NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Twenty-Two

In the palette, the paint puddles,
ultramarine and sienna to make
a pool of clouds waiting
to float across the paper
dense and wind-feathered
The sky always comes first
the blue, not matter the shade,
brushed in where there are no clouds
and then the shadows and
water-filled density of them.
My teacher’s voice whispers
‘a little light red or yellow
to show the light’ and I agree
When all goes well my heart
rises up with the courage
to lay down the horizon line.

My first study of the Hudson as seen from Rensselaer, last night. Takes a bit to understand how it all fits together.

Clouds as I was leaving work tonight. A passing couple apparently thought – yup there’s a crazy lady taking pictures of the clouds.

It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.
— J.R.R. Tolkien

NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Twenty-Two

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NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Nine

I’m late today. I’ve spent a couple days with Mom and doing things a little off the path of normal. All is well, and I’m glad for everything. Rained hard just as I arrived home and I set the re-potted plants outside to imbibe. When it let up I went out to look at clouds and found the blue heron was building a nest, there was a pair of common mergansers and a bunch of noisy geese at a nearby pond. So I sat and painted a bit. Now here I am with today’s poem.

One cup in the sink
a spoon on the table
books in a jumble
alongside the bed
an assemblage of
sheets and blankets
pulled up over
irregular pillows
a shoe by the door
half-full cat’s bowl
trash at the curb
lights on auto
shrine silence
remembrance echoing
door opens
door closes again.

Risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
— Leo Buscaglia

NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Nine was originally published on

From the quote box

How will I ever get into the Metropolitan Museum of Art? the aspiring young artist asked a great teacher. “You can either take the Fifth Avenue bus to 81st Street,” said the teacher, “or work hard, be inspired, wait 20 years, and have them come to you.

— Leonard and Thelma Spinrad

From the quote box was originally published on

Here and There

Things seen here and there tonight in New Lebanon as the gloaming came on.

Those who are waiting for an epiphany to strike may wait forever. The artist simply goes to work, making art, both good and not so good. — Chuck Close

Here and There was originally published on

A Late Paint

From Kristy’s Barn in Castleton/Schodack.

Hope you all go out and look at that moon, too!

Took some nice photos of the sunset after this. It was good to go out and look at the sky. I managed to buy a smaller and a larger rigger brush today – the latter is more like a long bodied round brush and is very nice to use as a small brush. And some Winsor Blue (red) and a second small tube of Turner Yellow… and some paper… because they had full sheets of the same paper as in the sketchbook shown above… Sorry. Not Sorry.

I hope to do it better in time. I myself am very far from satisfied with this but, well, getting better must come through doing it and through trying.
— Vincent van Gogh

A Late Paint was originally published on

From the Quote Box: Perseverance

perseverance, n. A lowly virtue whereby mediocrity achieves an inglorious success — Ambrose Bierce

Happy Birthday J.R.R.

Yes it’s that time again to remember the birthday of J.R.R. Tolkien and to be strengthened by those he wrote of, who may have seemed small and weak but managed in time of need to be strong enough to do what had to be done, even if they didn’t know what that was beforehand.

Happy Birthday J.R.R.!

…the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his own fate, and even his master’s, ceased to trouble him. He crawled back into the brambles and laid himself by Frodo’s side, and putting away all fear he cast himself into a deep untroubled sleep.

~~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, Book II, The Land of Shadow.