Sometimes I like to challenge myself to paint from a photo of a real thing, rather than copying other people’s paintings. With that in mind, I made a list of things I’d like to paint this year and owls topped the list. Why? Who knows?
I found a nice photo and got started. You probably don’t want to know what happens in my head while I’m painting, but it’s something like, “Oh, that didn’t work like I thought it would,” and quickly escalates to something like, “Why, oh why did I puff myself up with the idea that I could actually paint something?!” I worked on this poor little owl for a while and finally got to where I couldn’t stand it. I was beginning to hate the very sight of it, so far was it from what I was trying to do. I set it aside and walked away.
A few hours later I walked back in to take another look and thought, “Gee, this isn’t as bad as I remembered it. I don’t hate it anymore.” I wonder sometimes if anyone else’s creative process is that twisted.
And now you know why each blog ends with something like “I’ll probably delete this in the morning.”
One minute I was thinking, “I’ll put some commonplace book quotes on my blog” and the next minute it was the next day. So today will be a combo Tuesday/Wednesday blog post in which you will read interesting things and look at my usual display of mediocre art.
However much you deny the truth, the truth goes on existing. George Orwell
That’ll preach.
Age appears to be best in four things: old wood is best to burn old wine to drink old friends to trust, and old authors to read. Francis Bacon
I can’t believe that FB forgot to mention cheese in that list.
Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes; the rest sit round and pluck blackberries. Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Earth’s crammed with heaven…I’m savoring that one.
The more I study science, the more I believe in God. Albert Einstein
That’ll preach, too.
The ultimate aim is not to escape anxiety, but to allow it to usher us into the healing presence of Jesus Christ. CH Spurgeon
That’s a good one to think of in the night seasons when anxieties do their best haunting.
And now, the Return of Tiny Art!
Ha ha – I just realized it looks like I wrote “The LADYBUG fakes a NAP…” which is quite droll. Let’s pretend that I meant to write it that way.
What does your cup runneth over with?
I’ll probably runneth this post over in the morning.
I am sitting in the cold room in front of a heater.
Yet my hands are still cold and the heat has been swallowed up in the distance between me and it.
This is January in Minnesota. Those of us who live here understand that “as the days lengthen, the cold strengthens.” The Lord God made it so. Rejoice…and fill up the hot water bottle.
I’ll probably need to thaw this one out in the morning.
Long ago, a simpleton named Simon was walking along a dusty, deserted road and saw a small city up ahead on a hill. The entrance was at the highest part of the hill, so it was a bit of a slog to get there. But Simon needed a place to stay for the night and it was the only town in sight.
At last, Simon saw the city gates. Two women, identical twins, stood at the entrance. They called out simultaneously, “Whoever is simple, turn in here!” It was odd – their voices saying the same thing should have had a pleasing unity, but instead the sound was discordant. The one on the left beckoned to Simon, saying, “Don’t listen to my sister. She will only tell you lies.” The one on the right laughed and replied, “The liar accuses me of lying.” Turning to Simon she said, “Listen and think for yourself, esteemed visitor.”
The one on the left spoke again. “There are two doors into this city. We are the doorkeepers. You may only enter by one door, mine or my sister’s. Pay heed, for the wrong choice will bring you much sorrow.”
Simon asked, “How will I know which door to enter?”
The twin on the right answered, “You must listen to our invitations. It is not complicated. My sister is already trying to frighten you, but I can tell that you are not the kind of person to be easily frightened.”
The woman on the left addressed Simon, “You are simple, you lack understanding, but I can help you. Won’t you listen to me?”
Simon the simpleton was a little put off by being called simple and without understanding (there’s a reason he was known as a simpleton, after all.)
The woman on the right called out, “Sister, you said a true word there. This fellow is simple, he lacks understanding. But he’s also clearly more attuned to my voice than yours.” To him, she said, “Come closer and I will tell you what you want to hear.”
But Simon decided he should listen to both invitations to be fair. He turned to the left and gestured for her to begin.
“I have prepared a meal for you, the best meat is on my plate, roasted to perfection. See what bread I have baked. It is made from golden grains that drank sunshine all the day long. I have wine for you to drink, mixed with fruit and spices. It is a meal that will satisfy you and give you life.”
It is a good speech, one that Simon wished he could have paid complete attention to, but while she was speaking, her twin was banging on old pots and making a clamor. Still, he got enough to know that the invitation was to a meal, and it reminded him that he was very hungry. He turned to the right to hear the other invitation.
“My sister wants to fill you up with her simple food. Don’t you know that it’s cruel to kill animals to eat their meat? How could you possibly enjoy that? Doesn’t wine dull your senses? Be careful – there’s trickery on her plate! And where’s the excitement in such fare as she has to offer? She thinks to satisfy you with wine, but I know of a well that has the clearest, purest water which is only fit for kings. It would be simplicity itself for you and I to steal some of that, and the thrill of stealing it would make it sweeter than wine. As for bread…”
And here she gestured for Simon to come closer, whereupon she whispered in his ear. “I have bread that is best eaten in secret, if you know what I mean.” A broad wink and a smile accompanied that last part and Simon flushed with pleasure.
Ah, what a choice. Each sister had spoken to Simon’s simple heart. There was something in the invitation from the right, however, that had begun to entice Simon’s mind and fill his senses. Almost without thinking, he began to walk toward her door, but at the last moment, he looked over to the other sister and saw a look on her face that stopped him. There was light, love and compassion shining from her eyes. Simon was completely undone and suddenly aware that he had been guilty of the most preposterous foolishness.
The sister on the right began her clamor with banging on pots again, but it was too late. Simon walked toward the door on the left and asked, “Might I know your name, fair lady?”
“You may. I am called Wisdom and my sister is Folly. Had you entered her door, you would have joined the company of the dead in hell. Go through my door where your days will be multiplied and years of life will be added to you.” She held the door open for him.
Simon accepted the invitation and walked into the light.
I got another new set of paints entitled “Woodlands.”
Even the name “Woodlands” felt poetical, so naturally, poetry ensued. The first one isn’t so much a poem as it is a bunch of phrases using the names of the paints in the palette (in bold). The second one had me reaching further for the images I wanted.
Woodlands I I walk the sand ridge Till I see a cavern in the mist, And a bear in its shadows. Looking for daylight, I cross the stream, Stepping on gray stones. Suddenly, I’m in the thick of redwoods And deep moss And foxberry bushes. At last I see the blue-green glitter Of sunlight on the pond.
I was a bit perplexed by the color “foxberry,” but decided that if there is a foxberry, there must be a foxberry bush.
Woodlands II The woodlands call – Pine-scented voice, Checkered sunlight, Scattered bird song, Skittering critters, Whispering leaves, Glitter-green pond, Fallen acorns, And the deep dense presence Of the LORD God Almighty.
I might write out the second one in the blue space at the top of the painting. Thoughts? Opinions? Critiques?
I sense that a squirrel will gnaw on this post with its strong jaws and teeth in the morning.
I’ve been watching a show called “Portrait Artist of the Year,” in which 12 artists compete during each episode to win and go on to the next level. They get four hours to paint the subject (various people of note). It’s fascinating to watch how differently these artists tackle their paintings. There are three judges and two other people whose only purpose seems to be to chat up these poor artists who are working so hard to get done on time. I’ve quite enjoyed it. It takes place in the UK, which means you also get to listen to a wide variety of charming accents in the mix.
But as I’ve said before, doing a portrait of any kind is difficult. Watching so many extremely talented people start with a blank canvas and end up with recognizable people on it after four hours is a marvel, even with all the variety in styles.
On that note, here’s a sketch I attempted of my brother.
If I were really brave, I’d show you the photo that’s based on. But I’m not. Also, I can’t imagine spending four hours (or more) on a single painting, so you can tell I’m not very disciplined.
I reverted back to animals after that. Specifically some owls.
When they do a show based on bad sketches done in very little time, I might have a shot.
It’s a windy, gray day today. My tea has cooled and I’m trying to decide whether or not I want to get up and put it in the microwave. There’s a loaf of sourdough bread baking in the oven. I have high hopes it will turn out better than the last one. The clock that my mother embroidered says that it’s 4:00. I grew up looking at that clock and probably never really appreciated the artistry of it.
That’s all for the musings o’ day. It’s time to share some thoughts and quotes from my commonplace book.
Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence. George Washington
Good advice from George. Perhaps he got burned once giving someone his confidence and was betrayed. Oh wait…
Tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip. Winston Churchill
Ha ha! I suppose a statesman needs to have that kind of tact at the ready. I’m not sure that WC was known for his tact, though, as much as for his razor sharp wit. I would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of it.
Don’t ever take a fence down until you know why it was put up. Robert Frost
There’s a lot more to that saying than meets the eye. Think about it the next time you find yourself thinking about removing a boundary that is inconveniencing you. Perhaps the removal of it will bring consequences that are worse than inconvenience.
Live slowly enough to be able to think deeply about God. J.I. Packer
Live s-l-o-w-l-y and think DEEPLY about God. You’re going to need to be reading your Bible to get on with that.
And now you can also think deeply about this beautifully embroidered clock.
When the sourdough bread gets crusty, this post will get dusty. And deleted.
My brother achieved 70 years recently, so naturally a poem had to be written in honor of this grand event.
That’s him on the left and me on the right when we were young and splashy
Seventy years hath David B. “I don’t feel very old,” said he. “Speak for yourself,” opined one knee, While his back groaned, saying “Golly gee!”
David objected, “I feel quite spry.” His neck interjected, “That’s a lie!” His bones just creaked with a little sigh, And his brain took a break, saying “no reply.”
But David persisted, “I’m fit as a fiddle!” His ears said, “What? Did he said ‘riddle?’” “No rich food,” said his tummy in the middle, (“But chocolate’s okay, if it’s just a little.”)
“I guess I’m getting on in years,” Old David said, now switching gears. “But full speed ahead! No time for tears.” And the crowd around him gave three cheers.
So three cheers for David B! (In three years, that will be me!)
Did you know that this post is getting on in years? Time to delete!
Aside from minor differences, one animal is pretty much like another of its kind. If you paint one robin, you’ve painted them all. There’s not a lot that distinguishes them from each other, although I’ll grant that treasured pets might have a spark of uniqueness that would give their owners an ability to pick theirs out among others with the same features if they were looking at photos. Maybe. This is why I like painting animals.
Humans have faces that are each completely unique (yes even twins – and I should know!). Each person has been specially crafted by their Maker and they bear His stamp. Unlike beavers or golden retrievers or chickadees, there is no “one-description-fits-all” for human beings. We have, each of us, broken the mold, so to speak. What you recognize in the people you know and love is almost intangible, but it is unmistakable. It is much harder to capture that essence in a painting.
My dear friend Martha sent me a painting for my birthday a couple months ago. Tears came to my eyes when I opened the envelope and took it out. It’s our little granddaughter – it’s HER! (Martha and I share a grandchild, having had the good providence of my son marrying her daughter.) I was just blown away by this beautiful, skillful and extravagant gift.
Of course, Martha is not responsible for the ugly black blot on the bottom. There’s a name underneath it and you don’t get to know it. Not on this blog, anyway.
Thank you again and again, Martha!
Will I delete this? Probably? Maybe? It’s a mystery and you don’t get to know it.
Today is Epiphany, the official end to the Christmas season. Have you taken your Christmas decorations down? Ours are scheduled to go back into hiding today. When I was a child, I was so sad about Christmas being over that I made a chain of 365 paper rings to count down until the next Christmas. What an astonishing display of industry! By mid-summer I was sick of it and threw it away.
Here are a few words from my Commonplace book to enrich your day. You’re welcome.
Every day, we should hear at least one little song, read one good poem, see one exquisite picture, and if possible, speak a few sensible words. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
If you haven’t gotten started on that today yet, get going!
We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out. Winston Churchill
I go into “babble mode” sometimes when there’s too much silence in a conversation. Words slip out and there are regrets.
Discipline is choosing between what you want now, and what you want most. Abraham Lincoln
Words to encourage you when it’s 20 degrees out and you’d rather stay home than go swim laps. Oh, I guess that’s just me.
It’s a sin to be boring. Elisabeth Elliot
The trouble is, when we’re being boring, we don’t always KNOW we’re being boring. See above about “babble mode.” But point taken, Elisabeth. I suspect that if you do what Wolfgang said above, you will never be boring.
Let’s pretend that’s an exquisite picture and you can cross that off Wolfgang’s list. And just to show you how much I care about you, I’ll end this with a “good” poem. Now all you have to do is hear a little song and say a few sensible words. You’re on your own for that.
I’ve often repeated This might be deleted. You should believe me I wouldn’t deceive thee.
Lynniebeemuseoday 