Folk Stories

He Beat his Mules, acrylic on panel, 20x16

He beat his mules. Lena Lion (who could cast spells) said, "You will know what it's like to have hooves." He dreamed of running on all-fours. When he awoke, his feet and hands were bloody.

Fairy tales were okay; whispered stories about actual neighbors were more interesting. I always looked at his hands. When Lena Lion--a tiny woman--visited, I stayed quiet.

This setting is from imagination--dark quilts, rag rugs, heavy doors, old farm houses. The painting is almost finished--I will probably put these words on the upper portion of the door:

HE
BEAT
HIS
MULES

In the rural area of my childhood, several women had "powers" and creeks had suck-holes. These stories kept us from venturing onto others' property and kept us out of the lithia water of local creeks. The suck-holes were always close to the beautiful large, smooth, round rocks that beckoned. I was 28 when I took swimming lessons--in a pool!

Birds on a Pole

The Nest

Former Home

When I read Merci33's blog about the wildlife in her yard, I thought of our local ospreys and their housing situation.

Here is what I had learned at Tuesday's Council meeting--this year the ospreys chose the local ball field over their normal spot in the lake by the railroad trestle. It's a problem because: The pole is too old to be climbed (how do they change bulbs?); the light pole they chose cannot be turned off individually; having the nest relocated by the appropriate movers is too expensive (the town, like the country, is in debt); and there is concern that the osprey will drop sticks on people below. Do they really drop sticks on passersby? Will the eggs bake? If the chicks hatch, how long till they fly? Should ballgames be moved to a different field? Why did they bypass their usual nesting spot? Lots of questions.

I know some of you are bird watchers and may have suggestions. They probably should be left alone as we hope for the best. What happens next year?

I did get back to painting today but I took the camera with me when I dropped off my aluminum cans--recycling center is at the ball park. Two birds in one short15-minute trip; my timing was perfect.

Away from Art (Almost)

Refrigerator Arrangement, found heads, copper & vases

I've been away from my studio/workshop for a couple of weeks. A new refrigerator meant cleaning out the old one--a dirty job. I found pre-cooked bacon with a use before date of 2005. These three cool guys have always had the spot on top of the refrigerator--from the utility room, they peer around the kitchen doorway and keep an eye on the front door. Their heads bob in rhythm to a heavy wash load or the stereo. They got baths and, while trying to get them in the perfect spot and position, I accidentally leaned against my new water dispenser--I got bathed from the waist down with cold water.

My Town (pop. 1,400)

Guests (relatives) from NJ and MD arrived last week so a boat ride was in order--I had not been on the boat in three years. It's a long walk down the hill to the dock (I had to make a second trip up and down for the key) and an even longer walk up the hill when we return. I sometimes forget just how beautiful it is on Buggs Island Lake and how fortunate we are to live in this beautiful small town.

We did not fish for the 65-pounders but I spotted goldfish clouds.

http://lakecountry-live.com

Mother's Day

Where Should I Put My Head?, oil pastel, 16x12

My mother suffered from Alzheimer's, which began in her late seventies. I brought her to live with us in our small, then vacation, house. (Since remodeling it's now our permanent home.) After Dad's death, Mom never slept in a bed but was comfortable on a sofa. Each night I'd set up the sofa with sheets and pillows; she'd ask, "Where should I put my head?" I'd pat the pillow; she'd lie down the opposite way and complain about the light in her eyes. Then she'd switch ends. She tried so hard to do things the right way--even laid sheets of typing paper down to mark a path to the bathroom; yet she couldn't find it without help. There were times, though, when her humor returned and there was laughter in the house. Restaurants were fun, too, but she insisted that we be in the house when darkness arrived--nighttime porch-sitting was not allowed. No one in the house got much sleep.

This was my first oil pastel (drugstore variety) on drawing paper; done after Mom moved to an assisted living facility--it was completed in one all-night session; it still makes me cry. I tried to make a large painting of this--it was a failure; all the feeling went into this one.

My mother died in a nursing home seven years ago at age 82. I think of her almost every day, not just on Mother's Day.

 

Woman in a Rain Bonnet

Woman in a Rain Bonnet, acrylic, 14x11

I found a rain bonnet, wore it, and looked in the mirror while completing this painting. My hair now seems to be permanently pleated.

See previous blog entry for background on this painting.

To Bonnet or Not to Bonnet

Woman in a Rain Bonnet?, acrylic, 14x11

At Easter time I thought not of Easter bonnets, but of the rain bonnets my mother wore to preserve her hairstyle. There are few photographs of my parents from the 50's and 60's so I just began with a face. My mother always held her chin high, I added her (& my) nose with a bump and our thin lips. I chose reddish brown hair instead of Mom's light brown (more contrast with the background) and no real style because it would be covered, and eliminated her glasses. I thought she should be standing on my porch-- not in the rain--but I didn't like the jigsaw cornice of my porch. I rode around town; each Queen Anne has its own hand-jigsaw work. I found the right shape, asked for permission to photograph it--then decided the cornice should match the scarf and not be so intricate. Thank you, nice family on 8th Street.

Now the rain bonnet is a problem--I haven't been successful at finding the cheap plastic folded type. I did find an image on Google--Queen Elizabeth wearing one. I like the painting as is but without the rain bonnet my concept disappears. Who would have thought that Dollar General would have $1-rain ponchos but no rain bonnets.

I felt the suit should be a primary color and Mom didn't wear yellow, and little red. I realized today that this blue suit is actually what I wore to court in D.C. 47 years ago when my husband and I were married at 9 a.m. on a payday. If I give this woman bright red hair teased into a French twist and freckles, this could pass for my wedding portrait.

With a rain bonnet it will be my mother saying, "Robert, I am not going out in this rain." Maybe I should add that five-dead-mink scarf (we lifted the tails and made rude noises in church).

Brain Birds

Brain Birds, walnut ink on w/c paper, 24x18

I arted around at the YMCA with my group today (one other person) using my new walnut ink and walnut stick--no reference photos or planning. After finishing the large bird I walked outside and looked for a bird in flight; instead, I saw wires and utility poles. Making things up and drawing like a first-grader are spirit-lifting--I do it often but don't always share.

Ruffle Crow and I wish you a Happy Easter or Happy Passover.

A Quiet Street

Home, w/c on hot press paper, 24x18

Looks like a Normal Rockwell setting, right? This quiet street in a small town labeled Paradise by realtors will be active for the next six weeks. Town Council elections are coming up--four candidates for three seats. Local elections can be exciting--letters to the editor will fill the two newspapers and porch conversations will be lively.

Home is where the art is, too. I won a contest by coming up with a title for a signed serigraphy monoprint by Don Michael, Jr. My title? Sylvester got Tweety--I saw yellow feathers and blood. Don't worry, Don--the art will look great inside this 1890's house. The interior was gutted and rebuilt in 2004--totally modern inside. Yin & Yang--outside, a cottage; inside, a loft.

About the painting--the Dali-esque tree (this is about half the trunk) is at the top of my street. I have always loved it but it's dying; tree men have pruned, and huge branches have fallen. I will miss seeing it from my kitchen window; I watch crows sitting on it and, sometimes, vultures check out the neighborhood. I had taken this early Spring photo about five years ago--I set up the shot to block all my neighbors' houses. In the painting I eliminated mail boxes, utility poles, and some driveways. I'm still playing with the watercolor sticks. I had bought hot press paper for drawing and thought "Why not just do a large painting?" Here's why. I'm not a neat painter--I spatter, don't follow any of the lines I sketch, and I need more practice at "lifting."
I say "Whoops" often.

(I actually like this painting better cropped and upside-down.)

Cold Winter

Cold Winter 2009-10, w/c on arches, 9x8

It was a long cold winter made worse with sinus infections and swine flu. His grandmother sent him a hand-knit hat.

Playing with water color sticks again, every which way--wet, dry, mixed, straight. This is from imagination--no one I know. I wish I had a hat like this but I can only knit squares & rectangles.

Playing with Watercolor Sticks

Five-petaled Flower, w/c on arches, 9x12

More painting without drawing first. This is from a photo taken by my son Steven; any credit for design belongs to him. I don't know the size of the flower or its name. My thinking: What could be easier than painting a single flower? Ha! When I decided the background should be pale blue, I stupidly thought if I did it quickly my petals would be okay--it almost worked. I learned about color slowly spreading and used that lesson for the lower left. I will now look for my book, The Joy of Painting--I believe it has instructions for every medium. Ignorance, though, is sometimes an excellent first teacher.

Mr. Muffet, w/c on arches, 12x9

Playing at my get-together with other artists on Thursday, I learned the colors of my sticks. First question: What the heck is "New Gamboge?" It's someplace between yellow and burnt sienna--I'll call it dark yellow. Mr. Muffet (who is not suffering from jaundice--just yellow-play) began with two circles which became eyes; he grew a nose; then ears and a mustache; his hair was influenced by the wind outside; then his glasses were added. He had to be looking at something--the spider dropped in.

My art group and I think we know him. Perhaps he walks around town with the sleep-walking nude dictionary lady, A, from my blog entry of February 6.