Page 16 of Who’s Playing You (In The Nick of Time #1)
SCOTTIE ANDERSON
A fter Nicholas and I got through our somewhat rocky introductions, I had him take a look at my materials. I also showed him examples of each medium and what could be achieved with it by showing him work from two of my sketchbooks that I always carry with me.
He seemed to gravitate towards the charcoal pencils and watercolors, which made it easier for us to collect the materials, package them up in appropriate carrying cases to carry with us on the near four mile hike.
I hit any number of trails around New Hope multiple times a week so I was a pretty seasoned hiker. As I had totally judged Nicholas on his physique (sue me), I gathered he probably wouldn’t have any issue carrying a few pounds of art supplies while hiking to our destination.
By the time we reached the lookout, my favorite lookout in this park, I peeked over at Nicholas and he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Meanwhile I hadn’t just broken a sweat but I was glistening quite nicely. So not the most attractive look, which was just my luck…
As soon as we walked through the opening of the woods, onto the various boulders that made up the side of the mountain and the overlook, Nicholas’s face lit up.
“Oh my God, Scottie, this is incredible!” he looked at me and beamed.
“Right? It’s so gorgeous. And I’ll share a secret with you,” I said conspiratorially while he immediately leaned closer to me, as if the woods and squirrels might want to eavesdrop onto my ‘secret’.
“This is a little off the beaten path, so a lot of people actually don't know about this spot. Most people like to go for the glory and go to the overlook where I had initially intended to take our group .” I put “group” in air quotes and grinned at him, as if that were now our inside joke.
He chuckled and I continued, “Or, people hike a bit further up that way,” I said as I pointed over past his shoulder, northward. “That’s the direction of the summit, which is about another two miles up. But truth be told, the view here is just as spectacular.”
“I dig it,” he said as he looked from me to the picture-perfect view that was before us. “This is like something you’d see on a postcard, but better.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his awe.
This is what I’d been missing for so long and why I had started doing the retreats to begin with, to share Nature’s beauty with people who thought it as inspiring as I did. And then to interpret it through our own creations and art.
“I know, right? Take your time, but when you’re ready, come over this way,” I said and pointed to my right.
“There’s a little area over here that’s away from this main opening, and there’s a perfect area for us to set up.
We can call it our own and even if other hikers come out here, they won’t be bothered by us and we won’t be interrupted too much by them. ”
“Lead the way, Scottie. I’ll follow you anywhere,” he replied in earnest.
I giggled - once again - at his response and then led the way.
About half an hour later, Nicholas and I had gotten ourselves settled and taken up camp. My two portable easels were safely secured along with a selection of materials that we had set up. I had even packed extra water and a snack for us.
While we were setting up, I had talked to Nicholas about some fundamentals when it came to drawing and watercolors, respectively.
He was like a sponge, just absorbing everything that I said and showed him.
I was also trying to better gauge his knowledge and experience so I could better customize the experience and lessons for him.
“Which one do you want?” he asked me, pointing at the easels.
“Oh no, they’re both for you. I can just hold my sketch pad and sit on this boulder here in between me helping you, of course,” I replied and gestured to the rock to my left.
“Uh-uh, no way. We brought both of these up here and I only need one. Besides, I want to see a real true master artist at work! Isn’t it called plein air painting or something like that?” I nodded, in surprise at his knowledge.
And to be honest, after talking art with him for the past thirty minutes, Nicholas had surprised me time and again with his vast knowledge of art.
He played it off like he wasn’t even a novice, but the more I spoke and he asked questions, the more I realized that he knew way more than he was letting on.
“That’s right,” I grinned at him.
“What? I’m more than just my good looks,” he knocked his shoulder into mine and gave me his full smile, which was so damn beautiful that it almost hurt to look at. How could one person literally be so perfect and beautiful, and he was nice and funny to boot.
“I’m learning that you are,” I teased him back. “The Hudson Valley actually has quite the connection to- and history that’s intertwined with art.” I stopped myself and waved my hand dismissively in the air. “Sorry, I almost art-geeked out on you.”
“Scottie, don’t do that. Don’t cut yourself short. I would love nothing more than to hear every little thing you have to say. And besides, this is an arts retreat. You’re meant to teach me all facets of drawing and painting and… and paper mache and whatever else, including art history.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, “Paper mache?”
“I mean, sure. Unless…” he hesitated. “Are you some sort of art snob that looks down on paper mache? Because my mother still likes to tell anyone who will listen about the incredible paper mache I did in first grade. I even won a ribbon.”
“Oh wow,” I was full-on laughing now. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of an award-winning artist. It’s an honor, sir.”
“Yeah, yeah. That floss didn’t pan out how I anticipated. Anyway… it was stupid. But back to art history.”
I grinned at his self-depricating humor. “Alright, so! One of the most widely known is the Hudson River School of painting.”
“Oh ok. So was that school here in New Hope?”
“Oh, no, so it was actually a movement and not an actual physical school. But it began in the mid-nineteenth century and was basically a bunch of American landscape painters who had a similar style or aesthetic, and their paintings were all influenced by the Romantic Movement. Hence why their focus was also primarily landscapes.”
“I gotcha. Well,” and he swept his hand in a way to showcase our spectacular view, “when this is your inspiration and your blank canvas, I can see why you’d want to paint nothing else but this.”
“Exactly,” I beamed at him.
“What happened to their work? Can we see it? And who were the guys?”
“The work is, well, all over, I suppose. Some private collections, some museums, and so on. That said, there are a few local exhibits and museums that do have a select few pieces on display.”
“Fantastic. And are those by the head honchos, the best guys from the school?”
I laughed yet again. “Well, I guess that’s a matter of opinion much like who you’d consider a head honcho. But Vassar actually has a section of their museum on campus dedicated to the Hudson Valley River School and has a few paintings by Thomas Cole, Asher Durand and Frederic Church.”
“Vassar?”
“Yeah, that’s a private university across the river in Poughkeepsie.”
“Oh, that’s not far.”
“Not at all.”
“So, can we go? Can you take me - show me? We can consider it one of our sessions.”
“Oh, um, sure. If that’s what you’d like.
They have a beautiful campus and even though their museum isn’t too big by comparison to some of the larger and maybe better-known ones, it is extremely impressive.
They have quite the selection in their permanent collection as well as in the exhibits they put on throughout the year. ”
“See! I knew I picked the right person for the job. You know all about this.”
“Well, it’s kind of my thing.”
“Right. You’re right with that. And you said Church? As in the guys at the school had a church?”
“Oh, no, that’s the last name of one of the guys in the school. Frederic Church. He’s actually quite fascinating. He built a moorish castle on the banks of the Hudson River a little bit up-river from here.”
“A moorish castle?”
I grinned at him and his wonderment. “Yeah, so he and his wife traveled to the Middle East and he was so enamored and influenced by the artistry there that he brought some of those elements home with him, and when he designed and ultimately built his home on a hillside above the river, he incorporated quite a few elements. You can best see them in the window and door designs as well as the different artistic flourishes on the house, or I guess it would be considered a mansion. Some of the furniture and interior is also a nod to the Middle East, showcasing a few pieces he bought and shipped back, too.”
“That’s amazing. But you said castle.”
“Well, yeah. I guess by some it is considered that. It’s beautiful.
I was fortunate enough to get a private tour of the house some time ago, while it was closed to the public because it was undergoing some renovations.
And my friend, who was a curator there at the time, brought me into Church’s studio, which was the room that had windows on three sides and literally looked North and South up and down the river, and west over at the Catskill Mountains.
There were art supplies laying around and a half finished painting on an easel.
It was as if he had just walked out of the room to get a drink or something. It was just… beautiful.”
“Wow. That sounds so incredible - a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You said your friend was a curator there? So I assume that means the house isn’t a private residence, is it a museum?"
“It’s actually a New York State park of sorts because Church owned quite a bit of land and he designed the grounds so that the horse-drawn carriages coming to his house, or people on horseback or on foot, had to wind to and fro on the road as it climbed the hill to the house.
And while the road turned this way or that, parts of the house would be revealed - just little glimpses, a tease.
Until you finally crested the hill and the house was there like a beacon. It’s very dramatic.”
“That sounds like another excursion for us after the Vassar trip,” he beamed at me.
I grinned at him and then looked out over the overlook. “I guess that in moments like this one, where I take in this beautiful view and my mind is conjuring up ways to capture it on paper or canvas, that it makes me feel a little more connected to those masters. Ya know? Does that seem weird?”
“Not at all. In fact, now that you shared that nugget of history with me, without ever having seen those guys’ work, I too feel more connected to them, to the history of this place, but also to the natural surroundings here. It reminds us that we’re just visitors.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Just visitors. I like that,” I told him honestly.
“So, boss, tell me what to do so I too can strive to become a master like those maestros,” he just smiled at me as he held a paintbrush in one hand and twisted a wing of a pretend mustache in the other.
I laughed. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, calling me boss. I’ll have you plein air oil painting in no time then.”
“Oh Scottie,” he said on an exhale. “You’ll soon learn how you can probably get me to do just about anything you say.” He said the last thing on a quieter exhale, making me wonder if he meant for me to hear it or not.
But also, what?