This painting is called "Grandfather Heron". It is 5x7 on canvas, mixed media collage.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Grandfather Heron
After about ten years of an artist's block, for numerous reasons I won't go into, I have finally become inspired again. This week I've painted five small paintings, 5x7, to be exact. It doesn't matter, ideas are flooding my brain...and I have one small canvas left.
This painting is called "Grandfather Heron". It is 5x7 on canvas, mixed media collage.
This painting is called "Grandfather Heron". It is 5x7 on canvas, mixed media collage.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Calling Coyotes
The full moon on Monday night reminded of a time when the moon was full in January, 18 years ago. My sister-in-law was staying in our Greenhouse at the Garden. I capitalize Garden because the Garden has always been a place of reverence for me. It is a place of solitude and beauty, flowers among the vegetables in the lower garden, paths and flowers in the upper garden.
Back to my story. On this full moon night I walked down the hill, into the tree-lined path to the bowl-shaped area ...the Garden. My way was lit by silver light from the moon. Lanna met me and we stood around a small dying bonfire where a few red embers crackled.We spoke softly. Then she played her flute, a nice melodic tune. It was magical...the moon, the silver light, the flute music.
And then, a feeling crept over me. I became apprehensive (another word for scaredy cat). Was someone or something watching us? Stalking us? I scanned the limestone shelf that cradled the garden,strained to see through the trees, looking, but hoping not to see anything. The yellow beam of the flashlight seemed out of place in the silver moonlight.
"Sshhh", I told Lanna. "you'll call the coyotes." No sooner had I said it than the woods surrounding the garden was filled with the yipping and howling of coyotes. Her music had lured them to us.
For years I've thought back on this scene. So this morning I dug through old drawings and I'm posting two different "doodles" of the event.
Back to my story. On this full moon night I walked down the hill, into the tree-lined path to the bowl-shaped area ...the Garden. My way was lit by silver light from the moon. Lanna met me and we stood around a small dying bonfire where a few red embers crackled.We spoke softly. Then she played her flute, a nice melodic tune. It was magical...the moon, the silver light, the flute music.
And then, a feeling crept over me. I became apprehensive (another word for scaredy cat). Was someone or something watching us? Stalking us? I scanned the limestone shelf that cradled the garden,strained to see through the trees, looking, but hoping not to see anything. The yellow beam of the flashlight seemed out of place in the silver moonlight.
"Sshhh", I told Lanna. "you'll call the coyotes." No sooner had I said it than the woods surrounding the garden was filled with the yipping and howling of coyotes. Her music had lured them to us.
For years I've thought back on this scene. So this morning I dug through old drawings and I'm posting two different "doodles" of the event.
Cranes
This morning I heard the FAA had given clearance for the Whooping Cranes to fly away from Alabama to Florida, http://www.operationmigration.org/. This is important to me because my twin sister, Merry, follows their path to her state. In fact, last year she had gone to the town where the whooping cranes land to watch them fly in with the ultralite plane. However, there was a delay and they were rescheduled. In the meantime, her husband had a brain tumor and ended up in the hospital, and she missed the landing of the whooping cranes. Maybe this year.
The only cranes that I see are the Sand Hill Cranes who migrate south in December and January. They land on the farm fields near me. They are beautiful birds. This year Kentucky passed a new hunting law that gave hunters a permit to shoot the Sand Hill Cranes. I was extremely upset by this. Are they going to eat these cranes? NO! I suppose they will hang them on the walls in their den and have bragging rights.
This morning after hearing about the Whooping Cranes, I realized that I have incorporated cranes into my art for years. The image of this is not good as it was taken with a 2.0 digital camera and the whites never did appear white.
The only cranes that I see are the Sand Hill Cranes who migrate south in December and January. They land on the farm fields near me. They are beautiful birds. This year Kentucky passed a new hunting law that gave hunters a permit to shoot the Sand Hill Cranes. I was extremely upset by this. Are they going to eat these cranes? NO! I suppose they will hang them on the walls in their den and have bragging rights.
This morning after hearing about the Whooping Cranes, I realized that I have incorporated cranes into my art for years. The image of this is not good as it was taken with a 2.0 digital camera and the whites never did appear white.
This one was painted in 2000.
This was painted in 1999.
I will never understand the mind of a sports hunter, the need to kill for the sake of killing. I've run several hunters off my farm in the past and will continue to do so. As a friend said, make sure I don't wear my tan
coat or I may just end up on their den wall, peering back at the hunter with green glass eyes.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Mischievous Elf
You've got to be kidding me! This morning when I drug my sleep-groggy body down the stairs to get my coffee, I was wary of getting my coffee cup off the hook because of the elf in it yesterday. No elf in the cup...that was good, I sighed.
I turned around to pour my coffee and I found this mess on the cutting board. Yikes!
I turned around to pour my coffee and I found this mess on the cutting board. Yikes!
I know what sparked this mischievous behaviour. Yesterday afternoon I had a conversation with my daughter about my elf blog and whether she had read it or not. She told me about one of her "facebook friends" who had the popular "Elf on a Shelf" elf and how it was mischievous. So now I know why my "not so popular" elf has big ears. He listens to conversations. That's right, apparently he eavesdropped and not only got the flour down, but look closely at the flour on the cutting board. He made angel wings. Do I think it is sweet? Let me just say, it would have been a lot sweeter if he had cleaned up the flour mess.
(Note, all incidents may or may not be true.)
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Elf
About 20 years ago an elf came to my house. Don't ask me how, or why? He did appear each Christmas and the children and grandchildren would shriek, "I don't like him...not one bit" or "hide him, he's freaky". O.K., I relented, so I hid him in a box above the computer, but the next day he appeared again.
Now that Elf on the Shelf is a popular book and stuffed toy and movie, I began to wonder what the little creature that appeared in my house was somehow related to this new Elf.
This Christmas season has been no different. I have paid attention each morning, sort of a detective game, to see if this elf is moving about.
Now that Elf on the Shelf is a popular book and stuffed toy and movie, I began to wonder what the little creature that appeared in my house was somehow related to this new Elf.
This Christmas season has been no different. I have paid attention each morning, sort of a detective game, to see if this elf is moving about.
Voila! He did move in the night.
The next morning, I found him here. Thinks he's going for a boat ride, I guess.
I found him again. What is this Elf doing?
I can tell you, Sugar is not happy. Would you be with this freaky little elf in your lap?
Oh, no...not mycoffee cup!
What do you want? Why? What am I supposed to do? I'm listening, are you trying to tell me something? Sshhhhhh!
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Cowgirl and Silver
Once upon a time, long, long ago, before laptops and Leapsters, before cellphones and Nooks, even before mini-skirts, there were two sisters. These girls played outside and made a covered wagon by throwing sheets over the clothesline and setting a chair at the open end for the wagon master. Their mother let them have a can of beenie-weenies to eat straight from the can. It was magic to hear the dull click of the spoon on the side of the can.
Each of them had a horse, of a different color, of course. These horses were long sticks with names like Blackie and Ginger. The girls tied strings from the top of the sticks for the mane, and another string from the top so that they could tie Blackie and Ginger up to the chair in the front of the covered wagon so the horses could walk alongside the wagon. They put the stick horses between their legs and away they rode, around the house, down the hill and around the sidewalk to the back of the house where their covered wagon was, but only after the skirmish when they defended their covered wagon from their brother and his friend.
Cap guns drawn, "Pop!, Pop! Pop! Pop! "We win!"
("Did not!" came the yell from the obnoxious boys, three years younger than the girls).
"Did, too!"
It must have been late fall because the tall iris had died back and the weeds were tromped over when the most beautiful horse in the world appeared. Silver would be his name. Silver the gas tank horse would have a towel thrown over his back, reins attached and would become the immovable, grand horse of all. Silver never participated in the battles, or walked alongside the covered wagon but would always be the majestic horse at the back of the fence.
Each of them had a horse, of a different color, of course. These horses were long sticks with names like Blackie and Ginger. The girls tied strings from the top of the sticks for the mane, and another string from the top so that they could tie Blackie and Ginger up to the chair in the front of the covered wagon so the horses could walk alongside the wagon. They put the stick horses between their legs and away they rode, around the house, down the hill and around the sidewalk to the back of the house where their covered wagon was, but only after the skirmish when they defended their covered wagon from their brother and his friend.
Cap guns drawn, "Pop!, Pop! Pop! Pop! "We win!"
("Did not!" came the yell from the obnoxious boys, three years younger than the girls).
"Did, too!"
It must have been late fall because the tall iris had died back and the weeds were tromped over when the most beautiful horse in the world appeared. Silver would be his name. Silver the gas tank horse would have a towel thrown over his back, reins attached and would become the immovable, grand horse of all. Silver never participated in the battles, or walked alongside the covered wagon but would always be the majestic horse at the back of the fence.
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