Six PM. One hundred degrees. I’m in the hay shed, wrestling with a forty pound sack of beet pulp, trying to find the secret to the magic string, the one that’s supposed to open the bag easy-peasy.
No dice. I end up going after that sucker with a pair of scissors, one stich at a time. Because if I just cut the bag, like I’m tempted to do, the woven plastic unravels, comes undone and I end up serving shredded beet pulp with a side of shredded plastic to the ponies. Which wouldn’t be good. So I clip each and every stitch. It’s a slow process. I’m stinky, sweaty and impatient. I tell myself it’s not so bad, things could be worse.
And they could. I could be at the county fair. With children. Hot, tired, li’l darlin’s cranked out on sugar, demanding more. More, more, more, more, MORE. Of everything! NOW! Eventually their whines becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the cacophony inside my head which includes (but is not limited to) country music played at a volume guaranteed to homogenize your brains and a couple of Sumo wrestlers tossing each other around somewhere between my right temple and the left.
All in 100 degree heat. That’s 37.7777777 degrees to those of you who measure these things in celsius. When the thermometer goes that high, it’s legal to kill. Well, it seems like it should be. Anyone you want. Especially if you’re at the fair.
Mwha-ha-ha-ha. And that’s when I know, without a doubt…and without trying to inject any theology in here, there IS a God…because my kids are all grown up and I don’t have to take them to the fair any more.
Sweet Diety, thank you!
Now before you think I wear my cranky pants during fair week, the biggest social event of the county, let me assure you I have nothing against going… on my own terms. Which means it has to be cool. Or at least not hot. I go by myself. Bring my camera. And I wander around like a crazy lady talking to myself and eating caramel popcorn and funnel cake while taking lots and lots of photographs. I run into friends and we chat but I don’t feel obligated to look at the goats with them. Or the chickens. Or the man selling Vitamix blenders. No, no, no…I just do what I want.
Here’s a few photos from years past.
So there you have it. Rides, games, Food. Anti-gravity kids losing retainers. And the craziness builds up and up and morphs into holy crap! Demon cartoon birds guaranteed to haunt your dreams…if you’re lucky enough to pop the balloon.
And now, because this post wouldn’t be complete without them, let’s SUUUUUUU-MO!!!
When I was a kid, maybe 9 or 10, Mama came home one day and said she’d run into her friend Marion at the grocery store. Or some other mom hangout. She knew Marion from Girl Scouts. They were both leaders. Cookie chairmen. Badge honkers. District council mucky-mucks.
A chance meeting where Marion mentioned she was an artist and was teaching classes out of her home. A chance meeting that turned into years of Saturday mornings in Marion’s magical rambling arty house.
Saturday morning lessons with sister Marjorie Ellen. Because in the beginning it was really about her. She was the blazing art star, I was the tag along little sister. But those Saturday mornings with the Dunkin Donuts and the comaradarie, the kneaded erasers and the charcoal smudged fingers…those Saturday mornings set me on my life path.
Because Marion taught me how to SEE.
How to narrow my focus down to a piece of the whole, And expand my world in the doing. How to find elements of design and beauty in what others would pass off as mundane. The quality of a line. Or light. The indefinable something that sets one square inch off against another.
It’s a lesson I’ve taken with me. A lesson I’ve done my best to impart to my own students over the years. Look. Look look LOOK around you.
SQUINT!
I keep a camera with me most all the time. You never know when you’re going to come across the perfect crack in the sidewalk. Or a tree root.
Or an old rusty Ford truck. I could parcel this baby into at least three paintings.
And this stack of crates, funky old weathered things that once held fruit…this will be the inspiration for an oil and cold wax piece, I just know it. The finished painting won’t be a photo replica. It may not look anything like the photo at all. But there will be elements. Texture. Color. Something…
My absolute favorite from this particular day’s photos, another painting waiting to happen…screaming to happen when I put aside the acrylics and dive back into the oils…
The potential in this one takes my breath away. Where, WHERE could I have stumbled across such beauty???
In a restaurant parking lot, that’s where. A stucco wall surrounding the dumpster. A green SUV parked next to it, the light from the sun reflecting through the windows, tinting the wall.
Adding mystery. And richness.
The wall around a dumpster….
Because once upon a time Mama’s friend Marion taught a little girl to open her eyes and see.
Inspiration strikes everywhere. Anytime. That’s why I always try to carry my camera around. Because you KNOW the one time I leave it home I miss the PERFECT shot.
Unfortunately that happens more often than I care to admit. But I’m getting better.
I live in a picturesque old gold mining town. Lots of interesting textures and buildings to photograph. But as I said up above, inspiration can come any time, anywhere. Including the sidewalk in front of a strip mall.
I look at this stuff and get so excited. Makes me want to run down to the studio and paint. The paintings will likely look nothing like the photos because that’s not what this is about. They’re for inspiration…. Color. Texture. Design. Proportion. Or all of the above. Layers and layers of oils and wax building up to the final piece.
Mystery. Depth.
That’s what makes it so exciting. That’s what makes it worth stopping traffic on the sidewalk while I whip out my camera and take pictures of the cracks.
I likes me my veggies. Like ’em a lot. So I spend a lot of time in the produce aisle checkin’ things out. The other day I wrote about the newest item in my holy crap! that’s amazing!!! dept. Broccoli Romanesco. Check Produce Art, Part 1 if you missed it. Because it’s cool. Really. Especially if you’re into patterns.
Today it’s all about color. About things so pretty you just want to eat them. It’s about finding beauty wherever you are–in this case, the produce dept. of the local co-op.
Winter squash. What’s your favorite way of cooking it? My friend Dieter makes a lot of butternut squash soup. I grew up with acorn squash baked with butter and brown sugar. Now that I’m all grown up I like it best with butter, a little salt and pepper. The Delicata Squash, the narrow one with yellow stripes, is easy to saute like zucchini. But it doesn’t taste like zucchini, it’s still the winter squash sweet.
Right next to the squash were the persimmons.
Fat luscious orange orbs. Then came the pears.
Gorgeous red pears that probably go by another name. Look at that pallet. I did some paintings recently using those colors. Love love love the orange and dark red combination. Not to mention the lime green zing. Oolala–another painting positively screaming to be made.
There were lots of pears. my favorite fruit for a still life. Or basic drawing lessons with charcoal. Form and volume. Light and shadow. Remind me of luscious fat bottomed women, the best kind to draw.
I stopped by the co-op after work today. Grabbed a couple of oranges and then whoa–did a double take.
What the heck is that???
That, my dearies, is Broccoli Romanesco. Which, according to my research, is a vegetable with an identity problem. In some parts of the world it’s considered a cabbage. In others, cauliflower. It’s not broccoli although you’d never know that from the name. I’ve never seen it before but OMG, it’s SO freakin’ GORGEOUS, don’t you think? Seriously, you CANNOT beat mother nature when it comes to cool designs.
Mother Nature obviously paid attention during geometry class. LOOK at the pattern. Just look at it. Since I didn’t pay attention during geometry–I was an art major, remember–I came home and looked it up. This is called a fractal form. If I understand this correctly, the pattern repeats itself small and smaller until the cellular structure of the material reaches it’s limits. So every little bump is identical to every other. Except smaller. That means even the tiniest bump you see has that crazy spiral pattern ad infinitum.
I spent the day in Studio Grande. Show hangs a week from Monday and I’m in the final lap of the gettin’ ready race. It’s not as frantic as it sounds, just a lot of loose ends to tie up, paintings to finish, STUFF TO DO. That’s all. And when sister Margie Ellen arrives from Norway on Thursday, Studio Grande is going to feel not so grand. Gonna feel a wee bit crowded in fact. Two artists doing last minute prep while Studio Quat winds around our feet.
Mrrrrrurow…. Purring. Shedding. Being a cat.
I forgot to bring my camera today so no shots of current works-in-progress. Instead I’m going to share some artsy-fartsy photos from last night. I took lots of pics at the event but I also took some just for potential painting possibilities. Potential Painting Possibilities–I like that. Could call it 3P. Or P3.
Note: 3P/P3 photos are not concerned with focus or other technical details. They are for inspiration only. Because I’m NOT a photographer, just an artist with a camera.
I snagged a parking spot behind the foundry last night and had to hike around to the front. There was still some daylight and I had my camera. This is the winery next to the foundry. The back end of it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this same sight but last night I swear the winery called out and said, “Take my picture!”
So I did. I mean, really–look at all those luscious nooks and crannies. That yummy texture. The rust. I could spend a day there with my camera and still not get it all. Especially if I go inside and taste some wine first. Umm-hmm…indeed.
Then a quick zoom.
Aye-aye-aye!!! Is that a 3P/P3 or what? In fact as I’m writing this and looking at this I’m thinking I may have just solved a problem I was having with a diptych today. Well, what’d’ya know….
Then there’s the foundry. OH. MY. This is an old gold mining town and the foundry is where they forged the mining equipment. In fact the first Pelton Wheels were manufactured in this very building.
Maybe even in here, The Stone Hall. Love this room. Stone walls. Big fireplace. Old beams. And an iron door like something from an old castle.
