Summertime!

Nothing says Summer more than a plumply ripe tomato. To my husband it was saying, "Lunch". Mais non, Monseur- lunch will have to wait! This tomato is my model and the muse is calling to me. And so the patient man waited. I would do my best to do justice to my subject. Later he would surround it with bacon and lettuce. To each, their own.

Where The Sun Don't Shine

I've always loved that saying, "Bloom where you're planted". As an artist, I have longed to paint in the south of France and sketch on the western coast of Ireland. My life has been rooted instead where I live because of duty to others. They are my family and sometimes it's been the husband's job. For a long time it was raising the children. Now it's the season of the ailing elderly parents. Blooming where I'm planted means survival to this artist. Recently I found a pencil sketch on the inside of the address book that I carry in my purse. It's of a mop and bucket in a hospital corridor. I did it while waiting for my mother who was having tests. It was the only art I was going to do that day.

That's survival, but blooming that's a whole other thing. I loved the description of climbing the glass mountain in Julia Cameron's book WALKING IN THIS WORLD. If you would ask any of my nearest and dearest they would tell you how proud they are of me, the artist. They would tell you how supportive they are of my art. I smile at that, because they don't even nearly get it. People wander into my studio at 10:00AM and ask what's for supper. If I've closed the studio door, they will politely knock and ask if I knew there was standing water under the sink cabinet. Or maybe, not so politely, shouting that the dog is throwing up on the living room rug. No self respecting Muse can endure this daily battering. And, so blooming- wherever you are, isn't as easy as it sounds.

Right outside our sliding glass doors, where there should have been a beautiful view, was a wood pile. Obviously there had been a giant oak tree that had been cut down. My husband consolidated these logs to the existing wood pile behind a shed. Almost immediately green shoots popped up. I watched them all Summer wondering what they were. As I did the next two Summers. The third year, I had resolved that if they still didn't bloom, I would move them to another spot in the yard. And that's when it happened. They bloomed big and bright. They where Irises that someone had planted long ago and had somehow survived under a wood pile. It had taken three years of sunlight for them to generate these grapefruit size yellow flowers. Note to self: blooming does not come easily, but is possible with persistence. Even in a place "where the sun don't shine".

Witness of the Mute Swans

I began this piece on a beautiful summer's day while plein air painting. I had set up my easel in a favorite spot that's lush with water lilies. This particular day there were swans landing on the lily pads and splashing about. I quickly blocked in the sky and the distant shore, then the color of the water and the placement of the water lilies. Small white x's marked the location of the swans. Before packing up I took some resource photos. The mood of the day was carefree. Walking back to my car, I realized it would be my last carefree day for awhile.

My mother's health had been failing for a long time, but I knew deep down inside that these were her last days. And so it was. It was mid October, the first Sunday after Mom's funeral and I wasn't looking forward to going home to an empty house. You see for years Mom spent Sundays at our house. Knowing this my husband wanted to distract me. Let's go to that place you like and walk around. Sure. Although the sun was shining it was windy and cold. As for me, I was busy being grumpy. I walked over to where the concession stand and boat rental are. Everything was closed for the season. I stood on the dock looking across the water where I had been painting that Summer. In the water, moving directly towards me were the swans. Soundlessly they glided to within inches of where I was standing. They hesitated and then swam on.

It would be another year before I could open my field kit and pick up a pastel. But when I did, just like the swans, my muse swam out to greet me. "Mute Swans of the Dixboro Mile" is about what once was and what remains.

Nose To The Grindstone

Don't you just love how in the movies the artist is seized by...inspiration! While wielding a brush in one hand, a stretched & primed canvas appears out of nowhere. With gusto paint is slashed across the canvas. A masterpiece is rent of this passion. It has never worked like that for me. There is the inspiration and even the passion, but there's so much more. As an artist, I fall head over heels in love with my subject. Like all love affairs, one wants to know everything there is to know about the beloved. Thus begins the research from the Internet to dusty old books. Right now I'm researching water lilies and swans for a threesome of paintings that I'm working on.

'Til Spring Creeps over My Windowsill

While I was walking through the home center, I found a rack of primroses. The bright, open faced blooms told me that Spring can't be all that far off. I bought three and lined them up on my kitchen windowsill. I do this every year. I keep the little plants alive until it's warm enough to plant them outside. I'm developing a really nice primrose patch. Inside or out, whenever I look at them blooming I am euphoric. They are the most optimistic of plants.

Here are the stages of my pastel painting of the purple ones. Although I was painting from life, I took a reference photo. I did the drawing with a watercolor pencil to establish the placement of the shadows. The next two images show the layering of color and refining of the image. And last is the finished piece.

What The Lilies Know

This was my first experimental media piece. It is a very personal work. Since I wanted to play with copy, I used my favorite lines from scripture which are in the sixth chapter of the book of Matthew. I use to be a world class worrier. In fact, if I wasn't actively worrying about something, that worried me! Then my rather quiet life changed on a dime. I didn't have the luxury of time to indulge in worrying. My days were dedicated to survival. One day I stumbled across the familiar quote. "Fret not..., what of the birds of the air & the lilies of the field",... it was all there, everything I ever needed to know. It's the key that opened the door for me. Both in my personal life, as well as an artist, I know that there is something simply wondrous out there. I don't need to be white-knuckled onto life. I'm freed up to spread my wings and soar.

A Winter's Dreaming

The woodland that surrounds my home is covered in snow. Red squirrels and the winter birds stand out against the subtle palette. This painting was done the year we had snow days. There I was with a whole day to paint ! Looking out the window I was amazed at the shades of gray and the amount of detail. The snow falling created a texture all it's own. So there I was at the second floor window- painting until the sun went down. It should be named, "Plein Air With Warm Feet".