Perspective

I took Willy out with me this morning while I photographed sidewalk cracks.  I couldn't resist posting this picture that caught Willy's yellow leash hanging from my hand.  I wish I had had it when I was trying to teach perspective to my painting students.  Could they deny that the near end of the leash is bigger than Willy's head?  The flat surface of the photo makes it easier to see than when one looks at it with an eye that flits back and forth between Willy and the leash, unable to focus on the relationship between the two.  I think that I can see this so easily because I have vision in only one eye, making everything flat compared with the normal 3-D view.  Over a lifetime I have developed other ways to judge relative distance.  It's quite an advantage, especially at a distance.  Close up....not so much.

Deep Cove and Memory

 There are a few things my ruined shoulders have taken away that are very painful.  One is kayaking.  I came across this photo while looking through some older pictures stored in on Picasa.  Of all the times Tony and I went out on the water, this one at Deep Cove is my favorite.  The day was very overcast, but the water was smooth as glass.  It was so still that we paddled much farther out than on other, sunny days.  The cove is sparsely peppered with small islands of rock and seaweed.  On this day, they were covered with birds.  I always brought my camera when we kayaked, so I was able to take pictures......my web album has 100 shots of the trip.  There are an equal number of the rocky cliffs surrounding the cove.  We were able to paddle right up to the enormous walls of rock, so close that we bounced off the sides as we floated with the waves. 

I often thought that kayaking was the greatest experience of my life.

I suppose there are several experiences that at the time seemed overwhelmingly wonderful.  I am lucky to have had them, and lucky now to remember them.  Some are just moments that flash into my mind at odd moments.  I knew at the time to press them there like flowers in a book.  One was riding the horse I leased in Calais, Cheyenne.  I was riding alone in the fall woods, surrounded by yellow leaves.  I looked down at Cheyenne's neck, and then around me.  "This is it," I told myself.  "A perfect moment.  Notice it and remember it."  And I did.   There are many, many more glimpses into the past that live vividly in my brain, ready to be called back in remarkable detail.  I relive them from behind my own eyes in seconds or minutes that block the present so completely it does not exist.  They are always intensely happy moments. 

My painful memories involve animals for the most part, general and specific thoughts that are almost unbearable.  They are much more unpredictable.  I never know when they will appear or how long they will last.  They are very close to the surface and attack without warning.

Well, I suppose that is the human condition.  Our minds have an imperfect filtering system.

What I saw on the way to Dinner

 

 

Last night on the way to have dinner with Pierre and Kendall I saw several deer eating by the side of Cemetery Road.  Some of them ran off as I approached, but many did not.  This one seemed pretty unconcerned as I grabbed my camera and crept closer.  She kept munching on whatever she was eating, keeping a watchful eye out.

I love seeing the deer, but my enjoyment is tempered by the knowledge of their difficult little lives, the suffering they have to endure.  Their lives are in danger so much of the time.  Even here, where hunting them with guns is prohibited, bow and arrow hunting is allowed.  Many are hit by cars, which to my mind does not need to happen.  And if they survive those threats, their lives must be hell in the cold winter, with many starving or freezing to death.

This is the way of life on planet earth.  I can't bear to think of it.

A New Start

This is the beginning of a new 4th of July painting.  I hadn't planned on doing it today, but I went into the studio looking for something else (I've already forgotten what) and came across this oblong piece of plywood that seemed to be begging for a parade painting.  I thought I would just sketch it on, then put on just a few colors to seal the wood.  This is the stage that I love the most.  I wish I could leave it right there, but I can't.  I am compelled to keep it going until I have made it look like my usual way of painting.  It's not that I don't like my usual finished product, but I find this much more interesting.  I like seeing the process.  I also like seeing how little it takes to make a likeness of someone.  These people have no faces yet, but they still are individuals.  You can already see the relationships between them.  You know something of their personalities, and you certainly know what they are doing.  I photographed my other parade painting at this stage, too, for the same reason.  It has suffered a decline in my affections ever since.