Friday, trying. I’m trying. And why

If you recall, my motto is Practice, Persistence, Beauty. In that spirit I got myself out of the house, put a coffee and breakfast sandwich in my hand and splattered paint on paper for a short while before work. My goal – don’t be saying a few years from now – wish I’d used my paints…

When you set a timer because you really need to pack up and leave by a particular time, it puts what you’re doing in a different light – will not be finished, will not be perfect, what am I doing, sketch, darks, shadows, lights, what’s in the frame…

I got a little distracted by an oriole and some territorial canadian geese with a handful of goslings and maybe a fox sparrow and could that be some sort of warbler up there but despite it all some paint ended up on the paper and then I went to the other work.

Tonight’s View

waiting for this to dry.

Integrity is the essence of everything successful. — Buckminster Fuller

TGIF with Molly

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-eight

Tonight, everything seemed to have changed to green

The Green Party

Suddenly the world is green
and it will be greener still
for days the woods have hung
out lace and put on blush
festooned birches with tassels
this morning a few green shrubs
tonight green everywhere!
tonight the owls and peepers party!

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-five and My Tuesday

rain on a Tuesday
wind makes it chilly
tree buds just showing color
below a swatch of ski-slope
more rain tonight
but driving home
forsythia
splattered against
hedgerows and yards
splashed across
the wet pavement
and still-dark woods.

Today I went to pick up three books I won at auction at the Milne Library book sale. Then, the plan, weather permitting was to paint on the hill overlooking the Clark. If the weather didn’t permit I figured I could always go inside to the two exhibits I missed last time. The weather held – no rain at least – so I trudged up the hill and set up and started to paint. It was very windy. I had to make a few adjustments to batten everything down after my board with paper tried to fly away. I finished the first landscape and decided to try the Crystal by Thomas Schütte – an installation which is inspired as I recall by New England-y sheds. I walked up the path and found a double door on the back and there I was, inside looking out through the opposite opening. And, conveniently there’s a bench along one of the other walls. So I set up there thinking it nice to be out of the occasional sprinkles and a little more protected, when a burst of wind blew through the opening and pushed out through the two doors. How very exciting. There were two couples that wandered up the path and through the Crystal too but they weren’t anywhere near as exciting as the wind.

View from the Crystal by Thomas Schütte

By the time I started down the hill again I was pretty darn cold. I dumped the painting stuff in the car while wondering if the museum cafe was still open. As soon as the hatchback of the fiat closed, I knew the keys were inside. Started AAA on the way, found out the cafe was closed, warmed up a little inside the building and then went out to wait. Young guy showed up in his big tow truck and had the front door open in no time. His first Fiat, he said.

Drove home. Ordered a few more watercolor supplies. (That’s it. I’m done unless I run out of something. Seriously. No more!) Watched The Voice. Write my NaPoWriMo poem while drinking some peppermint tea. Now I’m going to heat up the bed and go finish The Martian.

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-three

Thirty-three degrees
Night rain glass beads on car door
Late April morning

Still dew illuminated
Fog flowing soft over hill
weighted by stillness

top step creaks with frost
Morning, chill fog expanding
gold floods the hillside.

hidden birds waiting
quiet hillside wrapped in fog
trees golden with sun

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty

I think there’s a little more of this but tonight my words seem all pushed away…

Laying paint film by glaze by blotch
reveling in the occasionally brilliant stroke
seems to have pushed away all the words.
Driving home, I admire the fields golden
still and at the edges overlaid with
a bluey sort of lavender greyish
the difficult white shrub the glowing pink
and in my mind I see the paints mingling
on the broad palette yielding to the brush
reviving with a drop of clear water.