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Quiet Day – Little Drama – Waiting For Whatever

With covid 19 we seem to all be in a state of waiting. Now I have even forgotten what for.

Lee is busy picking up tiny bits off the floor to put in the trash. He has vacuumed the porch and is still in cleaning mode. Now he is waving the leaf blower around the driveway. He is so happy to have a noisy machine to operate.

I am waiting for the store to call with the delivery time of the new dryer to go with the new washing machine put in several weeks ago.

We did our usual walk on the trail this morning. Some new things seen along the way.

This toad stool makes me realize why we have to be reminded not to eat some of them. But it does look delicious.

And this lovely happy deer profile.

And what looks like two companions walking through the trees.

Here are the last four days of drawings a day.

The branch would not fit

on just one page and needed

acorn company.

 

Here’s the conclusion.

I need to draw several

more close up pine cones.

 

 

 

A bigger pine cone

and a very big oak leaf

filling these pages.

 

I am beginning

to see the pine cone’s makeup –

where all the parts are.

 

Today is the one day of the week when we order a take out dinner. I pick it up at 4 o”clock. Bring it home and then we have a drink before I heat it up. There were three lovely things on the menu this week, so I added a butternut/apple soup to the Chicken Oscar and steak and egg chef salad. We will have enough for two nights.

Sometimes during the day we will turn on a British mysteries. Our daughter bought us a system where we can do that once it could connect to the wifi extender. Now we are in the middle of Grantchester. I like the actors…the Brits are always good at the amount of angst required for a good drama.

But my favorite parts of these period pieces, the 50’s, is the attention to detail in the sets. The most dreadful wallpapers, chipped china, fragile crowded furniture, and those really horrid lamp shades. You can always tell where the bad guy or woman is living just by those lampshades. They are covered with dust..in fact the whole room looks like smoke or dust filling the air. And the most ornate are edged with fringe. The place where evil happens quite often has the lampshade slightly off kilter. The rooms are darker. Whereas the wealthy and therefore presumed innocent people live in well lit large homes with equally ugly lampshades perfectly straight. Only the Brits can pull this off with such perfection.  Most of the characters smoke and can make it look like they really are enjoying it….I remember that look.

And the costumes, hair and makeup! Even the wealthy look like a shampoo might be in order. And those ruby red lips. That lipstick is literally caked on, and when they talk it is like watching two bright red worms racing along together. Speaking of racing, the cars are wonderful. Where do they get so many vintage vehicles? I got so excited to see the bus come through their little town….it was beautiful!

Lee is now inside. The man called and told me the dryer will be here between 1:30 and 3:30 this afternoon. Right before we go out to pick up dinner.

So it is getting on lunch time. We might watch another episode of Grantchester before they come.

Our cats seem to prefer their boxes cut down a little so they can rest their heads on the edge.

Til later.

Back On Track – Well Sort Of

Walking the trail each morning is a good thing. Here are some scenes from there these past few days.

Bambi, his mom and Thumper having breakfast.

And this morning Thumper with another companion.

And those drawings a day with haiku.

A found wildflower

growing near the storage shed

perfect for drawing.

 

I think it must have

hurt the crow to lose this part

that keeps him aloft.

 

Feathers collected

over the last few daily

walks along the trail.

 

One feather, one leaf

and forty-five short minutes,

they are now captured.

 

I returned to the studio and looked over the mess at the pieces I started last year. Remember Sandy, Printmaker?

I just plain quit on the overly complex Sandy, Traveler. But yesterday it caught my eye and some ideas started formulating. So even though I have not moved it to a work space, I did start some adjusting. And started liking it again. Not just the memories of places traveled but the layering of different mediums to take it further.  It was a good idea to come back.

These two are waiting for me to get the traveler finished so they, too, get a chance at my attention and intentions.

Sandy, Writer and Sandy, Homemaker.

When I finally finish all four I think they should be placed in individual large cloches. I did find a company that carries the large size that would be needed….19″ inside height and 12″ inside diameter.

Then when I get older I will have them lined up on a shelf across from my chair or bed and be able to say, “I used to be….”

And the shelf below them will hold all my travel journals and sketchbooks. And within reach will be, earth pigment watercolors, papers, brushes, pens, pencils, erasers and books and pads with blank pages.  And some cloth and thread and needles. This sets the priorities for clearing things out.

And if I actually am in the final chapter of a really good book, I might as well make the most of it.

Today it is a look on the bright side.

With a keen awareness that some days are just going to be like this.

Til later.

 

A Reckoning

Warning…..just pretend you are the priest in the next booth or skip this post altogether.

 

What is it like to be surrounded by the physical evidence of memories? Things piled on top of each other, obscuring some other ones. The other ones that are temporarily less important.

Most of them are silent, passive. They have given up on my frenzied passion to bring them up to the surface and push them around – so we can sing together of what mattered. What might still matter in this silence of being lost.

I tried just now to resurrect an artist book – only just started and then put down – waiting for me to come back. My watercolors of place were opened. A soft brush first in water, then in the pigments. Brushing along the edges then further into the surface of each page – the memories come back.

And with them comes the breeze, the smells, the companionship. It is too much.

I put the brush down. Find this yellow legal pad and a waiting pen. I write what I see and how the vision of it all feels.

And you know what it feels like? It feels like the last chapter of a book that had such promise of going on forever.

There are days I should just stay out of the studio.

When I buried so much artwork outside this studio I should have thought to bury what inspired it in the first place. I should have tossed these bits and pieces that were collected, assembled together so as not to forget, and put them in the hole as well.

If I had only filled my head with thoughts of making pieces that looked nice, pretty, appealing to the eye. If I had done that and ignored the cries of work that knocked at my doors. The slightest crack and these thoughts took over by dragging in all the parts that made them come alive.

Those ideas have pushed their way into every crevice of this big, far from empty space I used to love to come into. This space, this big room should have had organized shelves and boxes and drawers of the bits I could assemble into something nice, pretty and maybe even interesting.

I actually did that at times. Made stuff that had no meaning and mattered so little I would rush through it – just to get it over with – get it ready for a show based on sales.

It’s a formula. Black, beige, old scraps of things that look like they might have mattered to somebody. Push them around until there is a nice design – add a bit of indigo blue or dark red – not too much. Put it in a frame or use it as a sample to show workshop students and encourage them to make more of the same.

Making work like that does see things used up. And if you don’t collect more, then eventually the studio space empties – even the memories can slip out the open door.

But this!

This place holds the evidence of an artist reluctant to let go. Holding onto the wispy threads that connect to memories or just plain trail off into an emptiness.

If you have stayed with me this far, thank you.

There is absolutely no one else for me to talk to – you are it and you have been more than kind in your understanding. And most importantly you are there.

It is a reckoning. I am doing a hard calculation of my time left for waiting. Waiting to see if it is another dug hole or simply sorting and putting most of it away.

Something will have to happen to this space before I come back with any intention of making something.

Boxes with lids. The kind you can stack on top of each other. The kind of box that you can write “stuff” on before the stuff is put in.

I will start there.

Til later.

A Holiday Weekend – For Who?

Lee and Sadie are getting naps. It is Labor Day.  I am trying to hurry this along before Lee wakes up. Earlier today he wanted to go home again. He seems a bit more lost and does not know what to do with himself. I had him sample the goulash and had him dry the pots and pans….then we had lunch. When I went back to reading our book, he dropped off.  Now he is asleep on his porch swing.

Here are the last six days of drawings.

What causes the feathers

to fall from the bird’s body

and settle in our path?

 

This trail collection

was spotted and gathered up

to draw on this page.

 

It is difficult

drawing white trumpet shaped blooms.

Where are the edges?

 

A freshly fallen

pine cone spreading it’s petals

to release it’s seed.

 

Some of these feathers

from Rufus sided Towhee

one from mourning dove.

 

Giant goldenrod

growing along the driveway

are very golden.

 

There was some time to work on the fairy book.

And the acorn brothers collecting frogs.

And this below some root…an opening for hanging laundry.

All for as I need to get this posted….be back in a couple of days.