Mark Dillinger Arts

Surfing Art and Sea Scapes

I am a native San Diegan, and I grew up on Mt. Soledad. This is one of the highest mountains on the coast, topped with a monumental white cross. On clear days you can see the power plant in Carlsbad to the north, Mission Bay and Point Loma to the south. Farther on, the distinctive profile of Mexico's border mountain range. The pointed peak of Cerro Coronel, next to the contrastingly flat-topped mesa Redonda, holds a mysterious, south-of the-border desert appeal. The large bump of the Coronado Islands are a dominant feature on the southern horizon line.

As a kid I bodysurfed and rafted La Jolla Shores and Pacific Beach. I actually body surfed quite a bit, and dreamed of learning to surf. I was always drawing, and falling in love with riding waves, religiously studying the photos in the surf magazines. I think that was my first inspiration, the colors of a transparent backlit wave, and a 70's soul surfer in perfect position. A fascinating dynamic. I also liked the advertising art from Kevin Odgen, Jim Evans, and Rick Griffin. I still have a few of those old surfer mags, from '72 thru '78 (they were so well done.)  At this time I was drawing birds and engrossed by John James Audubon illustrations.

In kindergarten we painted on easels with poster paint. I rendered a sailboat with all these crazy colors and it looked so good it was accidentally placed with the 6th graders' art work at the elementary school's open house. Was it Pablo Picasso who said "All children are great, pure artists, till they get fucked up from society?" I wish I could see that painting now. I swear it looked like a contemporary Warhol. In junior high I painted that famous Logan Murray poster of punies farm, New Zealand. The art teacher placed my and another student's art for the whole school to see. Everyone liked my art and I was popular for 15 about minutes.

By this time I was surfing with my friends at Scripps Pier (that was before surf reports would tell the county that the Shores and Scripps fire on a south wind while the rest of the coast is blown out). It was such a cool time, not many crowds ... yet. We liked to ride single fin guns and surfed cord-free as often as possible. Back then surfing was divided between single-fin soul, and twin fin amp-outs. People would say "Stamp out the amp out" or "No hope with a rope." Later, tri-fins came out and pretty much brought the opposing camps together. At least in our town.

I stashed my board and wettie at a friend's. I would get up before light and huff it to the top of the hill and butt board down Via Capri (a street so rancidly steep they had to use cement instead of asphalt!). I always celebrated the Santa Ana dawns. I loved the orange horizon, blending to pale yellow, fading into warm-blue, and then violet. The sky, not unlike a huge prism, going to a deep indigo as the last stars were fading with the first light. Many times at the top of that hill I would stop and just soak in all that peaceful beauty. I am sure these moments fueled my later fascination with orange-crate label art and the warm coastal-desert color pallet that makes that genre so appetizing.

Mexico was only an hour a way, so we started going south all the time. I remember that smell of the driftwood fires on the beach, diesel and dust in the towns, the stank of the fish cannery at El Saulzal. Tons of red and white Tecate Beer billboards, funky taco stands on wheels, and bad cops all added to the local color. The good taco stands were sacred, and you prayed they were still there when you blew through. It was interesting that the Santa Ana offshore winds would be so extreme as soon as you cross the border. I think Point Loma and Mt. Soledad block these desert winds.Mex was always hotter, windier, colder, dryer, cheaper, more off-shore, better waves, and less crowded. Dawn patrols to BM's, day trips to 38's, over-nighters to San Miguel. It was on!

My folks had a big, glossy, coffee table book about Georgia O'Keeffe. I studied her work often and found it inspiring. I love the abstract stuff and her treatment of flowers, but the desert paintings talked to me. The colors, compositions, and surreal subject matter moved me. I believe O'Keeffe is one of the most important American artists. Period. The beautiful pastel colors, flowing hills, and endless sky of the desert can be mesmerizing. Vast and peaceful. At that time. I became a disciple of the church of the big blue sky.

I went down to Punta Abreojos for a month. The whole way down we listened to eight-tracks of Santana, Hendricks, and Steely Dan. The guy that drove me was an anti-leash fanatic. He had all these cool Skip Frye boards. Not one had a leash plug. This was old school Baja, when you just went down and sat on it, and waited ... and waited. Not many surfers down this far. One guy from Oceanside was camping on the low bluff in a box fashioned from plywood. Seemed like he was on the run from something. That was an amazing trip, the fishing town, the seafood, and of course Razor Reef. It was neat to spend time with the folks in town. They all had nice trucks, expensive American clothes, and they lived well. I was amazed how they forged a life in this gritty atmosphere. They all were tan, slim, with nice white teeth, reflective of the sun, seafood, and workload. Their dwellings looked dusty, drafty, faded, and windbeaten on the outside. But inside, out of the shrieking wind, it was quiet, warm, and dark. There were Mexican blankets, crucifixes, Virgin of Guadeloupe prints on every wall, satellite TVs, and the incredible smell of Mexican cooking. Simone!

After a week of small surf a good swell came in and the infamous Razors was doing her thing. Just like all the pics in the mags. A few other surfers but mostly solitude, machine tubes (some of my longest barrels ever), a flaming offshore wind all day long, and cheap fish, lobster, and beer. I even got to flirt with this hot short-haired girl that all the guys in town were very protective of. One day this huge pelican landed on the roof of our truck. He just stayed put for the day, even though we had two dogs with us. It was cool looking at a pelican so close up. Such a neat design, they can glide on a wave, and dive for large food. I have done many paintings of this spot, as well as of pelicans. Both are very special to me.

I was painting a bit, but also learning the graphic side at an advertising arts college. I believe Richard Kenvin went to school there as well. The curriculum was hard but fun. We made sales speeches in front of class, wore suits and ties for mock job interviews, and creatively solved complicated assignments. The teaching staff were all working in advertising at the same time, an interesting edge. By this time I was surfing the perfect reefs of Horseshoe and Newbs, after staying on beach breaks way too long. But then again how can you beat Black's or Baja Malibu on a Santa Ana? I still was not ready for the rigid Windansea program, but that would come later ....

The shores was a breeding grown for young renegades. Archie, slam-brose, Embryo, Styx, and Cool Breeze. Now, Breeze was a real piece of work. Classic. I coined him as the Jim Morrison of the shores car park. He mimicked Mickey Dora in every sense. Surfing, scamming, massaging your ego with riddles, and crazy punk shit. He rocked Doc Martins at the beach! He surfed super smooth, refused to work, lived in his truck, and had a hot, young La Jolla chick to boot. His truck was a Sid Vicious mess, heavy chains on the steering column, punk-rock pins everywhere, Mexican dingle balls, and blacked-out wheels. It was blasting The Who, or Jim Morrison talking about the desert. Oh yeah — he sported tats way before anyone else, as well as riding a classic longbooard way before the longboard resurgence. I could not beat him so I joined him. Somewhat. I love longboarding! This guy had it dialed for a time. Think James Dean. He would force groms to pay for beer if he bought it for them." While in the store he would stuff any flat meat product down his pants or wherever. Back at the beach, the bbq would be ready. He had all these gourmet spices and ate like a king. I heard he once pounded on a metal trash can, bloody knuckled, rousting a late-night rumble against the valleys. Later he told me he had the rich man's disease (gout) from too much alcohol and protein.

After receiving my diploma from advertising college, my parents gave me a graduation gift, a ticket to Hawaii. My sister was living in Honolulu and I planned to stay so I cashed in my return ticket and answered an ad for a t-shirt printing shop on the north shore. I took the bus all the way out there, and I had my portfolio nice and neat. I nailed the interview. Within a month I scored a $150-a-month dive right at Three Tables Beach, and a primer-black Plymouth Valiant, replete with sand on the floors and a cockroach ecosystem. We printed shirts for Country Surfboards, Bear, and Lightning Bolt. I was making good money, learning tons about screen art, photography, color separations, and living/surfing in the country. It is ironic that I was the first person in my graduating class to find work, after my classmates teased me for using surfing as a subject matter for school projects.

After moving back to San Diego more deep Baja excursions panned out. We were going south somewhere and my friend's old Chevy truck broke down right at Camalu. It was getting dark and this rancher guy takes us to his house. We camped in the back of the truck for two days while he finds a camshaft wheel. Idle, we would go down to the plaza in the cool golden evenings, noticing the senoritas in white dresses being quietly courted by the vaqueros. We paid our farmer/mechanic friend, the truck ran perfect, and we went north straight home. We were over it! When we helped with fixing the car I was amazed by how he worked with so few tools, how he improvised with what little he had, and how kind and humble he and his family were. We were forced to stop and smell the thorny sweet roses of this quaint little village.  Later it grew rapidly along with the rest of the Highway 1 sprawl.

The Mex trips got even more extreme. We flew to Isla Natividad on a tour package. We surfed great Natvidad, flew to Punta Abreojos, checked the waves, and had lunch all in a very short period of time. My friend liked it so much he got his own pilot's license. Just like that! Now we were taking off from Brown Field and blazing down in a Cessna 152 (a bit underpowered) One time we were landing at Natividad and the runway (for lack of space) is not set straight into the 30 mph trade wind. So we come in for our approach, crabbing at an angle because of that nasty breeze. Felt like the landing gear was going to break off Another time we were fueling up in Guerrero Negro and the plane would not start because of a problem with the magneto. Guerrero is like a fog catcher, the marine layer loves to sit right on it. So the plane is running, fueled and we take off. We are climbing out and the stall horn is going off. The thick fog is killing the engine's performance. It was tense for a bit. I looked at my friend the and he was soaked in sweat, like he just got out of the shower! At the time I did not realize how heavy that situation was. After that I was over flying. You can't bring a longboard or many supplies. Plus the guys at Scorpion don't like fly boys. I decided then and there that I like the drive, although I really liked the birds-eye perspective, the crumpled warm-toned mountain ridges leading way to the cool colors of the flat sea, The scale of the fish camps and pangas tucked in the lee of their protective points. Dirt roads scarring the land that seem to go on endlessly, finally disappearing in the haze.

I got work at a friend's small silk screening business in Loma Portal, doing art and stuff. I ended up submitting some designs to Rusty Surfboards and they bought them! The neat thing is I did the designs, did the color separations, then brought all of Rusty's printing business into my buddy's shop. He was happy with the sick Rusty account and I loved the passive income from the royalties he paid me on top of my compensation from clients. I got the Rip Curl account as well and before long we were working in a huge factory in Mira Mesa, kicking ass! This was the 80's and I kept my color pallet mellow, and still wore a black wetsuit.

I was putting in my time at south Sunset Cliffs, and everyone knows what assholes those guys were down there. Still, I have to hand it to the locals, they have kept 99% of the crowds away. And San Diego is feeling the pressure from the orange curtain moving down the coast. At this time I was listening to Bowie, the Psychedelic Furs, and Peter Murphy. I was really into the Bauhaus minimalist design movement – and the band, too. I painted a mural in a highly visible eatery in La Jolla. It took some time, but it turned out great. An 80's split underwater image that looked every bit as good as the work of Robert Lyn Nelson, my favorite artist of that genre. I was happy that I got a lot of commissions from that painting, but more importantly I realized that I wanted to paint big canvas. I want impact. something tangible, a piece that I can take off a wall, put it on another wall, hand it to a client, whatever. Not some tiny printout. Possibly I was feeling boxed in with!   small logos, t-shirt designs, and all the associated boundaries. I had steady graphic design work and my passion shifted to paint and canvas.

I diligently studied fine art by French impressionists painters Cezanne and Gauguin. I like the surrealism of Dali and Rene' Magritte. Mexican fine artist Diego Rivera is another favorite of mine. As I noticed his colors, soft shapes, and technique, I realized Mexican folk art is very cool indeed. The day of the dead stuff obviously was an big influence for an artist. Rick Griffin's Grateful Dead poster graphics. I love Mexican industrial graphic art. The logos are macho, with elements like super-simplified eagles, cacti, mountains, or the shape of a water drop. And wicked custom lettering. How cool is the national flag? An eagle clutching a snake, perched on a cactus. From the German influence of brewing world-class beer, and German-based Polka musica. The hot food and spicy women, the exotic fauna. Many do not realize that pineapple, hibiscus, and plumaria are native to Central America, not Hawaii! Continue to Page 2

 

 

 

 

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