I love to paint the painter. This trail is a favorite to hike and paint.
“Let’s Go Dutch”
Fall is the reason to live in Texas. We spent a wonderful weekend camping, and much to our delight we stumbled on the Dogwood chapter of the Lone Star Dutch Oven Society. These chefs had amazing Dutch oven set-ups, and were making the most delicious smelling food. I received a crash course in Dutch oven cooking, and an invitation to join them for lunch! Camp food never tasted so good. For more information visit the Dogwood Dutch Oven Society
If you are a Dutch oven chef, I would love to hear about your favorite recipe.
“Puddles of Happy”
“You can’t go splashing through puddles of happy without getting some of it on you.”
― Becca Wilhite
“Work as Prayer”
I have just finished reading “The Hawk and the Dove” trilogy by Penelope Wilcock. It is the story of a Benedictine monastery in the 13th century. A brother at Christ in the Desert thought I would enjoy it. What a great story, and it has made the time I have spent at The monastery even more meaningful. This is Brother James, watering the prayer garden.
“Plein Air Painter”
This is an artist friend of mine named Rick. He is painting near Georgia O’Keefe’s house at Ghost Ranch. Rick has a great eye. He knows how the light will fall and change with the passing of time and seasons. He is a delight to paint with, and a great friend.
“Feeding the Chickens”
I hope you can feel your pupils constrict as you come into the dark hen house out of the bright day to witness this sweet moment.
“I want to paint too”
“I want to paint too Mommie,” is a little voice that often interrupts me at my easel. Little Lydia is also an early riser, and she often finds me at my easel when she wakes up. Here is my painting of her painting at her easel in the early morning light. I photographed it with my iPad, so it is a bit grainy.
“Water Dance”
My workshop requested a figure demo of a figure in action. It was fun playing with the colors, and painting with such an attentive audience.
If you haven’t run through a fountain or sprinkler lately, perhaps it is time.
“Father John Tending the Hops”
In northern New Mexico, down a 17 mile dirt driveway, at the end of a canyon sits a very special place where 40 monks keep the hours and pray the psalms. That place is called Monastery of Christ in the Desert.
Here is Father John tending the hops, collected from local canyons, grown to make Monk’s Wit
Ale. Benedictine monks have been mixing a life of prayer, work, and study for the last 1500 years. I like to think it is a bit like traveling back in time when I visit this monastery. It is a contemplative monastery, and they respect a rule of silence. Deep in the desert, and off the grid, there no road noise, or buzzing of machines. I expected the silence to be oppressive, but I experienced it as a true gift. The quiet makes it easier to quiet one’s mind, and it makes their chanting that much more beautiful.
When I showed this painting to Father John he quoted John 15: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. 2 He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. 3 You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. 4 Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.
5 “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. 6 If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. 7 If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”
So I post this painting today to remember these brothers, especially today on St. Benedict’s feast day.
“Tom at Work”
This an artist friend of mine named Tom. I got to spend a week in the work shop with him taking a class called fantasy bird house building. It reminded me of being with Santa during July, and it wasn’t just the white beard and jovial disposition. First he had us sketch out our houses, and then with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye he would brainstorm on how to make our dreams come true. My bird house was a beautiful church with not one, but two stained glass windows, lots of elaborate iron work, a copper roof, and he let me build much of it with a baby on my hip. What a great week, my 7 year old learned to use a drill press, and my dream house became a reality.
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