O Brother

O Brother Bob No. 4

I had a photo of my brother, the collector--taken about three years ago--with a flash (not a good idea).  I thought I'd do some quick practice portraits with Tombow markers.  Unlike my iPad apps, there are no undo or erase buttons.  This No. 4 took forever because I really wanted just ONE to be recognizable.  The picture behind him is a selfie he sent me as a joke when he added another camera to his collection--he and I never throw anything away so he should know better.

O Brother Bob No. 3

No. 3 includes a few of the many paintings he has hanging at his house; however, the woman in the actual painting doesn't really look like she's ready to attack.  Behind him is my recollection of a painting by K.A. Colorado, a very nice artist Bob brought by for a visit in the Fall.  The book is a big, beautiful one on Francis Bacon, a gift from Bob to me.

O Brother Bob No. 2

Bob is a book collector/seller and gave me some titles of his favorite books (and a few I made up).  I screwed up his right eye so he's being socked by his Blue Boy sculpture (which is actually about four feet tall).  Okay, the punch works on several levels because he was Mom's favorite child!

O Brother No. 1

So this was the first, drawn upside-down quickly with the markers.  When I turned it upright, I thought, "Oh, Lordy--he looks three sheets in the wind."  This one was based on the actual photo--he's sitting in front of a beautiful hand-painted screen--filled with flowers, with the modern lamp just behind him.

Bob is one of those truly nice guys; I'm lucky to have him as a brother and neighbor.  I tried Tombow markers because I admired the work of Jean Spitzer.  My work is zilch compared to hers, but it was fun.  These are 14x10 and on hot press w/c paper.

Sundays in Southern Virginia

After Church, created in "Paper" on iPad

This has been on my list of things to paint for about ten years.  I thought I'd try a simple sketch using pencils in this app; it's done from memory or imagination--and it took days to finish.  It was done, I thought; then I spotted Dad's Bible on my book shelf.  It wasn't black like I'd drawn but a deep red.  I had given it to him--that got changed; then the color of the chair cushion had to be changed.  The made-up chairs (the one on the left looks like the type we had in our store) are in the grass because I thought a baseboard, floor and rug under them would be too many horizontal lines.  Mom probably wouldn't like this because her shoes and pocketbook absolutely had to match.

Even before my dad studied for the ministry, Sundays were busy.  Mom fried the chicken (one of us kids stole the liver) and we went off to church for Sunday School and preaching.  We came home to "dinner" of fried chicken with gravy and biscuits, of course, lots of fresh vegetables and dessert.  Afternoons were spent napping, pitching horseshoes (I'm still a champ), or visiting relatives.  After a light "supper," we went back to Church.

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!!  

Southern Virginia



Looking East, graphite/white pencil on gray paper, 7x7

Sometimes, when driving home in the late afternoon, it's hard to keep my eyes on the road.  The sky is always beautiful.  I recently detoured to a side road and checked the view from atop what I've always known as Tharpe's Hill--just off Route 58.  I looked east towards my hometown of Clarksville and saw about fifteen miles of rolling hills and tree tops--all green.  A great place to live and breathe.

I'm still playing with my pencils.  This paper is from a Martha Stewart pad, something I picked up at Michael's, for crafting I believe.  It's acid-free--grays and browns-- but has a sheen; not the best for drawing but it was handy and fun.

Tabernacle Road in Winter



Tabernacle Road in Winter, oil on gessoed w/c paper, 18x24



I don't normally paint local landscapes; everything is usually just green. For ten years I have passed this scene and just noticed it last Sunday--I liked the farm on the hill--so I went out with my camera Monday. Seventy-mile-an-hour winds and no sun; I held onto my camera as I held onto the flagpole at The Tabernacle. Everyone blew their horns, a form of greeting here in SOVA. (Whoever you were, I couldn't wave back.) I rode up to the farm--it's abandoned--the house, barn, and outbuildings are falling down. Sad. This was an area of tobacco farms and textile mills--beautiful country with rolling hills, creeks and rivers.

I used the photo as reference but much got eliminated and even tombstones got moved. My original pastel sketch reminded me of Thomas Hart Benton.

hmm..........Thursday was my birthday and I was painting a graveyard.

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.

Watermelons and Flies

Saturday Night Watermelons, acrylic

(Seat and back were sanded; gesso was applied to area to be painted; at least two coats of acrylic paint were used; then an isolation coat; finally, three coats of archival satin varnish. All products were manufactured by Golden Acrylics.)

The owner of Sacs So Bo Eclectique asked if I would paint a chair for Third Thursdays. Third Thursdays are held in South Boston VA to raise money for arts. First I said "No;" then I said "Okay." How hard could it be? Answer: Very hard for someone like me, who usually paints without a plan.

A child's golden oak chair was delivered; I waited for it to tell me what it wanted to be. It said "I'm already beautiful and would like to be a footstool."

All my paintings have been on canvas or panels--a chair seat calls for a different perspective. I considered a painting of a robin's nest, or birds looking down at a parking lot (deciding which car to bomb), or a cup of spilled coffee. I wanted the beauty of the wood to show so I chose a napkin with cut-work; I don't have one so I made it up. What to put on the napkin--fruit, but fruit is boring. I saw a watermelon at the produce stand--not a seedless one but one with black seeds--like the ones from childhood.

I remembered summer Saturday nights as a child. Friends gathered at our country store--ten to twelve children. We played hide-and-seek, red rover, and jumped rope. A parent would bring out a home-grown watermelon and a large butcher knife. One well-placed whack of the knife cut three-quarters through the watermelon; then it was broken in half. The same method was used for each slice. We stood and ate our slices, bent over to keep drips off our clothes. I'd look up and see an older boy holding his dripping rind. "I'm gonna wash your face!" I'd run screaming and laughing through the yard; he'd catch me and rub the rind all over my face and hair. To bugs, I was the most attractive being in the Universe.

I don't think the bugs looked like these--I spent a lot of time researching flies. I know that they have large eyes and six legs. I could not determine whether their wings go up and down or back and forth. I guess these are Farber flies.



Working conditions were not ideal; I improvised. The chair fit perfectly over my trash can--just the right height.

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!

The lasting effects of drinking Buffalo Lithia Water

The painting is Buffalo Bottle, acrylic, 18x24. I donated the painting to an SPCA auction several years ago; a neighbor bought it--now it's part of her collection. The tree is in my back yard.

As everyone hustled around doing Fourth of July things today--boating, parading, swimming, and cooking out--I watched from the porch; then had dinner at a local restaurant. Growing up, our celebrations were minimal--fireworks (and accidents), laughter and bandages.

Living only a mile from Buffalo Lithia Springs might have contributed to our laid-back demeanor; surely, our well water also contained a bit of lithium (and we filled bottles at the Springs). I googled some ads which first appeared around 1886: "Nerve tonic, Anti-dyspeptic & Restorative.........Far Superior to the Lithia tablet." Stories circulate about people who were mentally fine until they left Buffalo Springs. I think I was okay when I lived in MD/DC; well, sometimes a bit edgy.

My water bottles are empty--tomorrow I'll make the seven-mile trip to the Springs for refills.

I pronounce Miss Lulu finished

Miss Lulu, acrylic 36x24, has been signed--that means she's finished. I hope. This image will be used for the Holly Springs NC invitations/announcements, a project which needs to be done this week. I'm not sure I like Miss Lulu looking at me with those scissors in her hand. Luckily, I don't have a beak.

She was a nice lady but the story got stuck in my head.

Miss Lulu--she cut off their beaks with rusty scissors

I cleared a path to my easel and am working on a new painting.

"Miss Lulu" (36x24) began with charcoal-drawn chickens and many layers of acrylic gels and paints. I added Miss Lulu Thursday and she has the correct attitude; much remains to be done, including darkening the bottom with burnt sienna, and Miss Lulu will be seen through broken chicken wire. As a child I knew her--she dipped snuff, wore men's shirts, hats and sweaters (maybe that's where I got my sense of style), and her husband Charlie always opened the truck door for her. My mother told me that she had cut off her chickens' beaks with scissors so they wouldn't peck at her garden seeds. Despite the story, I liked her.