A rainy, dark scene seems appropriate for today, one with a bit of hope (only because I know how the story ends). So I painted a puddle dancer, a barefoot rain walker. I love the way the colors blended with my Portland grey underpainting. I also love the way this painting looks wet.
I love the way everything glows rose as the sun is setting. This painting was done from a photo under the skillful eye of artist Anna Rose Bain. I getting more comfortable with portraits and oils with each try. Thank you Rick, for encouraging me to keep trying.
If you aren’t in a rush, I find almost all chores are enjoyable.
We have all been there…watching the sky turn darker and knowing that any moment the dinner bell will ring and we will have stop reaching our toes to the sky, soon to wash up and help put dinner on the table. Those final swings are often the best, you feel the wind in your hair and the chill in the air more on the swing or two after the bell.
For you it might be the last sunset of a trip to the beach, the last present under the tree, the last few drops of your mom’s perfume that has long stopped being manufactured, or holding someone’s hand as you wait for the final breath. We often experience some regret for loosing track of all the sunsets or moments before this last one. For years my husband worked on an oncology ward. He passed some of the many lessons he learned from his patients on to us. Most people don’t suffer on their death beds wishing they had worked more, or saying “so glad we skipped the hike in the woods with our small children to organize the garage.” He often punctuates a family outing, telling us someday something will separate all of us. Far from being dark or morbid, I have come to take these reminders like a snooze button on an alarm, allowing me to continue what I was doing with a new awareness that opens me to the gift. Perhaps if you are quiet, you can hear the dinner bell ring….
I distinctly remember the cold, rainy afternoon that I met this delightful, young lady. She was very much a little girl at the time. We were camping in Leadville, CO and she spent an afternoon playing in our campsite with our two year old son. He left no puddle un-splashed and she skipped and frolicked and sang in the loveliest soft voice. She seemed so tall and full of poise. I attributed these traits to the 5 year age difference and the fact that she is a girl not a rowdy little boy. Here we are a decade later, and it turns out she still sings like a bird and she turned into a very beautiful, very tall teenager who is still full of poise. She can also sweat, and spar and hold her own in a martial arts fight against any rowdy boy. My guess is by the end of the day I will need to change the color of this belt from brown to black. I am so proud of you Taylor, good luck today.
I painted this in a dizzy flurry of color, as if I had just jumped off the swing myself.
“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!
Here is 5 year old Miriam playing in the mountains. She is not in the Austrian Alps, but in my mind’s eye she is, for a few months after this photo was taken she played Gretl in the “Sound of Music.” If I close my eyes I can see a mix of her playing in the mountains and her singing on stage…a perfect type cast for the littlest Von Tropp child.
Last summer, I watched her run this little loop for what felt like an entire afternoon…up the rocks through the stream, under the waterfall. I marveled at the time at how different her posture was from the boys. The boys would have had their elbows tucked in, their jumps would have been higher, more controlled, their whole approach more athletic. Miriam, however, never forgot to frolic. Every move seemed to pour out sheer joy. She is like that in life too, and from time to time, I remember to stand back and marvel. she helps me to remember that you don’t always have to walk, it is ok to skip sometimes. Instead of talking, you can sing a merry little tune, and most importantly, greet everyone you encounter with a smile and a few words – there are no strangers in Miriam’s world, and because of it, she has helped my world to grow smaller too.
I love watching children create work. The ocean was a deep dark cerulean. Beautiful.
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes…these are a few of my favorite things
paintandsimple 