Mexican feather grass with a wedge of poppies and a purple flowered plant which I forgot the name of...in the front yard.
The Drought Killed my Rosemary, unfinished.
We've been having an exceptional spring in Austin--gentle breezes, adequate rain, everything is in bloom and the evenings have been sweetly cool. But about now it has begun to heat up. Daily I have been so grateful for this tender bliss of a spring that I am almost afraid to say so out loud, because while I have been enjoying this spring, I have also been feeling a nagging pang of respectful fear. Last summer was horrible. Record heat. Record drought. Many old Texas trees died. Gardening--always a humbling experience during Texas summers; always a trial in which one has to accept a certain amount of death--was more humbling than ever. In my garden almost all the vegetables died before their time. But only the death of my Rosemary shocked me. In my experience, Rosemary is kinda indestructible. And this was an old established plant. When I pulled its skeleton out of the ground I saw how lovely the leafless shape was, so I drew it. Above is the first version...ink on clayboard, etched. A few weeks later I looked at the image and knew it really didn't tell the story of my fear or of the heat. I went back in. Results below, Ink on clayboard, etched some more, and with added watercolor.
The Drought Killed My Rosemary, 12x16", complete.
Last week I wrote about--I'll call it My Problem in Yellow (below) and I have been working on it all week, absent mindedly...hoping to create something good from something that made me very uncomfortable, a messy watercolor. I'm sticking with it.
Last week
After a week of deliberately distracted drawing, My Problem in Yellow is becoming satisfyingly complicated.
California poppies, usually orange, two bonus pink blooms. Exciting.
About a year ago I was
experimenting with watercolors and came up with this. I
like the colors and I like the fact that watercolor forces me to accept a
certain looseness which I don't allow myself when I paint in oil. I am
constantly struggling with ideas of control. Control of my life, my
house, my kids. I need to loosen up. I know this about myself but it
is still really hard for me. So when I came across this older piece it seemed
like an important clue to me, a germ of an idea. I set to work on a
large scale version, on clay board. Clay board is smooth and slippery
and hardly absorbent at all, so if one paints on it with watercolor, the paint
is very difficult to control, at least for me. The result was such a
messy loose mess that I couldn't even stand to look at it. Frustrated, I
put it away for months. But just the other day I spied it in the corner
of my studio and decided to face it again. I pulled it out to work on
during a class I was teaching, knowing I would be less precious with it
if I was a little distracted. While teaching, I usually sketch something
uncomplicated while my students work. It keeps me from hovering over
them too much and I think we all like the parallel play.
expanded idea, work in progress, watercolor and ink on clay board, 18x36"
When I explained my frustrations to my sweet, brilliant students, one of
them suggested what should have been obvious. "Why don't you just make
it even more messy". I was so ready to tidy it up that I couldn't
imagine making it more messy. But here it is, work in progress,
getting more complicated and ever so messy. (image above) I love my students.
Darkness at Night
When I am not teaching, I paint, in oil, and try to immerse myself in darker, more serious themes. I listen to music. Lately it's Bill Callahan. I like his imagery. His songs paint pictures and create a strong and serious mood in my studio. This song is not so much dark as it is determined and fortifying.
a night scene, 2 weeks in
I have just begun a painting (above), a night scene. I want to show the obvious beauty in nature, but also nature's dangerous, and even evil properties. We'll see if this conveys...trying to let it in. I'll post more pics as this painting progresses. Now to get back to work.
Completed painting March 31, 2012. Pecan Tree Portal, Rio Frio, Texas
I was staring at the painting I've been working on for weeks and I remembered something from when my kids were newborns, something I learned slowly, and became better at understanding by the time I had my second newborn: you have to surrender to your baby. Totally. And when you do--all the answers you need are waiting and available to you. Whatever that baby needs, you can know. Some days you have to listen longer and quiet your own noise more completely, but some days it's like that baby and you are of one mind with a clean conduit of wordless information flowing in both directions.
It's like that with painting also. All the information is there. I listen, coax, create space in my mind to be able to recognize what is needed, and use it. I see the shapes in my dreams and in my waking hours and if I am still, and humble enough, it is all there, ready to access as I trust my instincts and do the work that's needed.
My daughter Ramona and I, Austin Independent School District art show. The watercolor in the background, top, is hers.
