Power's Out

The wind came like a freight train that night, gaining speed as it pummeled into the shores of Lake Michigan. Dark and angry waves crashed in an unending drum of rage as the rain fell in sheets and then buckets. As the wind continued to howl its lonesome blustery tune and the temperature continued to drop, ice began to accumulate on every exposed surface.

Ash trees, long rendered lifeless by the insatiable emerald ash borer, lined the shores and began to grow weary in the effort to support their icy limbs. Their rotted roots were no match for the roaring gusts and it’s only a matter of time…

Michigan ice storm in April 2018

Suddenly, a strong gust sends a towering ash to its horizontal grave. On its way down, it crashes into a helpless power line, the rural wire no match for the weight of the ice-laden tree. Instantly, hundreds of warm, illuminated homes are plunged into darkness: yard lights go out, furnace fans stop blowing, and panic rises up in their inhabitants as the storm rages on. How long will the power be out this time? And where did I put those damn candles?

Ivan kept warm by the propane heater while the battery slowly died on the iPad.

Luckily the pizza store had a generator.

Why won’t this flashlight turn on Daddy? Because you left it on for days son.

Can you get the power back Mr. Lineman? I left the flashlight on.

Ashley taped flashlights to the light fixture as night approached.

Scrabble battle illuminated by Ashley’s genius flashlight fixture.

Into this cold, dark fracas steps the lowly lineman, having been summoned from his warm slumber to restore power and safety to the neighborhood. He is a mechanic, electrician, woodsman, acrobat, carpenter, gadgeteer, and first-aider all rolled into one. But tonight, he is simply the lineman and he knows that when the weather gets nasty, he goes to work.

Within an hour, the lineman has found the break, cleared the dead ash tree, and climbed atop the icy pole to repair the line. The climbing spurs on his boots are perfectly filed and they bite deeply into the wooden pole as he steadily hauls his trusty toolbelt some 40 feet up. On his waistline workshop, he has his lineman’s pliers, skinning knife, wrenches, parts bag, screwdriver, folding rule, connectors, and a bag containing his all-important rubber gloves. He wraps his safety belt around the top of the pole, the length of it swaying in the inky night, and gets to work.

Just as the residents finally find the candles and matches, their lights flicker to life as they let out a collective sigh of relief. The lineman has restored power, but he will work long into the night to fully repair the damaged line. His hours are long and his work can be thankless, but he didn’t get into this line of work for glory; he just likes fixing things and helping folks out. Thank God for the lineman.

Telephone lineman Bob Lawrence circa 1950

The lineman’s occupation began in the 1840s with the widespread use of the telegraph. Telegraph lines needed to be strung coast to coast and the linemen would plant poles and string the lines that connected communities like never before. Thirty years later in the 1870s, these same lines were replaced with telephone lines as our communication took another innovative leap. When the push for residential electrification began in the 1890s, the linemen were again called up and their profession took a dangerous turn.

As a result of the inherent but relatively unknown dangers of working with electricity, nearly one in three linemen died from electrocution during the forty year period 1890-1930. ONE IN THREE. Needless to say, it was considered the most dangerous profession in existence at the time. Safety equipment and better practices followed, as did unions to fight for the workers’ rights and working conditions. The most prominent, the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, still exists today.

Linemen amidst the chaotic lines

When FDR’s New Deal pushed for access to electricity for rural folks in the 1930s, there was a huge expansion of the lineman’s profession. “Boomers” was the colloquial name for the roving workers that traversed our great country to bring electricity to the farthest outposts of rural America. They were known to be rowdy risk-takers but they got the job done and many of their poles are still in use today.

An Ansel Adams photograph of linemen in Manzanar, California

The profession changed a great deal during the 1940s and 1950s as the maintenance of existing lines became the main focus. This allowed the “boomers” to settle down in one place and be on-call, ready to repair damaged lines often taken out by storms and other natural disasters. Being a lineman was still incredibly dangerous as they were often atop forty-foot poles in terrible conditions trying to repair high-voltage wires, but at least they could enjoy the comforts of home when they were done.

Also during the 1950s, one of the lineman’s most useful innovations was invented: the cherry picker. In 1951, Walter E. Thornton-Trump invented The Giraffe, a hydraulic boom lift that has become a staple of a modern lineman’s arsenal and is now collectively known as a cherry picker. This machine allows linemen to quickly and safely access overhead lines, rendering the classic pole-climbing prowess of the lineman obsolete.

Linemen repairing a line in Seattle, circa 1952

To me, the lineman embodies a classic example of an underappreciated worker. Most of us take it for granted that our homes are powered each and every day with a steady stream of silent electricity, failing to realize the tireless work and hours of dedication (not to mention countless lives) that went into making that possible.

When our lights flicker off in a power outage, it’s easy to think of our own minute discomforts as we struggle in the dark to find the batteries for the flashlight, cursing our children for leaving them on in the drawer (does this happen to anyone else?). Next time, stop for a minute and think of the dedication of the men and women who go into those storms to repair the broken lines and bring light back into our homes. They are heroes worth celebrating and workers worth honoring.

The Lineman was a commissioned painting and has a home in Kansas, but prints are available HERE. Here’s to The Lineman!

The Lineman | acrylic, kraft paper on stained maple panel

The Lamplighter Interactive Sculpture

• An old tractor seat worn from decades of use.

• An antique crosscut saw with the teeth still sharp.

• Two wrenches that came with every Ford Model A.

• A massive cast iron wagon wheel.

• A rusty well point.

• A tall cylindrical fire extinguisher from the 1920s.

• An old shovel head.

• Five rusty spark plugs.

• A discarded camshaft.

• An old crowbar.

• A saw used to cut hay centuries ago.

• Half an ice tong.

These are but a dozen of the hundreds of items that you might spot as you explore the intricacies of The Lamplighter. The sculpture is composed entirely out of antiquated tools and manmade wooden remnants. These tools are worn from years of sweat, grit, and manual labor and they are now repurposed as a grand gesture of gratitude to these humble workers, a group that includes the Lamplighter himself.

Six stationary bikes (a hand crank is coming soon!) of various sizes encircle the 12.5’ tall sculpture. People of all ages are invited to saddle up. As they begin to pedal, not only do their faces brighten into smiles, but two lights on the sculpture begin to sputter to life. Each pedaler is generating a flicker of light, and as everyone pedals together, the lights shine brighter. This collective illumination is a joyous experience during the day and absolutely spectacular at night.

The Lamplighter sculpture harks back to the early days when streets of most towns and cities were lit by gas lamps. By means of long poles, ladders, and even tall bikes, these lamps had to be lit each night as dusk turned to darkness. Lamplighters provided not only light but also safety in their communities. More than just a job, these harbingers of light represent a way of life: illuminating darkness. We all carry light within us and The Lamplighter is a reminder to collectively connect and spread that light.

This piece of art represents a higher calling: to shine light into darkness and bring about illumination and ultimately, love. There are endless ways to share your light with the world and it is up to each of us to find that path, go boldly into that unknown and be a beacon with our lamps ablaze!

Photo: Well Droned

The Lamplighter sculpture is one way that Ashley and I strive to answer this calling and illuminate the darkness in the world. It is how we hope to make this world a brighter place for all those we encounter, friends and strangers alike. It represents a way of life and brings great meaning to the work that we are so fortunate to do. Our prayer for you is that you find your inner light, you put the time and effort into getting it glowing white-hot, and you let that sucker shine for all the world to see!

The Lamplighter sculpture is available for temporary installation at festivals and cultural events worldwide and is also available for purchase. If you’d like more information about either of those paths, please contact us through our brand new website: www.thelamplighterart.com. Be sure to follow The Lamplighter Art on Instagram (@thelamplighterart) to see where he shines his light and check out the video below for more action!

Dumpster Fire Becomes Crucible

64% Sales Dip
17 Art Festivals Canceled
23,000 Fewer Miles Traveled
0 Murals Created
0 New Passport Stamps
2 States Visited
0 New Cities Explored
3 Encounters with Earthly Angels
1 Momentous Sculpture Created
1 Dream Unexpectedly Realized
1 Giant Silver Lining

There have been some articles going around the internet comparing this past year to a dumpster fire and I must admit, they give me a chuckle. Not one of those light-hearted easy-going giggles but a deeper, guttural snort of a laugh that comes from a place of shared pain. It’s the sort of chuckle that escapes you when a loved one, let’s say your child, takes a clumsy tumble or runs headlong into a tree while being chased in the yard (that’s a story for another blog). You don’t want to laugh but it just comes out and it’s because you know that pain and now they do too.

2020 has been hard. That sentence may give you a knowing snicker or a teary-eyed nod but whatever the reaction, know that we feel your pain and our hearts go out to you. Like many of you, we’ve had to adapt and that process can be a struggle. From a typical year of nonstop travel and a whirlwind of art adventure to twelve months of mostly being home, home-schooling our outgoing 7 year-old while trying to figure out how to keep our business and our livelihoods afloat. Oh, and throw in a three-nager who doesn’t respect mealtime or sleep time or the gentle guidance of his stressed parents which quickly turns into loud guidance. All of this while we try to navigate George Floyd, a contentious election in a purple state, and COVID-19. I remember countless serious conversations Ashley and I attempted to have over stir-crazy tornado-children while drinking wine and trying not to cry or get too angry. That scene sums up a lot of the year. Like I said, 2020 was a dumpster fire.

Ashley’s quarantine cut

Tyler’s quarantine cut

Orin bothering Ivan in homeschool while wearing Christmas jammies in the middle of the day in September.

But the dumpster fire comparisons always come up short as they’re not taken to the next logical step. As the flames flare and the heat rises, the contents of this metaphorical dumpster begin to meld and the dumpster becomes a sort of crucible. In the heat, impurities are burned off, atoms and molecules are freed and these reinvigorated compounds recombine into a brand new creation. In a typical dumpster, this new creation is just a hot wad of melted plastic. But in the Dumpster Fire of 2020, all the gobs of stress and chunks of cancelation have amalgamated into something incredible and unexpected: The Lamplighter sculpture.

A literal HUGE dream realized.

We’ll get more into the inspiration and story behind this momentous creation in next month’s blog, but know this: The Lamplighter sculpture would’ve never happened if 2020 wasn’t such a (pardon my French) shitstorm.

Initially, Ashley and I had set aside two months in the Spring to create The Lamplighter sculpture. We thought it was plenty of time to get in the groove and crank it out. What escaped us in the planning stages is that making something so massive using a process unfamiliar to us would take EIGHT MONTHS, not two. I had to learn to weld. Ashley had to learn how to tell me my ideas were lousy without offending me. We had to gather the antiquated tools. We had to figure out how to transport such a giant work of art safely. We had to learn how electricity works. And the list goes on and on…

Buying the welder on Valentine’s Day pre-pandemic. We were so innocent.

But amidst all the struggle and frustration, there were also countless little beautiful moments: gazing at my gorgeous wife atop the scaffolding with a rusty wrench in her grasp, finding the perfect piece for the brim of the hat while on a lunch date at local antique shops, seeing a neighbor stop by with an awesome old wrench he found in his barn, updating the local school children on the progress as they walk by for a nature walk, hearing our kids tell their friends about “the sculpture” like it’s no big deal. There was joy in the process and we found our share of it. Ashley jokes that it was eight months of unplanned marriage counseling but out of the strife, we made something magical and grew stronger in the process.

Old rusty tools.

The piles of stuff only got bigger

Work, work, work.

The Lamplighter set up and complete in its first public showing, and still happily married.

Sometimes it takes a fire to clear away the chaff. Sometimes we face hardships to prepare us to take on bigger challenges. And sometimes, our biggest visions actually come to life amidst the struggle and the pain.

So go and get yourself a metaphorical (or real) dumpster, put 2020 in it, light it up and bask in the warmth of the flames. From all the unexpected upheaval that 2020 has brought, a new year will emerge from the ashes of the past year and it is full of wonderful possibilities.

The Lamplighter sculpture is on display in downtown Manistee, Michigan until January 3 and this interview I did with Channel 9 & 10 gives you a great glimpse into the experience if you can’t make it up there.

From the Fourhees, we hope that you have a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a joyous New Year!

Onward!

A lot of bro time this year

All the time in the world…

for all the holiday traditions.

Plenty of visits to Michigan’s sugar sand beaches…

year round.

ShapeShifting

“ArtPrize 2020 canceled”
This was the subject line of an email that we had been praying not receive. But despite assurances from the event organizers, COVID-19 once again won out and they were forced to cancel it all.

For months, we’d been preparing our most ambitious project yet, a monumental creation that we hoped to debut at ArtPrize 2020, a city-wide celebration of art taking place in Grand Rapids, Michigan, just 40 minutes from our home. This event draws HALF A MILLION visitors and awards $250,000 in cash prizes! And now, it was canceled.

This was going to be our big reveal! A culmination of months of planning and sweat and investment dashed with a single email subject line. Well folks, in times like these, it is more important than ever to be flexible and go with the flow. To change course when the river runs dry. To shapeshift.

So we’re going to finish this project bygolly and before we do, we thought we’d let you in on THE PLAN…

As you probably know, for the past 8 years, I’ve created a 2D mixed media series called The Jobs of Yesteryear in which I’ve researched and fully engrossed myself into the world of workers of the past, the work they did, and how that work has changed over time. In 2018 Ashley and I decided this idea was a perfect candidate for public art and we launched The Jobs Project.

Initially designed as a public mural project to honor the workers of the world, we have expanded The Jobs Project to include 3D public art and create metal and wood sculptures using manmade wood elements and old metal tools. We piece together these relics to depict humble workers in a larger-than-life form. I see every job as serving an important purpose in the greater good. By creating large scale public art projects depicting these jobs with my distinctly long-limbed figures, I hope to make these workers feel larger-than-life and highlight the important roles that they serve in their community.

By far, the most popular worker among my collectors and followers has been The Lamplighter. It is a personal favorite and was the very first worker I painted in 2011. Since then I’ve depicted it in 9 different compositions. The story behind it harks back to the days before the widespread use of electricity, when streets of most towns and cities were lit by gas lamps. These lamps had to be lit as dusk turned to darkness and extinguished as the day’s light filled the morning sky. The Lamplighter was responsible for these tasks and typically employed either a long pole, ladder or tall customized bicycle to reach the lamp to light it.

The Original Lamplighter Painting

The Latest Lamplighter Painting

Our plan is to create a towering Lamplighter sculpture composed of tools and remnants of workers of the past. Log-driving pikes, antiquated farm tools, discarded machines rendered obsolete by innovation: these relics of workers past will be repurposed in a our grand gesture of gratitude for the work they’ve done. And we’re already well on our way!

The Lamplighter will be atop a tall bike and lighting a lamp. Encircling The Lamplighter will be stationary bikes and hand cranks. Viewers, art enthusiasts, children, and everyone from the community will be invited to pedal the bikes in order to create electricity and light. As they pedal, three lights will be illuminated: one form the headlight of each bike to light up the sculpture, one in the street lamp that The Lamplighter is lighting and on inside the chest of The Lamplighter figure, a nod to the light that we all carry within us and that is often shared through the work we do. The idea is to highlight the important role the viewer and their work serves in their community, and how we all must work together to create light. The illumination will be visible during the day and will be absolutely stunning after the sun goes down.

The Lamplighter Sculpture Concept Drawing

The Lamplighter Sculpture Concept Drawing with Bikes and Lights

So there you have it: a GIANT LAMPLIGHTER SCULPTURE! We’re so excited to see this project through to the end and really feel that it will open up the ways in which we can honor workers through our art. But we could use your help! Since ArtPrize and our big reveal was canceled, we need a place to show this sculpture. If you know of any public venues, festivals, events, etc. that would be a good fit, send us a message to let us know! Preferably, the venue would be in the vicinity of our Michigan home, as this will be our first trial run and installation. Together, we can bring this sculpture to life and share our light!

Email: howdy@tylervoorheesart.com
Facebook: Tyler Voorhees Art
Instagram: Tyler Voorhees Art

In honor of this ambitious undertaking, I’ve released my latest Lamplighter IX in a 12x24 inch wood box panel print. You can shop for it HERE.

A Commission for a Stoner

“Papa wants to give you $2,000.”
”What?!”
”He said you could have more fun with it and wants to help you get to Morocco.”
<speechless, mouth agape>

My Grandpa Stoner made a HUGE contribution to our Kickstarter campaign to get to Morocco last year. This was our inaugural trip to launch The Jobs Project and a trip that is an anchor point in our young family’s life. But to fully appreciate how dumbfounded I was to hear of my Grandpa’s contribution, I need to give you a glimpse into the 93 years that Dwayne R. Stoner has been kickin’ up dust in rural South Dakota.

Dwayne “Papa” Stoner. He loves giving M&M’s to the great grandkids.

Papa, as we grandkids call him, was born near Mellette, South Dakota in 1927, just before the Great Depression. The oldest of seven kids, he grew up quickly and was tasked with taking care of his younger siblings from a young age. They didn’t have much and the unceasing dust covered most of what they did have during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s. His parents were farmers and Papa learned to work the land ever since he could walk.

Dwayne and LaDean Stoner with their two oldest

Dwayne Stoner and son

Eventually, he settled near Tulare, South Dakota (my hometown) where he started raising livestock and growing crops. My Grandma LaDean (we grandkids call her Nanny) and he had four kids, one of which is my mother, Janelle. Eventually, he moved into town, where he began tinkering on small engines and making trailers and other functional things out of metal. He was respected in Tulare and was elected mayor for a time. Papa also fostered a reputation for being able to fix damn near anything and “Doc” Stoner handpainted a sign above his workshop to let folks know where to bring their dysfunctional lawnmowers and tractors.

Stoner Family, including my mother, Janelle, as the little doll front and center

The shop is where I often found him when I got old enough to ride my bike the three blocks to my grandparents’ house on the corner of town. The classic country music would be playing and I always snuck a peek at the women in neon swimsuits that reminded him which month it is (some months lasted half a year). It smelled like grease and hot metal and work, which Papa would always take a break from to ask what I was up to. He’d offer me a Cert breath mint and I’d ask if I could take the four-wheeler he’d fixed up for a spin around the makeshift track encircling his shop. I don’t remember him ever saying no.

Papa, Me, and Nanny

Like many folks who grew up during the Great Depression, Papa was thrifty and wouldn’t throw anything away, choosing instead to keep it until he found a use for it. Scrap metal of all sorts awaited their chance at a new life outside his shop while inside you could find all sorts of knick-knacks and pieces of machines, gears, and bolts organized and ready to be repurposed. It was a dream for a treasure-hunting kid like me and I always loved picking over his stash. Papa’s never-waste mentality carried over to his spending, where he was always willing to wait to get the best deal or to make something broken work again rather than buying it new.

Papa and one of his many tractors

This is all to say that, while Papa’s generosity wasn’t surprising when he said he wanted to chip in for our trip Morocco, the amount he gave was. It is also important to keep in mind that the only Kickstarter that Papa knows anything about is the one he would tinker with on a dirtbike to get it running again. Needless to say, he did not know about the reward tiers that are a staple of any Kickstarter campaign. He expected nothing back, which made the gift all the more touching.

Papa loves taking his bride for a ride in a unique machine.

The extended Stoner Family Tree at Nanny and Papa’s 65 Year Wedding Anniversary

When I started pondering what to paint for Papa, my mind first went to the jobs that he’s held in his life: farmer, mechanic, tinkerer. But last year when he and my grandma decided that they were too old to live on their own anymore and needed to move to an assisted living apartment in neighboring Redfield, the idea for the painting really began to take form.

Tulare is a tiny town. A little more than 200 people live there. My high school graduating class had 9 (yes, nine) people. During track practice, we used to run around the entire perimeter of the town and it was just over a mile. It’s rural. But I love Tulare and I know Papa does too. So I knew that since he couldn’t live there anymore, my painting could bring Tulare to him.

The tallest structure in Tulare by far is the water tower. It is surrounded by the flattest land you can imagine for miles in any direction and the water tower silently looms above it all. It is the only landmark you need when navigating Tulare’s four avenues and in case you forget which town you’re in “TULARE” is prominently painted on its side.

Tulare, South Dakota (photo credit: Chad Tipton)

So to bring Tulare to Papa’s new apartment, I decided that I would paint him the water tower and the painter that would climb its numerous rungs to repaint it every so often. The Water Tower Painter features this worker hauling his brush and paint up high above the surrounding farmland, which melts away into the horizon. Far below him is an aerial view of Nanny and Papa’s house and his beloved shop where he would tinker and work his mechanical magic. A crane, which is how they repaint many water towers nowadays, rises above the landscape, showing the evolution of this specialized profession.

The Water Tower Painter | 18x36 inches | acrylic, watercolor paper, kraft paper on stained maple panel

When I presented The Water Tower Painter to Papa, it was his turn to be speechless. “Thank you, Tyler, “ he finally said after taking a moment to find the right words. He looked meekly up at me with a twinkle in his eye, his frail frame bent over from a life of hard work. We shared a knowing smirk and a silent moment that I will never forget.

I haven’t ever been able to properly express to Papa how much he’s meant to me and all of our family. The words just never come out right. But when words fail, art can step in and say the unsayable. The Water Tower Painter is my ode to Tulare and to my incredible Grandpa, who built a good life for himself and his family there on the windswept plains of South Dakota.

The Water Tower Painter is now available as a limited-edition print and you can SHOP HERE. Stay tuned for more art adventures from our home base in rural Michigan.

Working Through the Pandemic: Tell Me Your Job Story

My art is about jobs. Workers of the past have been my primary focus for the past 10 years and these stories still get my painting hand shaking with excitement in the morning. There are a handful of reasons that I’m drawn to this subject matter but the most important motivation for my art is that I want people to know that their work is important. By looking at The Jobs of Yesteryear, I hope your thoughts meander to the present and the work that you do. I hope the significance of this past worker will transfer to your industry and you come away feeling a renewed sense that the work you do is needed and meaningful. Because no matter what your title, your work is important.

As I watch millions of people’s jobs around the world shift in the last month, varying from being completely laid off to juggling kids and working remotely to busier than ever, I’m struck that maybe now is the time that people, like you, won’t find your work so mundane. Perhaps there will be a renewed sense of vigor for your jobs, the work you do, and its importance. We often fail to fully appreciate something until it is gone and for many, their job and ultimately part of their identity have gone missing during this pandemic.

The work I do involves a lot of reading and researching stories from workers of the past and now I want to shift the focus to the present. I want to read your story about your job and work as it is right now:

• What do you do?

• What does it currently look like?

• What has changed?

• How do you feel about it?

I will choose from the stories I receive, create a small sketch or painting to go along with that story, and post it to my social media and website using just your first name and location. If I choose your story, I’ll send you the art I create that goes along with it, no strings attached. Booyah!

I want to hear and share workers’ voices from the present, the right now, as it is changing. My hope is that this campaign and the art that comes from it will brighten some workers’ days and help us collectively appreciate the work we all do.

Stay safe and sane out there.

Art Spreading Like the Plague

The original painting sold before it was ever shown publicly. The wood panel prints sold out quicker than any other image. It has been an instant favorite among my patrons and yet, I would have never imagined that it would garnish such popularity. Which painting gets to wear this crown? The Plague Doctor! And I’d imagine that he’d prefer his customary top hat and beak mask to the crown.

The Plague Doctor | acrylic, watercolor paper, kraft paper on stained birch panel | 2015

This painting has been surprisingly popular among folks of all ages. The original was purchased before its debut at the solo exhibition in Wichita, Kansas a few years back and afterwards, the image was tucked neatly away in the files. Recently, after noticing some unexpected interest in The Plague Doctor, we decided to release it as a panel print and see how it fared. Well, its popularity was palpable and we sold out of all 33 limited edition panel prints in record time.

The Original Plague Doctor at Wichita Center for the Arts, its only public showing. | April 2015

So why all the popularity? Well, The Plague Doctor’s iconic uniform has an eye-catching look and a great story to back it up.

By “The Plague”, I am referring to the bubonic plague that ravaged much of Eurasia in the 14th-17th centuries. It peaked in Europe from 1347-1351 and is estimated to have killed 30-60% of Europeans during its 300-year rule.

The bubonic plague is thought to have originated in the dry plains of central Asia, expanding west via the Silk Road and merchant ships. As this mysterious illness spread like wildfire through the medieval towns and cities of Europe, the local governments were left without enough medical staff to treat victims.

The plage was no joke.

Enter the plague doctors, who were hired by local governments to fill the gaps. These were not well-trained physicians; rather, they were often second-rate doctors unable to run their own practice or young physicians seeking to establish themselves. They rarely cured their patients and served more of an administrative role in counting the victims for demographic purposes.

Most people recognize the iconic top hat and beak mask associated with plague doctors. The reason they wore this odd outfit lies in the medical understanding of the day. The leading researchers thought that diseases were spread through foul-smelling air. Thus, they wore protective suits of various kinds to guard against exposure to the “bad air” and the disease.

In the 17th century, towards the end of the bubonic plague’s reign of terror, a French doctor named Charles de Lorme invented the beaklike mask that we now associate with the plague doctor as an added protection from the foul air. His design allowed the wearer to stuff the mask with dried herbs and flowers, which would help filter out the odor and protect them from catching the plague, or so it was thought. His design caught on quickly among plague doctors and it carried through the next few centuries as various plagues ran their courses throughout Europe.

As you may very well know, I always put a detail or two in my Jobs of Yesteryear paintings that show why this particular job became a thing of the past. Can you find it in the Plague Doctor? The answer lies in looking back at why the bubonic plague finally ended. Historians believe that two main factors helped to eradicate the bubonic plague in medieval Europe: 1) burning the bodies of the victims rather than burying them, which killed the bacteria responsible for the illness and, 2) the effective use of quarantining to separate the sick from the healthy. The flag flying on the ship in the background of the painting is the quarantine flag flown by ships with sick sailors while the pile of burning bodies can be seen on the other side.

Detail of The Plague Doctor showing why this occupation became a thing of the past.

Dark, right? Which is way my wifeboss and I had never thought that releasing The Plague Doctor as a panel print made much sense. We thought there would be a few fellow weirdos out there who found it interesting and it would be off-putting for most. But boy were we off the mark. Most of you are weird and that’s oddly comforting. Thanks for being strange like us and here’s to flying your flag this Halloween season!

And not to worry, we’ve recently released THREE NEW 6x24 WOOD PANEL PRINTS so you’ve got Job options: The Milkman IV, The Soda Jerk III, and The Brewer.

The Milkman IV

The Soda Jerk III

The Brewer

The Cullercoats Fishlass

These women were strong. Hefting 50-pound baskets of fresh fish from the shores of the North Sea to the local market, calling to customers all the while in their signature colorful language, the Cullercoats fishlasses were a sight to be seen and a force to be reckoned with. But peddling fish was just one aspect of their interesting tale and one that I am excited to feature in my latest painting in The Jobs of Yesteryear Series: The Fishlass.

Cullercoats is a village in Northeast England and was founded in 1539 as a fishing outpost. It has gone through many industries over the years including coal mining and salt production, but fishing has always been at the heart of this charming coastal town. A semi-circle of sandy beach with cliffs and coves abound makes it an idyllic setting for our story of fishing, cursing, and putting all hands on deck to run a family business.

The day began before dawn for the fishing families of Cullercoats. The fishermen rose early to prepare their open-top fishing boats called cobles. These distinctive boats have a flat-bottom, which allows them to land on shallow, sandy beaches and a high bow, which helps them navigate the dangerous waters of the North Sea. These were challenging vessels to command but in the skilled hands of a weathered Cullercoat fisherman, they were safe and speedy.

A Coble Under Sail, Courtesy of Museum of Hartlepool

As the first rays of sun began to illuminate the misty sky, the men prepared their cobles for the impending day on the North Sea while their wife (and possibly daughters) would be searching for bait. These fishlasses would dig sand-worms, gather mussels, and find limpets (sea snails) and dog-crabs in the hopes that these little creatures would translate into a healthy day’s catch. Next, they set to clean the fishing lines, baiting each of the 1,300 hooks on each of the two lines their husband or father would use that day. This required great speed and skill and the fisherlasses were known to do it while singing tunes to help pass the time.

After they helped push the cobles into the icy waters of the North Sea, the fisherlasses would then tend to the other tasks necessary to raise a family and keep a home. Once the men returned in the afternoon, the women would meet them at the shore and they would all gather together to clean the day’s catch. With their hands plunged in the icy, salty water for hours on end, these women would clean herring and other fish swiftly and deftly. Accidents were common and many of them wore bandages hiding deep gashes. Women of all ages were involved, many of them elderly, and their skilled hands could clean as many as 20,000 fish in a few hours.

Fisherrow Fishwives at Musselburgh Fish Market, Scotland

Once the fish were cleaned, the fishlasses would heft their baskets full of fresh fish into the market to peddle to the townspeople. The fishlasses were shrewd negotiators that employed foul-language and keen wits to get the most shillings for their family’s catch. The action was quick, as the fish had to be sold before the day’s sun spoiled them and the fishwives didn’t waste a second. If the market for their fish wasn’t favorable, the Cullercoasts fishlasses would grab their 50-pound basket and walk nearly TEN MILES to a larger market in nearby Newcastle. I’ll say it again; these women were strong.

The Cullercoasts fishlasses weren’t just mighty by today’s standards; they were depicted in the political cartoons of the day as standing up to the French while the British Prime Minister stood by idly, their bottles of gin and foul-language wielded as their weapons. These were women that were not to be taken lightly.

“A New Catamaran Expedition!” - Political Cartoon by Isaac Cruikshank

The Cullercoasts Fishlass was also the subject of one of the most beautiful watercolors I’ve ever seen: Inside the Bar by American artist Winslow Homer. Homer spent 18 months in Cullercoats from 1881-1882 and was taken by the stoic strength that the fishwives exhibited mending the nets, baiting the lines, peddling the fish, and waiting on the shore for their fishermen to return. It’s a captivating scene gorgeously rendered by a true master color and light.

Inside the Bar by Winslow Homer, 1883, Watercolor and graphite on off-white wove paper, 16 x 29 in.

My depiction of The Fishlass began in the sketchbook, just like every painting. This allows me to work out the composition before I begin on the large panel, saving time and toil. As you can see, I had some help from our oldest artist-in-training, Ivan, as he worked on drawing hands over top of my initial sketch. While creating this piece, the color blue kept standing out to me as I read that the fishlasses were often recognized by their blue duffle coats. Also, blue and brown has always been a favorite color combo of mine and I’ve been enjoying a particular hue lately called Azurite. It’s from Golden and it’s top shelf in its consistency and vibrant color.

As with all the Jobs of Yesteryear paintings, I’m also interested in why this particular job became a remnant of the past. The demise of the fishlass is really a tale of how the market where she sold her fish was rendered obsolete as we began to choose supermarkets instead of local markets. As she hefts her basket full of freshly cleaned fish and gazes toward the market where she will earn her keep, The Fishlass also looks away from the vestige of a grocery store, an unfamiliar and unfitting shape in the natural harbor where her family has carved out a decent living for generations

The Fishlass is a powerful reminder of the effort it takes to run a family business and the women who can most often be found doing their share the heavy lifting. One needs not look any further than our own art business and my boss/wife Ashley to see a shining example. It is a celebration of an incredible worker in our collective history and a testament to doing your part for the greater good. Long live The Fishlass and long live the family business.

As of today, July, 31 2019, the original of this lady is still available and you can find it HERE.

The Pirate Queen

The words “pirate” and “queen” aren’t often used together, but during my recent residency in Tetouan, Morocco, I caught wind of a pirate queen that once ruled there. This story takes place 500 years ago and features a badass woman who ruled with intelligence and diplomacy and backed up her words with a fleet of ruthless pirates. It’s a tale of revenge and romance fit for a Netflix series and a story that I just HAD to paint.

This saga all begins in Granada, Spain during the Reconquista in the late 1400s. Ferdinand and Isabella were mounting an effort to put all of Spain back under the rule of the Catholic monarch and Granada was one of the last strongholds of Muslim power. After a bloody fight, their Christian forces prevailed and the remaining Muslims were given three choices:

1. stay and convert to Christianity

2. flee across the Mediterranean Sea to Morocco

3. die

The Alhambra in modern day Granada.

Into this bloody conflict and forced exile, a young girl is born to noble parents who were previously enjoying a comfortable life Granada. The writers of history never recorded her proper name but she would eventually be known and feared by merchants and governments throughout Europe and North Africa. She is known as Sayyida al Hurra, which translates as “noble lady who is free and independent; the woman sovereign who bows to no superior authority”. This description also fits my wife.

So this daughter of a noble Muslim family is just a young girl when they are forced to leave Granada and settle in present-day Morocco. She grows up and eventually marries the governor of Tetouan. As a young bride, she learns the ways of governing and quickly gains prominence as an intelligent woman who can handle the demands of her husband’s position when he is away on government business. When he dies a decade later, she unquestionably becomes the governor of Tetouan and begins to amass the army of pirates that would help her exact revenge on Spain for her family’s exile.

Also during this time, the Sultan of Morocco begins to woo her from his throne in Fez and eventually asks for her hand in marriage. She accepts, but only on her terms: she is allowed to continue to live and rule in Tetouan AND HE must come HER for the marriage. He agrees and this is the only time in history that a Moroccan King married outside of his capital. This is like if Prince Harry flew the whole royal family to Los Angeles so that he could marry Meghan Markle. What a boss.

Now that she is the Queen of Morocco, Sayyida al Hurra senses that the timing is right for her act of revenge 24 years in the making. She aligns herself with the infamous Ottoman pirate Barbarossa and they rule the Mediterranean Sea for 30 years, looting Spanish and Portuguese vessels and taking many of their sailors captive. The Pirate Queen was a fair yet ruthless leader, demanding respect and the highest ransoms for the return of her Christian captives.

During our time in Tetouan, my family and I saw the caves where these Christian slaves were kept while they waited for their government to meet the Pirate Queen’s demands. It’s also rumored that in the secret tunnels underneath the Medina (old city), there is a makeshift altar and church where the visiting Spanish monks would perform mass with the slaves. That’s quite a scene to imagine…

The Pirate Queen amassed many riches during her rule of the seas and much of the booty that she collected went into rebuilding Tetouan. Most of what still remains from this period is due to Sayyida al Hurra’s efforts during her rule and many credit her care for the city as the main reason that it’s now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Medina in modern day Tetouan.

Now seen as one of the most important female figures of the Islamic West, the Pirate Queen was known as a powerful ruler who was fair to her people and ruthless to her enemies. After three decades as the Queen of Morocco (a lengthy rule by any standard), Sayyida al Hurra was overthrown by her stepson and fled to the neighboring mountain city of Chefchaouen, which was my family’s favorite place in Morocco. She lived there for another 20 years until her death in 1561 at the age of 66.

The Jobs of Yesteryear Series has always been about celebrating the storied workers of the past and their incredible tales. The Pirate Queen is such a fascinating example of an individual defying expectations and I’m honored that Sayyida al Hurra will live on as my 100th Job of Yesteryear painting (100! WOW!).

The Pirate Queen | 7x24 inches | acrylic, watercolor, watercolor paper on found plank | SOLD

This painting found a new home during a festival in Dallas, Texas and will hang on the wall of an interesting fella from Rock Springs, Wyoming. As I continue to create new work for this year’s shows, I’ve been remarking on how I often get asked where the women are in my art. It’s a justifiable question.

The fact is that when studying the jobs of the past, there just weren’t that many occupations that women were allowed/able to hold; they were often too busy keeping the home in order and raising the children. It’s a great reminder about how wonderfully different our modern times are. But there are definitely some stories to be found and I recently completed three powerful paintings celebrating women workers: The Typist, The Hello Girl, and The Teacher.

The Pirate Queen found a home.

The Typist | The Hello Girl | The Teacher

Thank you for all the incredible support and enthusiasm for The Jobs of Yesteryear Series since it all began with The Lamplighter in 2011. 100 paintings in a series is a proud milestone for me and I’m so excited to see where the next 100 take me. The journey is all the more enjoyable with all of your feedback, support, and love. Thank you and stay tuned…