Up here at camp, my husband has been busy working on various projects that have been set before him. He’s quite a handy guy and has been up for the challenges of making a wooden ramp, cutting and bending a sheet of steel to fit a certain area in the kitchen, and today replacing some lights in the wash house.
My work has been of a different nature. I brought a lot of books: five non-fiction books and five fiction books and have been making my way through a few of those every day.
I also brought a small assortment of painting supplies. I almost didn’t pack them because so often I bring something and never use it. I have a flat paint packet for traveling and have given it a good workout this week.
I do a little walking around here every day and made time yesterday to put together another creation of sticks and stones. I haven’t checked to see if it’s been destroyed yet.
I’ve had time to do some writing, thinking, and praying. I found out this morning that they’ll be needing my help in the kitchen for the supper meal. I feel less confident about this, but I am assuming that the guys in the kitchen will give me plenty of instruction.
We meandered over to the campfire by the beach last night. There was singing of silly camp songs, a funny skit, some spiritual songs, and then one of the young men told a story that ultimately symbolized the sacrifice of Christ for our sins. He prayed and they all sang “I have decided to follow Jesus.” The sun was setting and the reflections on the lake were beautiful. It was a good day, and a good end to the day.
I’ll probably throw this in the lake in the morning.
I play with sticks and stones. Sitting on a beach, out in the woods, wherever sticks and stones reside, I pick them up and rearrange them. I don’t remember when I started doing this. Was it when we took the kids on camping trips? Was it in my childhood? Whenever I started, it has become a happy compulsion, especially when I am away from home and time is unbound from my usual routine.
Last year when we were up at Grand Marais I ran back and forth like an excited child gathering up stones that I found especially pleasing. I placed them thusly:
Sometimes my compositions are quite simple:
I built an amazing edifice out of sticks and stones in Grand Marais once but I couldn’t find a photo. If I find it, I’ll let you know. (Later: I FOUND IT! Or rather, hubby reminded what year that was and THEN I found it.)
I don’t often have a chance to go back later and see what has become of these momentary rearrangements in nature. The conceited part of my soul (which is vast, indeed) likes to think that when people come across them they ooh and ahh and instruct their children to leave them as is. “Look Mark, look Sally! Someone has created these artful arrangements in the wilderness/on the beach. Don’t touch them! Let’s preserve them for others to enjoy.” Yes, that’s the kind of silliness my mind conjures up in unguarded moments.
Here at the boys’ camp, I have discovered the reality of the thing. I made a simple little construction out of sticks on Sunday and it was rent asunder within hours. I made another one this morning which met with the same fate in less time.
I have decided to take this as a challenge. I don’t think I’ve been seen while constructing, and I have not seen who’s been doing the destructing. I shall continue in my efforts and see what happens. The game is afoot!
UPDATE! I was working on my next Work of Art (which is what any Sticks-and-Stones Artist would call it), when a gregarious boy came and sat next to me on the bench chatting me up. We talked about all manner of things: the candy he was eating, his attempts at fishing, where he hoped to go with his group for the cookout that evening, etc. (O Lord of Little Boys, thank you for sending this fellow over!) He didn’t appear to notice what I’d been doing, but a red-headed friend of his meandered over and saw it right away. “What’s that you’re making?” Red asked. “Cool!” said Gregarious Boy, “Can I add to it?”
“Sure!” I said, as GB put an acorn cap on the top of a stick. The SAS Artist approved.
“What if I kick it?” asked Red, “Would you be mad?” He had a look of mischief on his face that I recognized as a mother of five boys.
“Not at all!” was my cheerful reply, “I’ll just make another one.” Privately I was thinking So YOU’RE the one!
Red put his foot out as if to kick it, but changed his mind, apparently unwilling to do it right in front of me. In a moment, the call went out for kids to come to the waterfront to go fishing and off they went.
Oh my goodness, I love those boys! I wanted to give them a motherly hug, but wisdom restrained me. Last time I checked, my edifice still stands.
Perhaps interactions like that are what the Lord brought me here for…. Other than that, I’ve taken prayer walks, praying for the campers and the staff. And I’m doing a fair amount of reading, writing and painting. All in all, this is shaping up to be a lovely week.
Sticks and stones may break this post, but words will never be deleted. Or something like that.
I hosted a paint party recently. It was my job to not only find enough people to come, but also to pick out the painting that we would do. I had about 10 paintings to choose from. They were all nice, and I dragged my feet on the selection. Finally, the event was drawing nigh and I had to choose, so I picked one that I thought was quite striking.
The paint party was lots of fun and I got to know some of my neighbors a little better. It’s always interesting to see how the paintings turn out when you do one of these paint parties. They’re all basically the same subject with the same paint, but rendered in different ways. Still, that striking painting struck me differently when I thought about where to put it in our house. The bright red and yellow in the sky just didn’t fit anywhere here. What to do?
My good friend Teresa visited today and among other things we talked about that painting. She is an interior designer, a skill I do not possess on any level (hence, picking a painting that doesn’t work well in my house).
“Should I just throw it away?“ I asked.
She looked at it thoughtfully and said, “I wouldn’t do that. Why don’t you repaint the sky and the sun? You could put in some more muted tones that would make it more suitable“ The fact that she thought I was capable of this was quite encouraging. I had a few dozen small containers of acrylic paint that I had not looked at nor opened in probably 15 years. Why not?
As soon as she left, I got to work. It felt rather touch and go the whole time. At one point I accidentally spilled a little orange paint in the sky and had to just blend it in and hope for the best. The final result, while not perfect, is a painting that I think I can find a place for on one of our walls. I would not have been brave enough to try it without her encouragement.
That’s the difference that a good friend can make.
Yes, I finally got out the carefully packed zipper bag of art supplies that I brought with me out West in April, having intended to do some Tiny Art out there. Hope springs eternal, apparently, since I have done this many times in the past and the result was the same as this time: Zip. Nada. Null and Void. But today, the muse struck me like a mallet hitting a gong. Tiny Art Happened.
Quirky flamingo with a serpentine neck:
This is the truth:
You’ll only get this next one if you know the song “Where have all the flowers gone?” If you do, you’ll be singing it for the next few hours – sorry.
Flower siblings:
And now you know what happens when inspiration strikes! Full disclosure: I copied all of these from art I found on Pinterest. But the words, as always, are mine (for what that’s worth).
Where have all the blog posts gone…long time passing?
Years ago I tried doing a daily art piece or comic that I put on Instagram. It lasted about 30 days. Here’s one of those since I haven’t had time to do anything remotely artsy lately. Of course, you may look at the item below and say to yourself “This isn’t remotely artsy either.” That would be fair.
Not artsy, but definitely true.
Deleting blog posts keeps me minimally flexible as a writer. In the morning.
I haven’t been up to much in the workshop lately. I have decided to self-publish my book Small Saul in the Big Bog, and because I am a frugal person, I also decided to try my hand at the illustrations.
Saul is described on the first page as being only four inches long, so my idea was to draw him on the page to scale to give the reader an idea of just how small he is. I found a photo of a bog lemming and enlarged it on the iPad screen until it fit into the four inches on my ruler.
In the photo, the bog lemming just puddled into the ground with no discernible feet, so I have taken the liberty of giving him some. You’re welcome, Small Saul. I don’t think I’ll get very far with doing my own illustrations, but I’ll try a few.
I did some research into self-publishing and immediately ran into problems with terminology issues, the issues being that I don’t understand the terminology of formatting the book. I might have to head over to YouTube to see if I can find “Book Formatting for Dummies.”
This post was formatted incorrectly and is therefore invalid; it will be deleted in the morning once I find a YouTube video showing “Deleting Blog Posts for Dummies.”
I’m going to feature a special guest artist this week. She’s six years old and loves to draw. Let’s call her “Lovey.” Lovey has been making drawings for me as soon as she could scribble on paper. As she got older, her work often featured hearts (lots of hearts!). When she was learning letters, she’d spell out the word “Grandma” as “Gramu.” I love those kinds of early spellings, don’t you?
On our recent visit, Lovey created a masterpiece, a drawing of the two of us. She apologized for using black for my hair, saying she didn’t have a gray pen, which made me laugh. I like the way we are wearing matching outfits and how slim I look standing next to her. It’s all in the artist’s interpretation, right?
She also created a bookmark for me which you can be sure I will treasure. She caught a good likeness of our cat, Luna!
Do I sound like a proud Grandma? Of course! But I think she shows early promise. Keep an eye out for her in the art world in years to come! In an effort to protect her privacy, I asked my AI servant to make a facsimile of her instead. So here it is, the AI version of Lovey, the Artist!
I’ll probably ask my AI servant to delete this in the morning.
I tackled a Renoir painting in my latest attempt to imitate the masters. “Tackled” feels about right. More on that later.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir lived from 1841 to 1919, a French artist who was a leader in the development of the Impressionist style of painting. His father was a tailor who moved his family to Paris in 1844 in hopes of finding a better living. Young Renoir was naturally talented at drawing, but (to my surprise) had an even greater talent for singing. Renoir took music lessons but had to quit at age 13 due to financial constraints. He became an apprentice in a clay factory at that time.
At age 21 he began studying art under Charles Gleyre in Paris, but still struggled to afford paint over the next years. By 1874 (age 33), he collaborated with artists like Monet and Pissarro to put on the First Impressionist Exhibition. By 1879 he had achieved success and some renown as an artist.
Later in life he developed rheumatoid arthritis, which eventually affected his ability to paint. He died at the age of 78 in 1919.
A Girl with a Watering Can was painted in 1876, an oil painting on canvas. It was apparently painted in Claude Monet’s garden, the little girl possibly a neighbor of Renoir’s. It is on exhibit at the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C.
Getting the proportions right continues to elude me, but since this painting was in the impressionist style, it left me some wiggle room for interpretation. As always, it is well nigh impossible to achieve the same effect with watercolor as an oil painting (at least for me). I labored the longest on mixing just the right color blue for the girl’s dress. Couldn’t get the facial colors or her expression right, though. I ended up being fairly pleased with how the lacy part of her dress turned out (but don’t look too closely at it).
This is my sixth painting in this series…and it might be my last. At the very least, I will be taking a break before going on with the next group of six.
If you’ve been following this series, which one was your favorite so far? Here they are again, to refresh your memory:
I think my favorite was Durer’s hare.
Au revoir!
I’ll probably be imitating deleting this in the morning.
Henri Emile Benoit Matisse was born in northern France in 1869, the son of a wealthy grain merchant. He didn’t start painting until he was 20 years old when his mother bought him some art supplies to keep him occupied while recovering from appendicitis. His decision to pursue art as a career disappointed his father deeply.
In 1896 he was introduced to Impressionism and the work of Vincent Van Gogh, which influenced him to change his color palette completely – from earth tones to bright colors. He began collecting expensive paintings that he couldn’t afford and went into debt.
The intense colors of his works between 1900 to 1905 made him one of the “Fauvists,” (wild beasts) of the art world, a style that was only popular for about 10 years. These paintings expressed emotion with wild, sometimes dissonant colors, often ignoring the natural colors of the subject.
When many fled France during WWII, he decided to stay, saying, “If everyone who has any value leaves France, what remains of France?” His daughter, active in the resistance, was caught and tortured by the Gestapo and sent to Ravensbruck, but she escaped from the train on the way there and survived.
Matisse died of a heart attack at age 84 in 1954, having spent the last decade of his life concentrating on paper cut-outs as an art medium.
“Pot of Geraniums” was painted in 1912, oil on linen. It is on display at the National Gallery of Art.
When I saw this one, I thought with only few colors and a simple design, it might not be too hard to copy. I was wrong, as usual!
It’s an adventure, that’s for sure. I almost gave up on this one, but decided to persevere.
Next up:
Renoir! Am I crazy? Watercolor will be pretty difficult with that dress of hers…
I’ll delete this wild beasts of a blog post in the morning.
Alas, I have not made enough progress on the Henri Matisse painting to feature it this week. I will try to console you in your deep (DEEP) disappointment over that by sharing some bunnies with you.
And for good measure, I’ll throw in an impromptu poem:
A bevy of bunnies, A riddle of rabbits, A houseful of hares, Those wascally wabbits!
You’re welcome.
It’s been my habit To delete my blabit Before the dawn Of the rascally rabbit.
This is week 4 in my series of “Imitating the Masters.” I’m actually surprised that I’ve kept up with it thus far. As promised, I worked on copying a Van Gogh painting this time.
Vincent Van Gogh was a Dutch post-impressionist painter, who lived from 1853 to 1890. If you do the math, that means he died at age 37 – more on that later. He was the very definition of tortured artist. He showed early signs of mental instability which he never really overcame. He worked as an art dealer as a young man. At one point, he threw himself into religion, probably hoping to defeat the demons in his life, and even spent time as a missionary in Belgium.
Eventually Vincent drifted into a life of solitude, having poor health as well. He was in and out of psychiatric hospitals with depression and psychotic episodes, and famously mutilated his ear with a razor in one of his bad spells. These days we would call him a “hot mess.” Most of what we know about him, we know from his correspondence with his brother Theo. The day came when he could endure life no more: he shot himself in the chest. This, amazingly, did not kill him. He was able to walk back to town, but two days later he died from an infection to the wound. His last words were “The sadness will last forever,” haunting words.
Over his lifetime, Van Gogh did over 2,100 pieces of art, coming to a style that featured bold colors and dramatic brush work. Over 800 of those paintings he did in his last two years! He painted “Van Gogh’s Chair” (also called “The Chair and the Pipe”) in 1888, using oil on canvas. I found out that the box in the painting was an onion box! He chose to paint this one in the complimentary colors of blue and orange and said that he “sought an effect of light with bright color.” It hangs in the National Gallery in London.
I have continued to struggle with getting proportions correct, something I’ll be working on in future paintings. I didn’t aim to get exact color matches; mine is a great deal brighter than Van Gogh’s. If you look carefully at mine, you’ll see a major change I made, putting my mark on the painting. Wink, wink.
Next week: Henri Matisse!
And now I’m singing to myself Don McLean’s song, “Starry, Starry Night,” about Vincent Van Gogh.
I’ll probably cram this into an onion box in the morning.
Lynniebeemuseoday 