“Into each life some rain must fall.”
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Waiting with Trembling Hands
I read an article last night in Smithsonian magazine about a neurosurgeon who teamed up with a neurologist. It seems like a logical team, but apparently it is unusual for those two disciplines to work together. These two Doctors figured out a way to insert a small electrical probe into people’s brains, and stop a tremor caused by a stroke or Parkinson’s Disease. The article went on to recount one particular patient and his journey towards elective surgery (it was affecting his golf swing) and play by play of his surgery (which he was awake for). To test if the probe was in the right place they had him draw spirals on a clip board during different stages of the surgery. The surgery was a success, his spirals went from shaky to smooth. As I fell asleep I wondered who would elect to have brain surgery.
Then today I got in the car to drive to NM with my dear husband. He likes to drive, so I had all day to sit. Why not paint? We weren’t in a car actually, we were in a SUV, and it was a fairly bumpy drive. I had time and desire to paint, but couldn’t get my hands to hold still. Then I remember the article, and thought how I just had to wait until a small town for a red light, or even a pit stop to regain the steadiness in my hands. I chose for this one small painting to paint with my hands shaking.
Texas Pond: Mid Morning, Mid Spring
18″x6″ oil on canvas.
I spent a delightful morning plein air painting with a friend. Good weather, good company, good suggestions.
Frolicking Sisters
“You know full well as I do the value of sisters’ affections: There is nothing like it in this world.”
― Charlotte Brontë
Spring Blooms Red Orange
18″x24″ pastel on sanded board
I found this great poem on a packet of Indian Paint seeds: “A strange little flower with a sun-kissed nose, without perfume yet red as a rose. Did some Indian maiden plant you here in the footprint left by the hoof of a deer?” -A.V. Hudson
Reflection on a Tx Pond
10″x8″ pastel on sanded paper.
This painting was a demo for a women’s group my mom has been part of since I was a little girl. After I painted the demo, they all got their hands dirty and discovered the artist inside of them. It was special for me to listen to their conversations formed by a lifetime of friendship.
Making our Way Through The Storm
There is something exhilarating about forging through a storm under an umbrella with a friend, or spouse, or sibling, or child. You blindly press forward afraid to release the umbrella, and knowing that by sharing it you are getting soaked to the bone. I am neither timid nor afraid of geological storms, but in an honest assessment of myself, have to admit that I am more than reluctant to face metaphorical ones. I don’t seem to trust that they will end, and sometimes the darkness is more than I feel like going into.
I am not experiencing a storm: metaphorical, or geological. I have been traveling and had time and willingness to paint. I realized that I had about the same amount of white paint, that if it were toothpaste, I could brush my teeth 3x. If you paint in oils you know white is the one color you must have. Failing to plan is planning to fail. So I planned a painting based on color: my puddle of mud left from an earlier painting, darks, and my 3 dabs of white. Circumstances brought about the storm; that happens sometimes.
Sunrise 6:38
The same way I pre choose a pallete in pastels to paint a sunrise in plein air, I think next time, I will premix some colors in oil. The race against time was harder than I expected, but the sunrise was nestled in a wonderful quiet, and much more beautiful than I have experienced in a long time.
Sunset 8:10pm
The World Is Too Much With Us
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
Gathering Yellow
The spring has been filled with wonderful moments at the soccer fields. I have loved watching all the games: from my daughter’s team which started the season running like a gaggle of ducks all together, to my sons who play such intense games I can’t sit down. We have frozen and burned up, nearly have been blown away by the wind, and in between, watched spring unfold all around us. We have made new friends and reconnected with old ones, and enjoyed many yummy picnics.
I planned on painting a picture of the kids playing soccer, but this little girl was next to us in an overgrown field during my son’s last game. She was singing softly and gathering yellow flowers. She was such a distraction, I loved watching her as much as the boys’ game (which was a close one). The wildflowers and purple satin dress won out, I will paint the soccer players next season.
P.s. thank you to all the moms who take their daughters to soccer games in full princess regalia.
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