I carefully replaced my powdery pastels into the padded slots of their box, broke down my easel and loaded gear into the car. The day had warmed considerably; we were sweaty, dusty and ready for shade and nourishment.

About five minutes down the road Miri stopped the car and in a horrified voice said, “Oh Carol, I left your painting on the hood of the car!” It was clearly gone, so we turned around and about a half mile back, found it face down in the dirt and gravel. I jumped out, there were tire tracks decorating the masonite!  I lifted it up expecting to see a poor, mutilated image, but other than a few divots of gravel imparting an interesting textural effect to the surface, the painting was undamaged. I framed it later that evening and it sold at the exhibition on Saturday.