Red Bud Visitor

I didn’t expect to find a snail in the tree. In fact, I missed it altogether, at first glance, its speckled brown patterns blended so well with the bark. I confess that I've never been a great fan of the slippery sluggery sorts. But then you can’t help but feel fascinated with a creature that carries its eyes at the end of tentacles and sports another set of tentacles for its sense of smell. A soft bodied gastropod that can’t hear, moves slowly and has poor sight, yet has been known to live fifteen years? There must be some wisdom we can glean from that.

--Brown Garden Snail

Eastern Red Bud

The Eastern Red Bud parade is in progress. One of our native flowering trees, it sprinkles shades of purple and pink and magenta all over the country side, peeping out among still-bare deciduous trees, peppered along pastoral hillsides, brightening the roadsides everywhere. Native plants do that. They are happy, non intrusive and hardy. I visited several near my home between drizzling rains, just before the dark clouds moved in again. The blossoms sprout from everywhere, all over the tree’s branches, in what seems to be no particular order, although, you can be sure there is perfect order. Nature is the embodiment of order. Everything is connected to everything else, the tree, its roots, the sky, its rain, the visitor, its life cycle, and on and on it goes--a circle of connection--refreshing, renewing and alive.

Seeing Possibilities

When I created this painting, I left the space for the rocks white, blank--saved for last. Even with the photo I was using for reference I didn’t know where to begin. I couldn’t see a single rock, only blank, white paper. Seeing possibilities is like moving past blank paper, creating one shape at a time, even if you don’t know what you will do next. From that one shape, that one step forward, you begin to see a faint something. And little by little, one decision at a time, the rock you wanted to create appears.

One Decision at a Time

One decision at a time, a painting is formed.
One decision at a time, a life is lived.
The name of this painting is “Pink”. It began as a wash of pigment brushed on wet paper with nothing in particular in mind, except to see what a bit of rock salt sprinkled here and there would create. The next step was to define something, a shape, a form, a suggestion. The first time I tried this, I struggled. My mind was blank. I saw nothing. Nothing came to me, except frustration and the feeling, maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I hate this.
I revisit that place from time to time, where desire and doubt butt heads. Desire wins out with a little perseverance. And the next thing I know something magical has happened and I created it—me and the water and the pigment and the Universe--one decision at a time.

Drippy Crabapple Blossoms

I so enjoyed this yesterday. In only a few hours, everything had changed. Gone were the airy petals of the morning. The storm left the blossoms drippy with rain. A March wind remained, shifting the clouds, changing the light, making the limbs sway and blossoms shiver. I was glad I took the time to visit. I would have seen the tree, but missed these amazing blossoms.

Crabapple Blooms and Satisfaction

"No artist is ever pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine satisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive..."
--Martha Graham Shimmering sunlight on damp petals, the energy of a thunderstorm--I enjoyed both this morning. The crabapple in the front yard opened its blossoms this week so I payed it a visit. I wanted to know it better and also see what my camera could do. There is softness in the photos, but not the clarity or detail I want. And so I'll play with it again when the rain is finished. It's funny how that works. There is no plan, just a series of interactions. And when you're finished, you know more than you did before. But you also know there is more, that you have not quite reached what is possible. This sort of dissatisfaction is enjoyable. It's intimate, energetic and alive.

The Practice of Seeing

Have you ever written something and proofed it carefully, only to see that you’ve been overlooking a typo, reading it as though it were correct a dozen times? We sometimes read what we know is supposed to be there, the same as we have preconceived ideas about images that we try to draw or, for that matter, about the things we encounter in our daily lives.

Upside down practice makes us look more carefully at what's really there. And the more we practice, the more the lines and spaces are loaded into our brain. The sketch above started upside down and got worked over right side up--several times. There was something about the shapes and the angle of the calf's head that I couldn't quite get so I continued to change it until I was ready to try another one.

I liked the angle of the baby's head better in the next upside-down drawing, below. (To see the reference photo, click and scroll to the bottom photo: "upside down--on purpose") So I added a little watercolor and ink. Now that I look at the image, I see that I focused on the Mom's face more with the watercolor and barely dabbled on the baby's face. A little bit of gratitude to Mom for being easier to draw? I think so. Actually, I think Mom's face is more interesting.

Fortunately, our unconscious jumps in there and does some of the work--in art, in writing and in our daily lives. I wasn't paying any attention to the composition, just working on the shapes, especially the calf. But Mom is actually the focus of the interaction in this image. And she gave me the greatest satisfaction. Somehow it shows!