Lauri Waterfield Fine Art

I've been a hospice volunteer for a whole year now- which surprised me the other day when the thought occurred to me. A couple hours a month, a visit every other week or so, and suddenly a year has gone by. It has been interesting, challenging, intimidating, funny, and often sad- but it's also been a collection of experiences that have given back to me as much as I've given to my patients.

I think of Ms. R….I met her as she'd already slid far into the final stages of Altzheimer's. Although she and I shared only a few brief moments together, she made an impression on me. Her family had posted many photos of her and them in better times, and I know she'd been much loved by family, friends and her church- but I met her after most of her sight & much of her hearing  was gone and she was locked into a constant fetal position, the smell of a full catheter bag clouding the room. My mind raced that first visit-What in the world can a stranger like me do in a visit with her??? Conversation was impossible….there was no TV, and it wouldn't have held her attention anyway….what to do? Then the thought occurred to me- how hungry a person can become for a simple touch. Not a touch for a purpose (roll over to change the bed; sit up to swallow pills; etc), but a touch for no reason but kindness. So, I spoke softly to Ms. R, and softly brushed my fingertips in slow, lazy circles across her back. She hollered at first, nearly startling me from the room (I felt  like I was in trouble), then, as she realized I wasn't giving her a shot or moving her, she relaxed and started to softly, quietly, coo. I was sure she'd lost the power of speech- but then suddenly she sat bolt upright and turned to peer at me, her eyes struggling to focus on mine. "Do you have a car?" She leaned a little closer. "Have you…Do you Have A Car??" "Yes, it's parked outside.", I replied, wondering what she'd say next. "Well then, let's get the h*** outta here!!" It was hard not to laugh as I asked where she wanted to go. "Anywhere! But we just gotta GO! Wait- lemme get my hat…" At which point, Ms. R curled back up on her side and promply fell asleep again. You have to chuckle…. Ms. R passed away shortly after that, and I can't help but think she finally hitched her ride out of that nursing home. Someone told me just the other day that she never let anyone touch her without constant screaming.

I've visited Ms. F for a few months now, and in that time have seen her beginning to decline from terminal breast cancer. She's a strong, proud and interesting "country girl" who often tells of raising fruits and vegetables for market and hauling water and caring for the bird dogs and horses her family kept on the small farm while her mother struggled to raise 7 children alone. Visits usally consist of my interested listening as Ms. F tells childhood tales. Sometimes her mood becomes a little sad in her remembering, so I'll try to deflect her onto another subject. Ms. F seemed about to slip into one of those sad rememberances when her roommate, D, suddenly woke from what appeared to be a sound sleep, leaned toward me and said, "I've been married a few times before and I'm getting ready to do it again." Ms. F & I looked at each other and burst into peals of laughter together. "What do you mean Grammaw, You ain't doin nothing of the kind!", Ms F replied through her laughter. "Yes I am da****! I'm gonna have me that big black fellow first." I was almost in tears, laughing- "What do you mean "first"?! I was certainly curious- To which D replied-" I'm gonna have him first and then that little Asian fellow next and if any of them lasts more than a couple days I'll just have to shoot them- I can't have them hanging around." Evidently she had it all planned out. It's left to the rest of us to figure out what's real and what's medication or illness-induced. Either way, D & Ms. F both seem to enjoy their hallucinations and delusions, often sharing a laugh at perceived frozen turkeys or invisible dogs. Roommates by chance, they're grown to be fond friends. An older, odder Thelma & Louise.

Ms. H lives in another nursing home nearby, in a room by herself that's bright and airy, though it still looks like a nursing home. (There is a Visitor Sign In Sheet at the front desk, and even though there are over 100 patients in the facility, often two or three days will pass with no visitors registered) She is mid-way into her path with Altzheimer's, so she can still form a sentence here and there and can walk, but needs constant assistance. I never got to know her before her illness, of course, but by her constant smile, I think she must have been a joyful person. She enjoys watching TV, but little if any of it actually "registers"- she likes the movement and especially the colors.  I watched her watching a cartoon on Disney, mesmerized by the brilliant colors. She's also very fidgetty, with a habit of slapping the chair arm or her leg continually- something that seems to suggest that "antsy feeling" of boredom to me. I'd noticed several dolls in a cabinet, so I got a wild idea and decided to try it out…..I went to the toy section of Walmart to find an activity doll. Something with different textures and bright colors might hold her attention a little and still her hand from slapping- ease the boredom just a little. I found a little doll, with fuzzy fabric and smooth fabric and crinkly paper in places and rattles in others, and in a wild combination of hot pink and orange, with a sweetly painted plastic face. When I first brought it to Ms. H, I didn't give it to her- because her husband was there, and how could you give his dear wife a child's toy, when she had been a mother, a grandmother, a volunteer with the fire station and the love of his life for decades?? I was sure that he would see it as a condescending action on my part. It's one of the truly sad things about Altzheimer's- it renders good, strong people into children again, yet their loved ones often find it impossibly painful to accept that fact. How hard it must be to see your strong, intelligent parent now struggling to follow a Dr. Seuss book! That's one of the biggest values I see in volunteers with these patients- we will read the nursery rhymes and bring the coloring books and laugh at the cartoons with them- when that could be horribly painful for a family member to even consider. Anyway- it was the very best $5 I've spent in my life. It's been a couple months now, and her nurse told me that Ms. H never lets her little doll out of her sight! She talks to it, kisses her little face and holds it constantly, even sleeping with it every night. I can't describe to you how that touches me deep inside.

I hope my few stories haven't been depressing, it's rare that I share them with others because the subject of hospice often turns people off immediately- we all know that there is an end for each of these patients coming soon, and death is a frightening taboo subject. But the point of Hospice is to keep the focus on the Life of the patient. And getting to know these people and finding ways to make even a few moments better is a rewarding experience. Hospice volunteering is quite a challenge, but the rewards are tremendous as well.

The other evening as I typed away on this blog, I had the unmistakeable feeling of being watched. You know, that strange feeling like a psychic pressure on the back of your head…you can't ignore it, and as you slowly turn around, you're almost positive where it's coming from. Although it was nighttime, it wasn't a frightening feeling- and I turned to look directly at Frog, sitting in a shaft of light in the doorway.

"Well, Hello there!" I said, surprised to see this glistening little fellow, watching me. "I've waited all summer to find a frog in my pond, with no such luck. And now, here you are! You're late." After all, it was almost Fall.

He hop-hopped a time or two as I reached to grab the camera- then, just as suddenly as he had appeared- he was gone. Just *blink*. I spent the next hour and a half tearing the place apart, not wanting the little evesdropper to die somewhere under the furniture, but I never found even a sign of him.

God speaks to each of us in ways in which we are comfortable in hearing from Him. Sometimes a Bible will fall open to a passage that seems to leap from the page with its appropriateness….sometimes someone we encounter will speak the exact words of comfort  or enlightenment needed without prompting….a dream may come in the night to make something more clear….and sometimes a piece of the natural world can have a message for us if we can perceive it. So closely tied to the natural world, and enamored with my Native background, I pondered my frog message for only a short while before it made perfect sense to me. Frogs go through one of the most amazing transformations in the animal kingdom- shifting skin & body structure to slip from tadpole to frog, the body forms and lifestyles vastly different from each other. Frog's message is that of change. Transformation. I've felt it coming for some time, so it's not a surprise- what is surprising is that I used to despise change, and now I'm looking forward to it. (Still with some trepidation though) I fully expect most aspects of my life to alter within the coming months, and Frog just validated the feeling.

One change that has begun has been soaring with the Blue Ridge Soaring Society (BRSS). The previous post told of my initial flight with Peter….and since then, I returned to camp at the gliderport with a whole host of new friends, and I've taken Lessons #1 & 2, proudly writing my name (in ink) next to the word "Pilot" in my new Log Book.

It was Saturday of Labor Day weekend, and I was dawdling, slowly packing my camping gear and clothes for the long weekend. I was anxious to fly, but nervous about how many people would be at the gliderport and whether there would be a spot for my tent. (In hindsight a ridiculous concern, as my "two-man" tent is only one- person-sized, taking up hardly any room) I've never been comfortable in crowds, and being the only one I knew was making me nervous….but, that hasn't stopped me before.

I got as far as Roanoke when it started looking very stormy, so I stopped to call ahead. Pat, who I had yet to meet, told me to come on- I'm sure without a moment's thought of the weather, just being hospitable as she told me that I now had "an official invitation from the White House". You can't go wrong with that….

The weather was again completely different by the time I reached BRSS, and although a little light on thermals, it was a good day for a first lesson, with little in the way of buffeting winds. I hadn't been there long when Tim, my Instructor, introduced himself. A pilot with Jet Blue, aviation is second-nature to him, as it is with most of the pilots I would soon meet.

We started with a long, careful pre-flight check, which felt like the perfect way for me to begin this new sport- as I needed to become acquainted with these albatross-like aircrafts. We slid our hands along the leading edges of wings, eyed the tail crosspieces, and examined landing gear, looking for any bumps and dings, anything "out of sorts"- and in doing so, I felt more familiar and comfortable with the plane. Then we clambered in. There is no other way to do it or better word to describe the act of slinging a leg over to stand on the seat, turn and sliiiiide down into a recline. Tim handed me a pillow that looked like it had been stolen from a Goodwill sofa….and it fit perfectly, keeping me from sliding all the way under the console.

A 5-point harness, and I wasn't nervous until I noticed that my hands were shaking. Then Mike, our wingman offered to "hold" my camera for me. I didn't fall for his ruse- hanging on to my little pocket-sized Olympus- but I'll be darned if he wasn't right- I really didn't have time to take any photos! One on takeoff and one on the return- the rest of the time I was working-

Again, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride up to altitude, the rumpled green mountains rising under us, Tim at the controls. ""Okay, you're on- see that yellow ball that looks like a little tennis ball? Give it a good yank and let's fly" At that our umbilical cord and my stomach simultaneously dropped and we veered right while the towplane dropped away to the left. Then there was no sound of motor, just the whoosh of air through the side port in the plexiglas on my left. The next twenty minutes slipped past in a blur, and I rarely even glanced up from the dash and the stick- too new to it all to realize that I could do it by feel if I would just relax. We did a few turns and discussed the gauges and how to feel the actions of the plane- and before I could absorb it all, we were on the ground and I was walking back to the flight line, grin firmly fixed.

It seems I can't help but grin, both before and especially after a flight, but during them, I'm sure my face is knitted in concentration. More from the desire to get it right than in fear of the dangers involved. Knowing there's an Instructor shadowing the controls is a very comforting feeling….though eventually I will solo….

Growing up in Roanoke, VA, I'd known about the Newcastle Gliderport and was always terribly curious about those big silver birds- but assumed that they were off-limits to the general public. Through the years I've passed the little airstrip dozens of times and gawked at the elegant gliders soaring high above the car….but for some reason, the last time as I passed by, my attitude was different. Rather than assuming the door was closed, I felt more inclined to knock just a bit and see….

So, a Google search for the gliderport raised the Blue Ridge Soaring Society website (http://www.brss.net ), and my inquiry was met with an encouraging note from Peter Pfortner, inviting me to fly!

I arrived on Saturday to find a quiet pair of hangars at the edge of a lush and gorgeous field. But the quiet was shortlived, because as noon edged closer (official start time- evidently thermals sleep late), people appeared here and there, conversations drifted in and out, sailplanes were pulled from their roosts and things became quietly industrious.

 The day was heating up in front of a small cold front, and there was lots to do before the flight window closed. Being the novice and completely bedazzled by it all, I found it best to stay out of the way rather than help, especially as the guys started to pull the wad of intermeshed gliders from the hangar.

I think this one's drooling…

When I was shown the craft I'd soon fly in, a long, graceful-looking Blanik with forward-swept wings and a "doublebubble" for two, I was more than happy to help get her downfield. Linked by towrope to a golf cart, the sailplanes each get a "wingwalker" who holds the starboard wingtip level and walks the plane downfield to the takeoff. Expecting it to be quite heavy, I was amazed at how light the incredibly long wing was….and how it seemed anxious to taste every tiny breeze that fluttered by.

That cockpit sure looks small…..

Our towplane was a retired cropduster, perfect for the job because of it's quick maneuverability, responsiveness and its ability to fly at much slower speeds than other small crafts- all assets for towing. Suddenly my heart was beating so fast- I wasn't nervous until I slid into that reclining seat and fumbled with the five-point seat harness. Then before I could notice, a wingwalker appeared to my left, first nodding to Peter behind me, then motioning to the towpilot with a circle of his arm….and suddenly he's running with us….and we're bumping along the ground, fast and faster…the swish of the short grass audible above my beating heart. I could feel every bump & divot in the ground below and the thought had just started to form about how thin the plane's skin must be…when, even before the towplane left the ground, our eager little craft was already in the air!!

 With a crazy similarity to the sensation of being towed on an icy road on a trashcan lid behind a pickup truck (even the best of us have a little redneck in our past…), we took to the air along the mountains.

We made a slow, lazy arc back towards the take off, with the mountain ridge climbing up below us….and my brain was so overloaded with the sights and sounds and ideas that when Peter asked "Are you ready?" I almost didn't realize…..and suddenly we were free. The towrope dropped away and our gentle towplane slipped sharply to port, leaving us in our lazy flight over the trees.

I will not pull the red thing, I will not pull the red thing, I will not..

Far too fascinated for fear, I suddenly realized that this was a far more intimate, revealing view of a land that I've loved all my life- and it looked different than I'd imagined. Individual mountains merged into long, ambling ridges, little Newcastle laid out below in crisp white blocks, and Sinking Creek Valley appeared as a softly hazed bowl, so delicately formed I wanted to reach out and touch it. It's even graced with a lacy waterfall that remains well hidden at ground level. And the mountains! What a wonderful surprise to see that they are largely wilderness. In my head-down flurry of activity in recent years, and after living in big and bigger cities, I'd come to the conclusion that VA was largely "tamed"- cut and sawn into blocks of towns and farmland, with little or no wild places left. Not so! And the realization was nearly as thrilling as the flight….or almost…

After a few judicious questions about how I was feeling, Peter asked the one question that should be a tip off to everyone, "Do you like rollercoasters?" Suddenly we slid nosedown and sped so fast that the air whistling through the little porthole nearly drowned out my laughter, matched with his. As it turns out, a "Noseover" is a maneuver used to gain altitude and loft in a thin thermal- and a trick instinctual to any seabird. We swooped up, G-forces pinning me to my seat, unable to use my camera and glad to simply enjoy the moment and its sensations without trying to photograph it.

Returning to level flight and back to our lazy circles at the edge of the ridge, I happened to glace below us at just the right instant to catch a glimpse of a beautiful redtail hawk, circling far below in the same thermal. Fascinated with hawks, the moment was a meaningful one for me, and I know I'll never view them again without that image. At almost the same moment, Peter directed my attention to another glider, sharing our skies.

All too soon though, on a low thermal afternoon, our flight was over and we were called in to allow the next folks their flights.

Occasionally in this life you wander into a  group of folks who seem almost familiar, and the activity, whatever it may be, although new and confusing, seems to "fit" like a comfortable glove. It's a little like coming home. I'm looking forward to my next flight, to getting to know these interesting and quirky folks, and getting to know these hills and the air above them in a new and fascinating way.

I love this time of year for the incredible produce, and I found the world's best produce stand when I moved here to Martinsville.

Can't read the signs? Here they are a little larger…

  "These cantaloupes are sweet enough to knock a billy goat brains out?"

 "These honey dews are sweet enough to make a hog to break out of its pen"

Is it any wonder I love this place? Savonne & her daughter Shawna run the place with constant interference from Savonne's husband, Junior, who was responsible for the signs. He also tends to buy the odds and ends that interest him- one year it was brussel sprout plants, last year it was a short stint with eggplant inside- right now it seems to be Cherokee Tomatoes. This one, I have to say, may be a winner.

On the left is a Cherokee tomato, a "heritage"variety and non-hybridized, it's an unusual dusky burgundy color, and I'd have a hard time telling when it was ripe on the vine. (That's the covered, built-in cast iron griddle on my ancient stove. When the Realtor showed me this place, he immediately suggested I replace it with a spiffy new stainless steel one- and I think he was more than a little shocked that I loved this stove right off the bat- it's got a little warming oven on the side too- just made for pancakes on a Sunday morning)

The skin of the Cherokee is a bit tough, like a Roma, but the flesh is like a cross between a mild yellow tomato and an acidy Beefeater. Just right for my favorite lunch- a mater samich & iced tea.

Today's version though, is sans bread (traditionally it would be the freshest white bread available) and the tea "neat" and unsweet. I had driven home with thoughts of that tomato and could hardly get to it fast enough, so I didn't bother with bread or ice. Tonight though, I'll "do it up right", with fresh sweet silver queen corn and butter and another tomato plate, this time what I've started to call "Southern Style Antipasto". Instead of deli meats and pepperoncini, my Southern style is tomato chunks, cucumber and Greek olives with a little Duke's mayo and, to make it "upscale", a dash or two of aged balsamic vinegar. Ahhhhhhh    (Darn! Forgot to get cucumber….)

I'll have fried green tomatoes too! I eat them rarely, because they're such a mess to make (at least for me)- but Collinsville Produce is the only place around that sells green tomatoes- to make for yourself anyway.

 I've been promising myself I'd go to this deli one day. Places that look as non-descript as this usually have the most incredible food. You can't really see the sign in this shot I took from the road, but they always announce the day's special, and today it's Fried Green Tomatoes.

Collinsville Produce also looks pretty plain, even a little run down along the edges, but a real jewel of a find. Pulling open the weathered front door, I'm often greeted with a "Hey Lady!" and a wide-open smile from Savonne. One Mother's day she found herself telling me that she had lost four sons at various ages, and in that moment I was nearly brought to my knees with the thought of the grief endured….yet she has never faltered in giving a smile or sharing a laugh (often at Junior's expense). I go to Collinsville Produce for much more than a sack of tomatoes. Walmart may have cheaper prices on one or two things, but what I get from Savonne & Shawna is priceless. I hope you'll find something similar close to you and support their efforts- you might just get more than you bargained for.

Signs behind the counter: "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Regardless of who you think you are!!"

"Opinions are like secrets they are best kept to yourself"

It was one of those moments that seem to unfold in slow motion, but somehow with no time to react. And my wild howl of NONONOSlinky NOooooo had the opposite effect than I'd intended- starting a mad chase through the house and outside.

I'd just set up my easel and taboret in the living room at my big overstuffed leather chair, where I could paint into the wee hours with the TV for companionship. Lighting arranged, side table set up as taboret with paints & brushes and iced tea (the Southern staple- but "unsweet" for me, thank you), I had just slipped into the comfy chair with a sigh, and met glances with Slinky, the newest member of the house. After spending most of a year in the culvert outside, Slink- a stray, declawed Maine Coon cat, has decided to live with us in relative comfort, and the bay window is a favorite spot. Being the friendly sort that she is, as I sat down, she moved to greet me…..and stepped right square into the wet palette on my side table!

NONONOSlinkyNOOooooo!!!

Which just served to send an unnerved, half-wild cat with a pawful of white paint leaping away in horror- from hand-woven silk rug to hardwood floor to carpet to stairs to outside…..and my crazed dive that knocked my painting from my easel only served to give her wings.

But, as the dust settled, I never did find evidence of our crazed romp on rug or floor- only a bit of lighter tone on a paw pad or two. (Maybe she really did have wings!) And  nothing seems damaged, though Ben & Slappy, my other two cats, were greatly entertained by the whole episode.

*I refer you to two points from that previous post: Cat hair is inevitable…. and Be careful where you leave a wet palette!

It's always something….

This is a question I've been asked on a fairly regular basis, and one that each artist would answer differently. In fact, I'd have to say that the answer is part of the key to each artist's particular "voice".  Of course there is the general theme of an artist's body of work, such as wildlife, landscapes or figures- but when it gets down to a specific painting or image…Where do you start?

Let's look at a project I'm just about to start, and I'll let you in on the thought process all the way up to the moment the paint hits the canvas.

I was poking around on-line the other day with the thought of looking for opportunities to establish a presence in my hometown of Roanoke, VA, and came across a show listing that I found interesting. The WVTF Art Show, a benefit for local National Public Radio…..which I'm actually listening to as I write. There's a nice spot on their webpage with a Prospectus (all the entry info): http://www.wvtf.org/ArtShow.php, a juror, nice-looking reception, most likely good advertising (at least on the radio), good web presence and everything is nicely presented. Entry fees go to support NPR, too. It looks to me like the show organizers are really on top of things in terms of fundraisers and donated art- many people don't realize that an artist gets no tax write-off when we donate artwork- but if someone purchases that painting and then donates it, they get to deduct the full retail price. This art show is organized in such a way that NPR gets the entry fees plus a small commission on each piece sold- this way we'll both benefit.

(*Funny- the NPR announcer/deejay just gave a nice, well done plug for the show I'm writing about- ain't that a good sign!)

Okay, so I've decided to go for it- now what? The website shows several photos of last year's show and gala- but not a single shot of the artwork to see what was accepted in last year's show. That's a little frustrating….so is the one shot that shows a side-long glance of the displayed art. It's in a hallway. Oooh, not so good. But- I'm going to be open-minded, after all, one of the all-time BEST "art shows" I've ever been to was along the hallways of the Remington offices, with dozens of original Bob Kuhn's.

Now let's make a couple of assumptions (I know, I know, but let's live dangerously)- the Roanoke "art scene" is largely abstract-expressionist, with leanings toward constructions. The wilder and the more textured, the better- in other words, pretty much the opposite of my style entirely. Ole Blue would crash and burn here- I doubt it would even be accepted into the show-

So…..rather than not make the attempt, I've got a great idea- I'm going to paint something that almost slips across the line into abstract- one of those water scenes I've had in the back of my mind for awhile. Colorful and with lots of life and movement, it's an unusual view of moving water that has a wonderful fresh mood about it. I'm suddenly reminded of a mural I saw in the JC Penney headquarters outside Dallas several years ago- it was a very nicely detailed close up of a forest floor with mosses, twigs & bits of leaves…..but it was painted two storeys high! A real eye-opener to the abstract nature of everything.

So- it's decided. But I'm thankful that there's a 24" maximum size limit- I don't feel like tackling a two-story painting just yet. I have just the perfect reference photo, this one from one of the MT trips:

There is a wonderful mix of purples, oranges, deep blues, even pinks here that convey fresh, cool water, yet with a very distinct abstract feel. At this point I'm actually picturing the final painting in my mind and my imagination has even jumped ahead to "see" the painting in process…if I can visualize the completed piece in my mind, then that's a very good sign that it's a strong concept. If I can't "picture it", then the entire process will be a struggle. Sometimes, when deep in "the zone", I "see" the brushstrokes just before I place them…but that's a conversation for another time-

All my fly fishing buddies will get goosebumps seeing those stonefly cases on the rocks….and although that was part of my reason for originally snapping the photo, in this case I think I'll edit them out. Non-fishermen usually don't appreciate such things, or want to display them over the dinner table…

Instead, I'll add in a single laurel blossom, like this one from my Craggy Gardens trip:

The swirls on the rock nicely echo the swirls and squiggles of reflected light on the water; the smooth water surface countering the rough rock- this photo would make a nice painting on its own as well…. Darn, now I'm picturing two paintings instead of just the one! But, let's not run ahead like a kid on the playground. First things first…..

The basics:

This will be oil for the depth & luminosity of colors and since the size is restricted to 24" maximum and the deadline of July 24th is looming, I'll go with an already prepared 16"x20" canvas to save a bit of time. I already have just the right frame too! New and not even unwrapped yet- I got a deal at one of the Art Supply sites.

And we're off! Like a herd of turtles (as my Dad would've said..)

Next post- using Photoshop to plan a painting.

What a good, productive day!

I set aside my latest painting and my "small brushes" and tackled painting the bathroom. Again. *sigh* The adventures of living in a 1940's house. The original owners had the entire interior sprayed with beige (yeck) latex paint when I bought it….problem was, they put latex over oil. It looked okay (except the weird yellow/beige), but the unvented bath caused it to peel after a while. Knowing it'd be a horrible job, I put it off until the whole room looked hideous, and of course, it became a bigger job than if I'd started sooner….

After scraping, sanding, spackling, sanding again, painting Kilz, then color, spackling & sanding again- on the ceiling as well as the walls-I've actually been thankful that it's a small bath. Today was a second coat of color and I swear it still needs touching up where the color turned "matte" over the spackle. >:( It's drying now, so I'll think about it tomorrow. (A little something I learned from Scarlett O'Hara)

So, I left the bathroom to dry and went back to another project that had been set aside- this one of Thistledown Farms for my friends Tim & Mary. And….although I was well along on the painting, and had made a few attempts already-believe it or not, I started over again!

Sounds crazy I know- or may even sound like I don't know what I'm doing, but no, I'm just finding my footing with landscapes and each previous work had that "spark" of something about it, but I was not yet satisfied with the "whole".  Constant growth is a wonderful thing- but it has its drawbacks, as you can see! Sort of like the body builder who outgrows his clothes, sometimes I look at something painted a year ago and feel like I would paint it differently now. And some paintings that I've saved from several years ago are surprising to me now! (I think I'll keep my High School art projects under lock and key)

For so long, landscapes were just the backgrounds for the wildlife I wanted to paint, and because they were a "necessary evil", they were something I dreaded and each one was a struggle. Then- and it didn't happen all at once, but gradually- suddenly I made my peace with landscapes and scenery, water scenes and trees became beautiful on their own, not as a "setting" for something else.

But- that also means that there's been quite a lot to learn along the way. I read once that an apprentice of Rodin, the Master Scuptor who created The Thinker and The Kiss, came into the studio one morning to find the artist in tears, sobbing uncontrollably. Thinking someone had died, the apprentice asked what had happened….and Rodin replied, "There is nothing more to learn!" He was brokenhearted to think that he'd gone as far as he would go with his Art.

Really a horrible thought…..and a moment I don't feel in danger of ever experiencing!

Just a few moments ago I scraped off a day and a half of work on my current painting. Depressing and more than a little frustrating- but, like pruning a favorite azalea, it was necessary. I'm sure the resulting painting will be all the better for it. And, I never fail to learn something from every effort, sometimes more from the mistakes than the successes!
Here are a few other thoughts about painting…..

Don't fall in love with a brushstroke or an effect to the detriment of the whole.
Never be afraid to walk away. Or scrape off.
Keep it fun- if it becomes work, it shows.
Keep wet oil paint brushes in the freezer….but warn others if necessary.
In your mind if not on paper, capitalize Artist.
A confident artist is never threatened by other artists- help the next guy/girl up the ladder.
Beware of tentative brushstrokes!
Bugs and cat hair are inevitable- keep a scalpel or X-acto handy and learn to paint over the impossible ones.
Keep brushstrokes directional whenever possible- learn to "sculpt" your paintings.
Not everyone will like it.
Bristle brushes make the best clouds.
Your greatest talent may be in fixing your mistakes.
Save the thick paint for your focal point and highlights- and watch your painting come alive!
Never, never, never point out the mistakes to anyone- that's all they will ever see afterwards.
Those who love you will never give good critique.
Be careful where you leave your wet palette.
Never paint in your "good clothes" unless you're on camera.
Be nice to onlookers- even if you're struggling with your painting.
Always act like you meant to do that- unless you can't keep a straight face.
Remember- studio cat really does have better things to do, but chooses to honor you, even if he's laying on your foot or washing his unmentionables in your chair.
Watch each brushstroke closely and leave the best ones alone.
When someone buys a painting, it's one of the greatest compliments you can be given. Honor it.
Get to know the animals in your brushbox, and remember, a cry of, "Where's my mongoose?!!" will usually get attention.
Sometimes the side of the brush, the end of the handle, or a completely wrecked brush is better than a crisp point.
Not everyone has to "get it"- the world needs Engineers to build the Sistine Chapels before they can be painted.
Everyone is talented in some way- some of us just work hard to develop it. No one ever painted a masterpiece the first time out.
Save some of your first paintings (date them) to look at occasionally through the years- you'll be surprised at your growth.
Be aware of repeating shapes, brushstrokes or color dabs and avoid them whenever possible.
Even the top artists make big mistakes.
Paint what you love.
Know when to quit….

I usually only follow the Tour De France through news reports and conversation, and always what I've come across are scenes of the pack racing by- exciting, but not something to spend hours following on TV. Then a friend shared this UTube video and I was riveted to the screen, enjoying every moment!And the scenery of the Pyrenees is just incredible.
Cancellara's Great Downhill/Tour De France2009
Bet ya can't watch it without leaning into every curve…

Well, okay- I cheated just a bit, I'm posting this after the painting has been completed, so it's not "technically" a Work-In-Progress…..but doing it this way gives you a better view of the process. So- look over my shoulder…this will be a 9"x12" Oil on canvas-covered panel.

After my camping trip to the Craggy Gardens area, I've been flooded with ideas and images for new paintings and it's hard to settle on one. But this one of the wild Flame Azalea seems clearest in my mind, so I decided to start with it.

The original photo is one of those rare images that could stand alone as is:

But- it needs to be compressed a little to express the lushness that comes across in person, and to fit the 9"x12" format I've chosen. (I have a frame that will work beautifully with these colors) I pulled the original photo into Photoshop and cut and pasted and shifted the blossoms and leaves around until it all seemed to "click into place"…

I use a standard palette of warm & cool versions of the primaries plus Titanium White and Dioxazine Purple- notice there's no Black. I use Dioxazine Purple or Magenta to mix my darkest colors because I've found that using Ivory Black or Jet Black seems to kill the color, sucking the very life from it. By mixing your darker tones, you'll find the shadows have more vibrancy to them. And, if you'll notice- true Black and true White are rare in nature….

 I often tone my canvas, but I'm anxious to launch into this one, so I'm not even stopping to sketch first- I'll sketch directly on the canvas with my Cad Lemon. I'm using Odorless Mineral Spirits as a medium, and notice that my paint puddle is very "sloopy"- the consistency of heavy cream. This will help it to "set" fast enough that my brush won't lift the color as I work over it.

My palette and the sketch with my print out as reference:

Did you notice- even though I've worked with the layout, I decided to add a bit of curve to the branch on the right side as I sketched it in. I thought it needed just a bit more movement.

Starting with the background, I applied paint with no concern for detail, which would distract from the focus point- the blossoms. The background should just set the stage for the star of the show- the vibrant azaleas. I also don't completely mix my colors on the palette, which could result in a very flat rendering. My greens often have a ribbon of yellow or blue running through them. I work all across the background at once so neither side seems more blue or more green than the other. For consistency, each area of a painting should have at least a touch of all the colors, except the blossom colors. I want them to "pop" from the background, so keeping the oranges and reds out of the background tones will help achieve that separation.

 Ahh- the "Messy Stage"! I hate to pause work at this stage, because when I come back to the painting I always get that initial shock of "What was I thinking??" When viewers see this stage they're often just a little horrified- thankfully here in the South, they always manage to say something nice!

The background nearly complete, I began on the blossoms. I worked on them separately because I didn't want to muddy the clear, crisp blossom colors with the deeper, darker leaf colors. In fact, I completely wiped my palette clean to mix the oranges and yellows and picked up a couple of clean brushes.

Isn't it amazing how much life springs from the painting as soon as all the stamens are added to the blooms! Suddenly all those nondescript patches of color are defined as azaleas. At this point, I'm fairly sure the painting is complete, but to be sure, it will be placed on my mantle where I can "live with it" for a few days to see if it's missing anything or any adjustments need to be made.

The frame I had in mind works perfectly, its brown and gold tones nicely complementing the vivid flowers and echoing the woods beyond-

Flame Azalea

9"x12" Oil $525.00