Just Don't Be Tall 2013-W35

One of my oldest friends (and former college roomie) was due in on Thursday for an overnight visit on his way to Alaska.  So for several hours on Tuesday and Wednesday I was occupied cleaning the house; by which I don't mean everyday cleaning and tidying but rather doing all those stupid things you can't be bothered with very often.  All the glass shelves and three mirrors in my vanity cabinet once again sparkle like new.  The big clunky furniture got vacuumed and mopped beneath.  Nooks and crannies and shelves have been dusted, except for the ones up top.  And only a very tall person would know that...

The innate joy of the housecleaning was further enhanced by the hot ambient temperatures, and though not quite a sweat lodge I nevertheless felt purified by the ritual.  And, pleased by the result; for the last two days I have thoroughly enjoyed walking around in my immaculate house.  Or I should say, immaculate for a person of my height or below.  I decided that it will behoove me to have a houseguest from time to time, if only to provide motivation to get the place cleaned up from bottom to nearly the top.

During the times I was cleaning in and around my studio, I gave thought about what I might paint.  I finally did pastel lesson two, and now those darn pastels are on a time out.  It's back to brushes, baby!  Eventually I decided to try another wet-in-wet painting in keeping with Propuesta 7.  Then, I'm going to attempt a special painting for a special event.  So y'all come back next week for that and meanwhile enjoy today's so-so poppies.

Pavement Poppies in Ravenswood

My Eyes 2013-W34

I can't say whether I'm noted for it, but I certainly do not mind rolling my eyes.   Sometimes the eye-roll stimulus is so over the top I feel I've rolled them back far enough to see my brain.  But this week I read something so incredible that I'm sure my eyes rolled completely around and back to the front.  A total 360° spin.  For this physiologic feat we can thank roughly 250,000 of Louisiana's likely bigots brightest citizens.

They compose the ⅓ of Republicans in Louisiana who believe Barack Obama was responsible for the Federal Government's poor response in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.  Even though — as most people with at least half a wit know — the hurricane occurred in 2005, three years before Obama was elected president.  Heck, he'd only been a US Senator for 7 months.  Now, I admit, some of these bright citizens may have done better with the mathematics involved if only they had 2,008 fingers and toes... although shopping for shoes would be a nightmare for the poor dears.

It remains to be seen if Fox & Friends and their ilk will pounce on this breaking story, you know, about another Obama failure.  Or maybe they'll want to investigate what other mischief he's been getting up to in that time machine of his.  Meanwhile, I suppose the real lesson here is that our human nature is to bend over backwards to believe what we wish to believe, even in the face of clear facts that prove otherwise.  Perhaps moreso when our minds are typically closed.

Please enjoy today's art.  I fear there is no hope for Fox News, but to the intransigents of Louisiana and the world I appeal to you by quoting Shaw: "Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything."

Pastel School Study II

Oh, That Scurvy Wench 2013-W33

Enough procrastinating! said I, and went to pull the sixteen colors called for in Pastel School lesson 2: a study of a lemon, lime, and orange — which is what put the word "scurvy" in my mind to begin with.  The pastel set I got out comes with a handy color guide & index, and so using those I navigated through the reds and oranges okay.  When I turned to the yellows, something seemed a little quirky.  Yet I made do and then came the greens.  Now, I mayn't be able to tell Oxide of Chromium from Baryte Green, but I definitely can discern a pale green from a dark brown.  Yet per the guide, in the pale green slot was in fact a brown pastel.  How could I have gotten things so muddled up?  Ask anyone who knows me; I am nothing if not methodical.

Garden Sedum Bloom, 2001

One at a time I pulled out a half dozen greens, made test patches, compared them to the color guide and tried to sort things out but instead of clarity I just got more confused.  And vexed.

Disturbed by the disorder and perplexed about how it could have happened...  finally it dawned on me an hour later.  I'd let a friend use the set to dabble with one day.  And when she finished, (not knowing better) she put the pastels back willy-nilly.  "Oh, that scurvy wench!"  I might have lightly cursed just after having the flash of insight.

But quickly enough I calmed, relieved to have sorted out the "why".  Thus leaving only the undoing.  I decided that further efforts to repatriate the misplaced pastels is too tedious for now.  I'll leave that for another day.  Even though, sadly, that means a further delay in undertaking Pastel School lesson 2.

I'm out sketching en plein air today with the Truman College Regulars, and with no pastel study to post (ahem), I thought it might be fun to put up my very first sketch from my first sketchbook.  A life drawing in watercolor pencils, I think, of a common sedum in bloom.  As near as I can figure, I sketched it in August 2001, just before "9/11".

A dozen years later, the world has moved on and I've gained a little more skill at artmaking.  I like to look at this drawing every now and then because doing it made me feel as if I could create something more artful than doodles in the margin of my calculus notebook.

As drawings go it's not awfully good — but what matters is, neither is it awfully bad.

Scramble 2013-W32

I awoke with every good intention of savoring lesson 2 from Pastel School, and got as far as choosing the final pastels (greens, tricky) when suddenly I realized everything I'd prepared was for lesson 3.  Dang.  A quick glance at the lesson 2 materials list completely dampened my enthusiasm so I decided to paint instead.  But what?  The scramble was on.

After scouring my inspiration archives — and ruling out the first half dozen possibles — I came across this iconic image and coincidentally Bette Davis's name had came up yesterday.  That was enough karma for me.  It was nice to paint again after a few weeks of dry brushes; nevertheless, I hope to grit my teeth and get back to pastels lesson 2 on my mid-week art night.

I also hope to catch up with my Truman College art mates next weekend for their sketch outing, so heaven only knows what next week's blog posting might bring.  Please come back to surveil that (whatever it may be) and meanwhile enjoy today's portrait.

Two Blue

Fifty and Counting... Posts, That Is 2013-W31

An extra long post today, but hopefully justified...

This appears to be my fiftieth post on the Painterly Thoughts blog, which means the one year anniversary is coming up in a month or so.  In that time, the blog has had over 1300 visits, welcoming readers from nearly three dozen countries.  Whether you check in regularly or intermittently, thanks for your patronage!

While preparing the Salon deWinchester blog posts over the years, on two or three occasions I took the opportunity to write longer blogs to make up for the shortfall of picture content.  In retrospect, I see that these posts were the seminal force behind the Painterly Thoughts blog.  Re-presented below in its entirety is the last of these posts, the spark as it were, from September 1, 2012.  Enjoy, and y'all come back!

┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉

The late 1960's were a time of social upheaval and wars, hot and cold.  Fortunately I was a pre-teen who paid little attention to these boring matters as I rolled up my stack of newspapers for afternoon delivery—though I still clearly remember the day Judy Garland died in June, 1969.  That was a surprise.  Big headline.  But nothing to compare with what was to come a month later.

Like most families of the era, we had dutifully watched every NASA launch and splashdown on grainy black-and-white televisions.  We as a nation celebrated every incremental achievement in the space race.  We mourned the terrible disaster of Apollo 1.  And now, a month after Judy's passing, Apollo 11 was in orbit around the moon.  The Eagle was about to land...

I don't remember who was delivering the newspapers on my route, because I was 300 miles away on a solo visit to my Grandmother—and she had a color TV!  We watched tensely as the Eagle drifted downward but off course... finally landing safely on the moon.  Astronauts Aldrin and Armstrong began the six hours of preparations.  The moment was nearly upon us.

I remember vividly how my Grandmother and I, along with 500 million other people, sat awestruck watching the Eagle's hatch open.  Then came 17 agonizing minutes while Neil Armstrong slowly descended, finally lifting his left foot from the pad and setting it down on the moon.  A famous phrase was uttered.   I was amazed and elated.  What a time to be alive!  To this day, I earnestly believe that moment to be mankind's crowning achievement.

Often I wonder what marvels might yet be revealed in what remains of my lifetime.  Will someone walk on Mars?  Will we see proof that we are not alone in the Universe?  Time will tell.  Meanwhile, today's painting is in part to mourn Neil Armstrong's passing last week.  He bore the weight of being The First Man on the Moon with dignity the rest of his life.  But today's painting also celebrates the legacy left us by all the brave Astronauts of the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo missions.  Hip Hip Hurrah!

Imprint of a Small Step

p.s. This famous bootprint was made by Buzz Aldrin, testing the properties of the lunar regolith.  Good job, Buzzer.