Is it time to pick up a little?

Once I Ccould Do Watercolor

I scanned these old photographs into the computer in order to preserve them, though I couldn't get them to look exactly as they do. In any case, the top one is a watercolor I did on the street in Rockport. Looking at it, I am transported there. I remember the day, the ocean air, the smell of the water behind me. I believe this is an Inn on Atlantic Avenue where I stayed during one of the workshops.

I guess Thelma's death is making me unusually nostalgic, though I have always envied my way of painting back then. I get out the watercolor paintings I have left from those days and wish I could still paint like that. I think again how my style in that medium came naturally under Betty Lou's guidance. I did not struggle then to make my brushwork look like Emile Gruppe's. I had my own brushstrokes. I had my own way of doing things.

The winter before last I tried to get my skills back. Eventually I liked what I did, but it lacked the excitement and spontaneity that is so characteristic of the older ones. You could see the carefulness.....you could see me sitting in my chair with furrowed forehead, concentrating on small areas of the paper. You could imagine me paying attention to the painting and not the subject, picking at sections that only vaguely reminded you of other pictures of water or trees. You could not feel the air, or the heat, or the wind.

Yesterday I took my easel outdoors, to the boatyard, with Diana and another painter. I wondered if being outside would help, though I took my acrylic paints which suddenly felt static and dull. There was a little something there, though....the hint of a possibility.

Life Force

I just couldn't help it.....I had to taker a picture of this chickadee contemplating the fact that one of the sunflower seeds had sprouted. I suppose it was the rainy weather that caused it, but I can't help but be blown away by the forces of nature. Human beings think they have accomplished amazing things, and they have. Yet there are things going on every minute that we can not match.

Paint Job

On a whim I decided to paint my dining room. It has seemed drab to me since I visited the apartments Sydney is decorating for rentals. She has done a beautiful job and used a lot of wonderful colors. Coming home was like going into a beige cocoon by comparison. I bought some paint Tuesday and began painting yesterday. The color was much more yellow than I thought by the color card, but I like it anyway.

The job was at times like a comedy of errors, as are too many of my projects. My method was to move everything away from one wall at a time, paint it, and move everything back before going on to the next wall. Therefore, the room was full of clutter all the times and I was constantly tripping over things, banging into furniture, and stepping into the paint. The dogs also found it necessary to walk on the paint spills and track all over the house. The ladder I have is one discarded by the gallery because it was too rickety. It is serviceable, but an adventure in maintaining balance. It's not a painting ladder, either, so it has no shelf to hold a can of paint. I was up and down hundreds of times, dripping paint all the way.

When I had finished, I had to clean paint from the clock, the printer, the computer, the desk, the table, and all the chairs.......not to mention the floor. Nevertheless, I am happy with the results and glad I did it. The kitchen is next.