I painted this in a dizzy flurry of color, as if I had just jumped off the swing myself.
Beach Boys
This painting started as a memory: the last morning of a great week at the beach with my family. It was cold, we carried a thermos of coffee and hot chocolate down to the ocean to watch the sun rise. We walked, and sipped, and enjoyed the cool sand beneath our feet. I love the way my boys often lean into each other when they walk.
Of course, like any good Labradors, or my children in this case, they did not stay out of the water. I packed up this memory with the kids wet and sandy sweatshirts and pajamas. Now months later, my memory finally found its way to my easel (fortunately my husband is better at unpacking than I am, he dealt with the wet clothes the midnight we came home).
The Swing
The Swing
HOW do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—
Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913.
In case you are curious, here is how I started this painting. First I identified why I wanted to paint the painting: I loved the movement of the swing and dappled light of the trees in the background. Then I planned my approach: I started on sanded Wallis paper that I under painted with pink and red pastel, and then washed with denatured alcohol. I chose those colors because red is the compliment of green, and this panting is mostly green. Then I drew a skeleton of lines in light blue so I wouldn’t get lost, next I put in my darkest darks in a dark blue green (it looks almost black in the photo, like a true impressionist, I never use black). I unified shadows and darks and added and deleted until I had roughly an S shaped composition of darks. I liked the tension of the tire swing being cropped out. After I had the groundwork established, the rest was just play! What I am most pleased with in the finished painting: her feet.
Siesta
Midday Siesta
Beneath a pleasant
Sun and a gentle gust, I
Doze in peace on grass
-farah chamma
Wall Walker
My son walked into this landscape I was painting plein air.
I took a portrait workshop from Judith Carducci once, and she told us that if we could capture the shape of the shadow on the face we would find a likeness. Moving targets are tricky to capture, but I tried Judith’s method with the highlights on Micah…the top of his hat, his neck, down one arm, and his other elbow, the back of both legs…and there he was. Neat trick.
Micah likes to balance his way on top of things and through life. It is fun to watch.
Desert Rain
“A Desert Rain”
The cool rain poured in sudden haste
Upon the thirsty sod,
And life throughout an arid waste
Rejoices, thanking God.
Each wild and lonely desert flower
Is royally arrayed,
As if in one brief, stormy hour
The world were newly made.
Where vagrant breezes stray and waft
The mesquite’s sweet perfume,
The green saguaro’s fluted shaft
Lifts high a richer bloom.
The palo verde blossoms glow
Like jets of yellow fire,
And every bird we love and know
Pipes in the tuneful choir.
The fair Altruria of the bees,
Beneath the orange boughs,
Hears whispered friendships of the trees
As sweet as lovers’ vows.
Wee desert folk from strife forbear–
Their deadly conflicts cease,
As if responsive to the prayer
For Universal Peace.
No more on thorns the linnet hangs–
Slain by the cruel shrike;
The coiled crotalus sheathes his fangs,
And does not care to strike.
Here blooms the world like Aaron’s rod,
New verdure clothes the plain–
The wondrous miracle of God
That follows a desert rain!
-Andrew Downing
Washing Feet And Washing Shoes
After a delightful morning splashing in the muddy arroyo, these princesses washed their feet, shoes, and tutus in the laundry sink.
Rappelling on Enchanted Rock
“Rappel”
Thirty-plus feet
Is
a
long
way
up.
Adrenaline surges:
fingers fumble,
palms sweat,
knees shake.
Breath quickens
and heart races.
The air is hot and dusty,
and the tang of old sweat and metal
is heavy in your nose. Your helmet slips
against your brow.
But there’s a reassuring tug
against your climbing harness,
the belayer yelling encouragement,
and you smile across the platforms
to your friend the next one over.
Then you grip the gritty rope,
breathe in deep,
inch towards the edge
and
leap.
-AMMCJ
A Something in a Summer’s Day
“A something in a summer’s Day”
by Emily Dickinson
A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon —
A depth — an Azure — a perfume —
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see —
Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle — shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me —
The wizard fingers never rest —
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed —
Still rears the East her amber Flag —
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red —
So looking on — the night — the morn
Conclude the wonder gay —
And I meet, coming thro’ the dews
Another summer’s Day!
Our Baseball Sunset
It has been a lovely spring here in North Texas. The breezes have been frequent, the wildflowers abundant, and the baseball diamonds full of life. I love the sounds of an evening in the ballpark: the smack of the ball, the call of the coaches, the one liners of the baseball nuts in the stands, the roar of the crowds, and the support calls and cheers of team mates. Last night was the last game of our season, it was a good one, the season and the game. The boys played well and supported each other, the community grew smaller as people made connections and relationships through conversations in the bleachers. Siblings that didn’t know each other became friends, and learned the valuable skill of passing hours and hours while their brothers played and parents and grandparents watched the games. I am humbled by our coaches who have given our sons such a valuable gift: of their talent and time – both in abundance. They taught our boys skills, and sportsmanship, when to fight and when to let it go. “Play every play with all your heart, but just remember whatever happens on this field stays on this field.”
paintandsimple 