Goldenrod

This post was written immediately after our October trip, but held until now...

This piece is much simpler than the last. It came more effortlessly, like a simple sketch. It involves memories of another trip to this same place, several years ago, where a sunlight line of goldenrod near Beacon Heights stuck in my memory.

I realized I hadn't looked at goldenrod closely enough to draw it from memory. So I had to get a stalk. Out on a late afternoon photographing trek with just Dearest (the rest of the family skipped that hike), I forgot about my need because she was finally really getting into her new camera, and getting some results that pleased her. We ended up alone on a dirt road, in a freezing wind, where I'd carried her tri-pod so she could experiment with it for the first time on a late sunset. Everything was blue and purple and darkening all around us, and we were watching the sky change colors over the big shape of Grandfather Mountain on the horizon.

On the way back to the car, in the dark, I found a stalk of goldenrod just as I needed it, on the edge of the road. Like it was being held out to me...

I realized after this composition appeared on the page that the leaves are Dearest and I. We're even holding hands.

This image plays with a few things that tickled me and wanted to get out on the page. One is the long red stems of the maple leaves. Another is the curve within the square that I keep coming back to with the same kind of enjoyment I feel when I see certain curves on Dearest. Another is the simple asymmetry of the goldenrod, different from most other flowers in that regard, and the lovely play of the bent leaves. And then there is the yellow on the French Ultramarine... Like the French Provence fabric we used for the curtains in the brightest room in our house.

Watercolor on 140 lb. hot press Arches. 19 by 19 inches.

Painting What?

The last two days I've thrown myself into painting at the butt end of the evening, when I'm very tired. The unexpected assault has led to a bold start to a portrait I am attempting, and to some play this evening. I decided to act on a long temptation to paint my face.

As I write this the paint is all gone (except for the faintest trace of green still in my left temple and one side of my beard... or is that my imagination?) The whole thing lasted less than thirty minutes. I simply reacted to my face as I do to paintings in progress. What color seems to want to go where? What did I want to bring forward, what drop back. I can understand some of the fascination of theater, putting on makeup and then removing it...

I mugged in front of the mirror for some time, taking over thirty shots in all. These were some of the best. I call the third shot in this post, "Don't make me come over there." I was surprised at how different my expressions remained even with the paint, and how some expressions were magnified.

Sometimes the accidental and mistaken has a way of revealing truth. I liked this misfire of the camera because it seemed to catch me unaware - and for the rainbow before me, which wasn't there until I created the picture and which could be a metaphor for my life.

The Leaf

One of the paintings I did on vacation was a struggle. At first the colors were all over and totally out of control (some might say they're still out of control, but they're now where I want them to be). I hated the composition (it was going to be something completely different than what it is now). This went on for several days. I barged out of our rented house at one point to come up for air, feeling like it's tentacles were around my throat instead of my hands around it. I wanted to run it under the hose - I almost did. I was having a good time. I was feeling very alive.

The leaves on the ground, out there during my break, were amazing. Every one uniquely flawed and with the sweeping lines of their veins and edges accentuated by the changed colors and the movement in the wind. I always notice fallen leaves - I still pick up hands full every autumn. This was nothing new (and it's always new). But this time the leaves echoed with the painting. I carried several back into the house. Then I saw how one should be overlaid on the diabolical mess the page had become to that point. I drew and redrew the leaf to get it how I wanted it in the square, and to get the asymmetry and the veining correct, so it said "Sugar Maple" and not something else. One or two small sections seemed to make sense and I could gradually expand the order into the chaos until the whole thing finally got where I wanted it. The negative and positive spaces got pleasantly crossed and slightly ambiguous, like the flickering light of autumn under trees in the wind.

I was totally lost in the doing of this.

I set it aside, finished, I thought. Then several days later I reversed the negative/positive play of foreground and background of a significant section of it, improving it.

As I remarked later, to Dearest, I could paint more of these, and I know they'd sell (this one will have a higher price on my website than others). But this isn't where I want to spend the time yet. It's nowhere near big enough or interesting enough. I'm still looking for that. I'm still looking for the answer to, "What do you want to paint?"

19 x 19 inches - watercolor and white charcoal on hot press Arches 140 lb.

Painting in the Mountains

We packed a lot into our two week vacation in the mountains. A lot of walking in beautiful places. I had less time for painting than I hoped, but I think I relaxed more deeply because it was more of a break from everything usual.

I did paint four pieces. These two were smaller, and faster. They were like warm-ups after not painting for several months. The other two are larger and each will have its own post.

Both began with random blind contour drawings and then "found" themselves. My surroundings affected all four paintings - certainly for content.

The first is watercolor on cold press paper (not my favorite - I don't care for the texture) = about 7 by 10 inches.

The second (with the bird) is watercolor with a little white charcoal, on hot press - about 10 by 14 inches. One of the things I "eat up" while in the Blue Ridge Mountains is the way the wild and the tame (woods and field) are arranged over the land, and the feeling of being up over everything. This latter piece captures a little of that - and my longing to break free and soar out over it instead of being earth bound beside the trees.

Neither of these pieces are as free as I want. I wasn't as engaged as I wanted to be. But what do I expect after neglecting my brushes for several months...

Roofs and Birds

Been on the road a lot lately. In Minneapolis' airport (the only part of Minnesota I've seen yet) I worked through a few hour layover. This was my "office" away from my office. The bookstore in the background was a temptation, but I resisted and stuck with the powerpoint project I was finishing up. Not exciting, but I feel better having it out of the way.

I had a quiet weekend with family and my paintbrushes. This was the visible result.

I also updated my gallery - got the most recent pieces out there, including this one.

I've been listening to Frou Frou's album, Details. I like it a lot, which surprises Daughter because it borders on Techno, and that's not usually my thing.

Tiny Frogs

Last weekend we went to Duke Gardens to wander and take photos. This small fountain, planted in papyrus and lotus, had lots of possibilities, and I took a number of shots.

But it soon became about the tiny tree frog which Oldest discovered on a papyrus plant. Then we found another. So I looked further and found two more in that same small fountain garden, one golden colored, instead of green. They were each just a little over half an inch long. Soon we had other passers by stopping to see what we were seeing, and we had fun watching their faces as they finally spotted the frogs.

Enjoy.

The Last Pie of Summer

A pie was requested - chicken, mirepoix, ricotta, garlic, salt, pepper, basil, and sage. It's either the first pie of autumn, or the last pie of summer...

or both.