Out of the Blues



Holding Back the Drought?
Speech of the Era?
Encore?

OR

Descent?
Hydrus Watercolors on Aquaboard, 12x12

I played with these watercolors--dripping, scrubbing, painting over, spraying with water, etc., until I had an underwater scene.

I can't pinpoint the source for the remainder of this painting:  I watched a Lakefest Idol contest at our local Fine Arts Center (my old elementary school), I was mesmorized by President Clinton's speech at the Democratic Convention, and my brother has a wonderful 4' tall wide-armed blue man sculpture whose eyes watch everything.  All of the above.  When I walked out of my studio a few minutes ago, I saw long hair instead of shadow in this and glimpsed Mona Lisa--made me laugh.

I've been AWOL from painting and blogging, and was gambling in Atlantic City last week (once every five years can't be considered a habit).  I picked my lucky machine at Trump's Taj Mahal and sat down to either spend my money or win a $500,000 progressive jackpot.  I was winning when a stage nearby opened their show.  LOUD music--I tried sticking my finger in my left ear and playing max with my right hand.  After an hour of deafening music and machines, I cashed out (at a profit) and went up to my room, read Vanity Fair on my iPad.  I overslept the following morning so no time for gambling--I brought most of my money back home; I guess that's a win.  I saw the Atlantic, the Boardwalk, and lots of Jonathan Livingston Seagulls.  During the 800-mile roundtrip, I saw Richmond, D.C., Baltimore, Philadelphia, Annapolis, and Amish country in southern Maryland.  My studio is now looking very inviting.     

Were The Stars Out That Night?



Childhood in Buffalo Springs VA, acrylic, 18x24

This is all true--I couldn't make this stuff up:

When I was three, I had a pet squirrel.  Whisko Wilkerson was his name.  I traded him to gypsies for a bird; the bird only lived for a few weeks.  The gypsy caravan came through southern Virginia on Rt. 58 about once a year and Dad let them park overnight in front of our country store; we got our palms read and we children were never stolen.

When I was about five, I saw a flying saucer come towards our back yard as I stood near the gate.  I ran into the house screaming; I escaped.  (Okay, it's possible that was one of the days I had watched someone patch an inner tube at the store--I loved the smell of that glue.)  My flying saucer looks a lot like a recessed ceiling light; maybe I was seeing the future.

At six, a calf was born and she became my pet--Pansy.  I used my hair brush on Pansy and I rode on her back.  Before my father studied to became a minister, he was a businessman--he owned the store which was on ten acres, owned several rental farms, was an antique dealer, drove a school bus, and he bought and sold livestock.  HE SOLD PANSY!  I'm sure I cried, but probably quietly, in my room.  About a month later, he hitched the trailer to the car and he brought Pansy home--I'll bet he lost money on that deal.  He told me much later that, as we drove past Pansy's new pasture on the way to church every Sunday, he could feel my feet pressing into the back of his driver's seat and just couldn't take it anymore.  I didn't know I was doing that--I was concentrating on holding my breath and trying not to cry.  

If we're lucky our parents teach us lessons in caring.  Happy Father's Day.

I'm considering adding a few faint stars to the sky (maybe the Virgo constellation for Dad's birthday); when I started this painting Saturday night the sky was starless and gray.  This painting makes me smile and it was great getting back into my studio for four straight days and having real paint under my fingernails again.



Childhood in Buffalo Springs VA (w/stars added)

 Sat. 6/16/12--IMPORTANT UPDATE.  Out of curiosity, I googled "UFOs in 1947" and the results were exciting.  There was a six-week "wave" of reported sightings that year--all over the US.  I only reported my sighting to my parents and, until this blog, never mentioned it to anyone.  Maybe I really did see a flying saucer!!  

Shelter



Shelter, acrylic on linen panel, 12x12

Earlier this summer, as I let our dog Willie out for his last pit stop each night, I was delighted to see small birds sleeping in the corners of the porch.  They'd turn their heads, look at me, and tuck themselves back into their corners.   Once, around midnight, the moon had tucked itself into a corner, too.  I made several sketches (below) before painting.  Our street has street lights--rather than shoot them out, I guessed at how the scene might look on a dark cool night, and added the house at the top of the street (actually it's my impression of the house--can't see it from my porch).  I can tell by the light (which needs to be dimmed along with my signature) that my neighbor's home--upstairs, probably at the computer.



1st sketch



2nd sketch

Interesting that I see these columns at least ten times a day and don't know their curves until I paint them.  This is probably the fourth time these columns have appeared in my paintings; one day, I might get past my front porch and paint other streets or towns.

I just re-read The Writing Life by Annie Dillard.  She is so right--the artist or writer begins with a vision; time and materials hound the work; the vision recedes.  At the end, you have a replacement of the vision--a page.  

My Wallpaper Samples Adventure



One huge book of wallpaper samples on my dining room table

The adventure began several weeks ago.  After lunch with a couple of friends, one picked up some paint at Sherwin Williams.  Since it was 100 degrees outside we all went in and I sat at the table that's set up for selecting wallpaper.  Out of the blue I decided to ask what they did with their old wallpaper books.  The young man said they're thrown out, so I left my card and asked if he'd call me--I thought the pages would be neat backgrounds for paintings (and I love recycling things).  He called and I picked them up last Saturday.  I carried one eight-pound book into the house and loved all the patterns and colors.  I couldn't wait.

I immediately tore a small piece out of the book, then tore a sheet of watercolor paper in half, glued it down and got out a few acrylics--alizarin, umber and white.  Using a large brush I played--I liked it-- but the paper was a bit wrinkled.

The next day, I used a ruler to tear out a beautiful beige 8x11 piece.  In my kitchen I coated the paper with acrylic medium and set it on the deck to dry.  Whoops--it's raining.  I ran out and brought it inside--no harm done.  It was off to the workshop to paint.  Paint what?  I spotted an old yearbook and picked a faded photo.  I painted; then I hated the beige background with the skin color, so I covered it with black.  Next, I coated the back of the painting with acrylic medium; then I glued it to a piece of mat board.  That's when I began to wonder why I hadn't just used one of my primed canvases or panels; after all, I had completely covered the background--my whole reason for using wallpaper!  I could have saved several days.


And it's not a good portrait!



She looks better tightly cropped.



So-------need any wallpaper sample books?


It was a wasted week but fun and I'll try it again.  I think I've defined the problem--I picked up 13 heavy books on the 13th of the month.  I usually don't leave the house on that date.

April on the Front Porch

April on the Front Porch, acrylic on canvas, 30x24

Hallelujah--I think April is 98 percent finished.   I originally blogged about her on May 23 (I should have listened to that voice that was saying "larger.")  After she grew, I felt she needed a throne rather than a metal outdoor chair so I had to visit the thrift shop and look at chairs--all mine are modern.  (Here in southern VA we don't really have indoor furniture on our front porches, but I did have a toilet sitting in the front yard for a while.)  I wanted an old Coke bottle as a vase but mine's gone missing; at midnight, I substituted a piece of van Briggle pottery--that meant getting the ladder and retrieving the vase from a high shelf.  My paintings sometimes become projects and I work through the night. 

I like that April's arms are wing-like and her legs resemble the Colonel's drumsticks and thighs.

When I signed this I was listening to KD Lang and the Reclines; KD was singing "Big Boned Woman."  I imagine April dancing at the Legion Hall.

This is not my first work with a woman and rooster; there was a sculpture 20 years ago--Mystic Woman aka Chick with a Chick (photo below).  She was sold to a sculptor from West Virginia.



terra cotta and white clay, 24" h

 

Convergence Art Guild in Halifax VA





Waiting for Harry, acrylic on panel, 20x16



I hung a few paintings at CAG, 99 Main Street in Halifax VA.  Among them is an early acrylic, Waiting for Harry. 

Harry was our letter carrier in Brookeville MD in the 70s, when Brookeville was still mostly rural.  One woman liked to wait at her mailbox for Harry and, in cold weather, she sometimes wore only her fur coat (don't know how Harry knew that).  I never met her but I imagined she might look like this.   I like the impatient attitude and the knife-wielding shadow in this one.

April Delayed til June



April in SoVA, acrylic in progress, 30x24

 April weather in southern Virginia was beautiful; we sat on our front porches as the irises bloomed.  That's the month I started this painting and expected to be finished in a few days.  I really wanted her feet to be included but there was that voice as I began painting the head:  "Make her larger, make her larger."

Maybe I spent too much time sitting on the porch or, maybe I spent too much time "arting around" with this.  April is running a bit behind schedule.


Early sketch--I think I know her.

 


I don't know this person;
I was thinking of Picasso exhibit.

 

Drawn on running-out-of-ink print; she looks familiar.



Don't recognize this one--really low on ink.
I think of Frances Bacon's cross-legged self portrait.



Don't know her but I like this one....
she might actually have a pet rooster.

 Company is arriving for the Memorial Day weekend; I won't be back at the easel until June.  I have no idea what the final April will look like--now I'm thinking about an August painting.

I have begun putting my name on works posted here because I've seen some in Google images--and not always attributed to my blog.

Tall & Thin in Just Three Days

 

Painter's Salute or Oh Crap, What have I Done?  acrylic, 36 x 24

After weeks of cleaning I needed to try my new easel.  I looked through my list of paintings to be done; I looked for inspiration and found none.  Finally I headed to the workshop just to splash some paint onto the easel.  I found a 10-year-old canvas--it was the only painting support I could easily reach--and propped it up.  That's when I spotted my image in a small mirror about 10 feet away.  I had hung it when I was clearing the workshop--a 70s Danish Modern rosewood piece, 7 inches wide and 20 inches tall.  With that piece I feng sui'd the workshop--the mirror faces the lake.

I couldn't see all of me at one time so I ended up tall and thin and looking like Miss Hathaway from the Beverley Hillbillies.  I recognize some parts--the oversized Abercrombie & Fitch corduroy shirt that reaches to my knees (found at a community yard sale for $1), my magnified bad eye (my left but reversed in the painting), and my long black underwear (good for cold weather).  It's impossible to look at my hand when I'm using it to paint!  This painting was fun and is not quite finished.

I never got the counter cleared.  The empty easel box served as the perfect surface for holding my paints and palette.  One more day to finish the painting; then it's back to clearing clutter (including the box).  Mirror is upper right, next to ladder.

Watch

Watcher Woman 1, acrylic, 24x18

In early July I was re-reading The Celestine Prophecy, a book that pretty much says there's no such thing as a coincidence and that memories pop into your head for a reason.

A memory had popped into my head--I recalled a woman in a park in D.C. My children and I had visited Whistler's Butterfly Room exhibit and were taking a people-watch break, sitting on a bench in a small park. An older woman, using her hands as binoculars, constantly turned in a circle. Each time the "binoculars" landed on me I was very uncomfortable; we left the park.

I thought of painting the woman and drew a sketch.

Then I read Harry Kent's blog from July 25. He said "I believe the elderly, because they've seen so much, have a particularly important social role to play as reviewers and commentators."

I agree--I think we should be training our eyes on what's happening in our small towns; what's happening off our shores or on Wall Street, what's happening to our old forests.

Then I read Donna Iona Drozda's blog from July 26 that said look back to July 12; what were you thinking of during the solar eclipse? (I was thinking of watcher woman and taking photos of my local landmarks.)

And then I later followed Donna's Luna See newsletter to her "What's up?" article and it showed a triangle--the shape of the arms and head of the watching woman.

I couldn't decide whether I should jump with joy or hide under the covers--I felt I had tapped into something beyond coincidence.

With the exception of the "Celluloid Man"detour, due to wrong-sized canvas, this painting has been in the works since early July. This is the first Watcher Woman and she's looking East towards my home town. When I was six and needed a vaccination before entering first grade I screamed from this overpass to Dr. Winston's office in town (maybe two miles) and I was riding in the back of a neighbor's truck!

Watcher Woman is a tough-looking broad and I think she looks like the woman from the park 35 years ago (maybe a bit like my friends and me) and the painting is 95 percent complete. The binocular stance is fun--try it.

* * * * * *
There is sadness on my street. My next-door Summertime/weekend neighbor passed away unexpectedly last week. She sat on my porch earlier this summer and read my blog on her laptop. Bess would have enjoyed this entry and would have said "That's Jack's yard!" I see her front porch from my kitchen sink; she'd be surprised at how much she's missed.

.

Celluloid Man

Celluloid Man, acrylic, 30x24
(aka Celluloid Man Meets his Match)

I had primed this canvas but needed a different size for a planned painting. Rather than put the canvas away, I set up a palette with ultramarine, cadmium red, cadmium yellow, and white and began painting without a single thought--started with an oval.

I took a photo of the first day's work, printed it out and toyed with ideas--Self-anointed One and Candle Man. I needed a reason for the melting (other than the heat here in southern Virginia). After a couple of days, a memory surfaced. Aha!

When I was very young (4 or 5) I loved a small celluloid doll that my father bought for me during our trip into town. As I sat with my mother in the front yard under the shade of the trees, she said, "If you strike a match to the doll's feet, she will smile." I did--and was horrified as I watched her melt. I cried for days. My mother had a great sense of humor but it was missing on that particular day--this is one of the few bad memories from my childhood.

Mothers, don't let your babies grow up to be artists.

Celeste Inspires

1963, Seen but Not Heard

I visit Celeste Bergin's blog often. She paints every day--landscapes, animals, cowboys, people, flowers--all beautiful. Several weeks ago, she posted a self-portrait that she'd covered with pthalo blue. I spent at least 30 minutes moving the cursor hand around her face. What fun. When the hand covered the mouth, I thought "Seen but Not Heard." I found a photo from 1963 and whipped out a portrait (in only eight days--fast for me). 1963 was a time of black eyeliner, high heels, and high hair. For some women, finding one's voice took a while (I would not go back). I always feel old photos are of some acquaintance--not of me. The blue tint and cursor drawing were added in Corel.

This is the painting, which was troublesome--I originally gave myself a longer neck, large pupils (like after a visit to the ophthalmologist), a too-long chin and a too-short upper lip. I judge this as okay and I might just cover it with pthalo blue--acrylic, 14x11. It has no title yet--maybe "Only my Hair was High."





The photo was taken when I was not quite 21 and living in D.C. The photographer had been trained by the Navy in aerial photography, then assigned to submarine duty. We were co-workers; I married him. He was an offset photographer at the Commerce Department, and retired in 1992 as a Deputy Assistant Secretary of Commerce. (Where is my left shoulder?)

I am surprised by the resemblance in this photo to earlier blogs: "Woman in a Rain Bonnet" (April 26) and "A Leftover Chicken" (Feb. 24).

An update on the local ospreys. They are alive and well, and keeping an eye on the ball.

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!

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).