Transition

This is my final post to this blog. 

In its place, I have begun a new blog HERE.   Join me in this new phase of my Journey.  And thanks for your continued support here.

Dianne

A Poem

This morning I wrote a little poem about the mother moth from Wednesday's painting.
Here it is, raw and unedited:

Lured towards light she fliters and soars, then lands

upon the bark that shields the sap for new spring foliage.

Replete with life, a new generation, she halts,

clutches bark with graceful pause while sap flows upward.

Her sojourn ending she rhythmically lays her eggs,

batches of tiny bubbles cradled within her body's curve
then dropping downward.

There her body lingers while she exhales her final breath.

Pale green leaves sprout from barren twigs attached to limbs

joined to the long, upward trunk of an old tree in our yard.

Roots reach outward just under the earth--roots that feed

sap to the nascent foliage, destined itself to fall to the ground

in autumn, long after the mother moth gave birth.

Have a restful Saturday.
Dianne

Motherhood

Brian (who is helping me with some home renovations) and I discovered a huge moth attached to a front porch screen, apparently just after laying her eggs.  I grabbed the camera and got dozens of photos of her.  Good thing because a little later on, I found that she was dead. 

This morning I finished this small watercolor of that moment:

"Motherhood"

8" x 11"   Watercolor on Arches CP

Just before I had put the finishing touches on the painting, another kind of moth had taken perch on it.  Here's what I found:

It is these wonders of nature, even those that have their destructive side, that keep me going.

Enjoy this day,

Dianne

This Spring

"This Spring"

Oil on Canvas     8" x 10"

All spring, the light shows in our woods have been exceptional and numerous.  To capture one of these, I sat up my portable easel at the kitchen window, out of which hangs the hummingbird feeder.  As I was blocking in the woods, a male hummer appeared and instantly became the subject of this little painting.  

If you know hummers, you know how quickly they move, one minute here and then next gone.  I quickly blocked in a gesture drawing if him, got the basics of it before he took off.  Thinking I'd need to nail him to photography in order to catch him into the painting, I set up the camera on a tripod, set it on movie mode and waited until he appeared again.  During the next couple of hours, both he and his mate took turns slurping from the feeder, giving me several minutes of action. 

I realized, though, that if I were astute enough, I should be able to capture him in a painting just by grabbing what I could each time he appeared.  Meanwhile, the rains began, causing me to lose my light for several days.  I WAS however able to paint the hummer on location rather than from a photo, this by just being ready when he appeared and grabbing any information I could when he'd come to eat.

The sun appeared for a few hours yesterday, enabling me to catch the light that started this whole thing to begin with.  I'm still not sure if it's finished, but I'm declaring it so, at least for the moment.

Enjoy your day,

Dianne

River Mist Re-visited

You've seen this before, but in an earlier version:

"River Mist"     (Revised)

Watercolor on paper    13" x 18"
(Click on image for a larger, clearer veersion.)

On these spring mornings, I've been watching the light show from my back deck--light dancing within the tree foiliage, morphing every minute into something more spectacular than the moment before.  Having soaked these in day after day, I became unhappy with my previous version of "River Mist" so went back to it this morning adding light.  So here's where it is now.  We'll see if it stays there or moves somewhere else.

This week has been for me one of reflection.  Sunday Howard's Life Celebration was as close to perfect as any event could be with an ideal gathering of humans who love us, on a most excellent spring day, at a choice location and with a feast worthy of royalty.  Unlike most memorial occasions, this one left us all with uplifting memories forever etched. 

River Mist

"River Mist"

Watercolor on paper    13" x 17.5"

We're having Howard's celebration of life on Sunday afternoon, so this week is a pensive one for me.  Much of my thought has been focused on what it is about the Tallulah River that kept calling us back to it.  Somehow I think that might be connected with the river's endurance over centuries--perhaps millions of years.  Add to that its dichotomy--peaceful while turbulent,  solid while evolving, certain while mysterious. 

Fallen Tree

"Fallen Tree"     Oil on Board     5" x 7"

Again my subject comes from our Tallulah River.  But this time it was that fallen tree that motivated the painting.  What caught my eye was how it reached across the river, a bridge for critters looking for a path to the other side.  And  while working on the painting, I kept thinking that its roots will sprout new growth this spring.

What a journey since my last post!

I suppose I've not shown you what's been happening because I come from the "old school," not wanting to show a piece before it's finished--that is unless I'm purposely showing a work-in-progress.  But now is not the time for demonstrations:  I'm simply finding my way back into painting. So that's why this blog has been quiet for so many days.   I've not been idle, but rather searching past discard after discard--gathering the forgotten, reaching for process, kindling focus--attempting to rediscover how to function as an artist.  

I've thought about the zillions of times students have poured out their hearts to me because they had lost their way as artists.  A long debilitating illness, a family crisis, career demands on their time--a myriad of other's real causes have entered my awareness and innocently (though attempting to be wise) I have offered my suggestions for finding a way back.

Innocence is a kind of ignorance that experience alone can inform.  It's the difference between theory and reality:  too many printed pages have given way to theory and opinion, but beyond being mere exercises of the brain, they're worthless without experience.  No matter how intellectually stimulating, such expositions are nothing more than exalted innocence clothed in uninformed rhetoric.  

I trail off (blogs are allowed to do that, no?).  What I'm trying to say is that during these days I'm finding mere emptiness in my own past advice to others.  Each experience is unique as is the person in possession of it.  Nobody can know what that another person needs beyond love and support; indeed, it is the wise one that can give loving support neutral of advise.  

Memories

 

"Memories"

Watercolor on Paper    13" x 9.5"

No price yet

Days we spent on the Tallulah River were among our favorites.  Most times our trips there were spontaneous, a spur of the moment decision on a morning--a quickly packed lunch, dogs, painting equipment and camera loaded in the van and off we'd go.  

This section of the river, the south end of a U-shaped bend, always caught our attention.  Scraggly during winter months, lacking color in autumn, rather blah during the summer and last luster in springtime, it is nevertheless a magical spot where waters wildly rushing through huge boulders just north have calmed down, now flowing in gentle quietness, the hush of a small brook.

What's In The Teaching?

Yesterday morning it occurred to me to pay attention to a bit of my own teaching:.  Without exception, whenever a student would ask how to get past an artistic block, I'd say "draw, draw anything and everything."  It's not the results that matters, but what happens during the process.

Drawing can help me transcend stuff.  By locking my eyes on whatever happens to be in sight and respond with the intention of discovering nothing more than shapes, lines and values, I can take an amazing journey.  It requires being quick, keeping the mind clear of clutter, not allowing any thought to interfere.  And once a drawing is on the page, it is important not to judge it, rather to accept whatever happens as unlocking the mental and emotional clutter, clearing a path for the next step.

     And so that's what I did here:

 It might take a dozen sessions like this to get me in a good place to paint with the ease again. That painting that was in the incubator went south, so what we might get to watch for a while is process.

Painting in the Incubator

My road back into painting is taking a bit longer than I had hoped, but I am making progress and will regain my momentum.  Currently I am almost midway into a half-sheet size watercolor painting, another one from our Tallulah River.  Because fatigue is still a problem, my skills are a bit rusty and I remain too easily distracted, the painting is developing at a snail's pace. 

But I am demanding patience of myself even though my intention is have something new to show you sooner rather than later.  Meanwhile...

The Road Back

"The Road Back"

Watercolor on Paper   12" x 9"

NFS

Getting back to painting is like returning home after a long absence.  All the furniture is where I left it, ambiance is familiar, floors, ceiling, walls, windows and doors just where I left them, but there is a strangeness in the familiarity, a strangeness within me.  I have come from a world of experiences, bringing them home with me, now about to make them an expression of all that "home" means.

Painting if anything can be a route without detour within which experiences get assimilated:  images I respond to express my quiddity.  I am more than when I left, more defined by all that has happened.

This little watercolor is the first expression of my road back.  Over the years, Howard and I spent huge hunks of time on the Tallulah River.  For me it became a metaphor of timelessness, of nature always having the last word, of my human frailty, of the consanguinity of our being.  And so to go back to the river now is to go home.

Monday, March 8, 2010

I have returned to my studio and am beginning to work again.

With Howard's death bringing this major transition in my life, I'm giving my blog a new title and new design rather than try to pick up where I left off. I have no idea how long this will take, but you will know when it's finally ready to go.

Meanwhile, thanks for hanging in there with me.

January 30, 2010

Our struggle is over.  Howard passed from this physical life Thursday morning after a long, hard fought battle.  My heart is broken but I am at peace.

Now I need some time for healing before getting back to my painting and blogging, but that will happen.  Meanwhile, thanks so much to all of you who have sent us messages of support.  Our extended family here as been nothing short of amazing.

Christmas Eve, 2009

Howard is struggling, though still very much with us. This Christmas Eve we're delighted to have our little tree lit and to be able to gaze through our woods to enjoy our neighbor's Christmas lights.

Blessings to you all.
Dianne