I have a wonderful friend who is battling brain cancer. She had a second malignant tumor removed last week. She came into my life about six years ago when she moved next door. Since then we've shared a lot – including several years of hour-long walks every morning through our neighborhood and the adjoining ones.
One gets to know a person through and through on walks like this. Her history, her joys, her hopes, her fears. I learned that she had actually developed a list of 100 things she wanted to see and do before she died and she was methodically keeping track of her progress. Although many people talk about such things, almost no one ever does it.
Last fall she bought the dulcimer she has always wanted to play.
Life hasn't been the same this past year as she has struggled valiantly to overcome one of the worst nightmares that anyone will ever face.
I gave up walking when she couldn't walk with me but, this week, I made myself go alone. As I was walking along the sidewalk in the early morning, I suddenly realized I was walking down a path of brilliant diamonds sparkling in the sun. Although they were only tiny sparkles of light and had no monetary value whatsoever, they were as beautiful, or more so, than any diamond gemstone. No matter how fast I walked, there they were – spread out in front of me as far as my eyes could see. It was a vision that could never be captured with a camera or in a painting - sheer beauty in a concrete sidewalk.
I am hoping with all my heart that, one day, my friend will be able to walk with me again. Meanwhile, I have realized that taking one more walk with her along an ordinary sidewalk that the sun has turned to unexpected diamonds would be more precious than anything to me.
Not much can match the experience of painting outdoors in the spring if you're an artist. There is one caveat. Painting outdoors is more difficult than it seems because you're tempted to try to paint every leaf, every twig, and every blade of grass. That's where you quickly learn that the best you can do is try to capture an illusion of what you're seeing and feeling. That's where you learn that green isn't just green. You are guaranteed to use up lots of art supplies without anything to show for it at first. Many artists give up. Those who persevere will see color in a different way for the rest of their lives.
Last Friday dawned clear and beautiful. The pine pollen had subsided (somewhat), mosquitoes, gnats, and chiggers hadn't hatched, and the birds were singing their hearts out. It was a day made for painting outdoors – especially after braving the elements the week before and painting in dull, gray, cloudy, gloomy, light.
Given the choice, most of the Southern Colours artists chose to visit the same location where three of us painted the prior week. There we were, spread out along the pond and the trail with all of our supplies, determined to capture the glorious light of a perfect spring day. This week, I chose to paint the head of the muddy little creek that flows into the pond.
The painting you see above isn't finished. I was working with oil paints and the surface got too wet to go further. But look at the illusion of light compared to last week's painting.
What a difference a day makes!
P.S. After getting it home, I realized that I can turn this painting upside down and still have a painting, depending upon how I choose to finish it. I probably won't do that but I could. Is that exciting or what?
After planning all week to paint outdoors, today's forecast was severe thunder storms with lightning and possible hail. Dawn brought dark foreboding skies and dire warnings from the weather channel. What a disappointment!
Today was to have been an exercise in creating an outdoor painting using favorite artist, Marc Hanson's, basic palette: lemon yellow, permanent red, ultramarine blue, and white. I planned for it all week. The car was packed and ready to go. After all of the anticipation, I couldn't stand the thought of painting indoors. What to do?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I met two other brave artists, Sally Arnold and Beth Stallings, at the appointed place. We quickly decided that staying near our cars was a good idea, just in case we had to grab everything and go.
That decided, we discovered a lovely view across the pond practically right in front of us. Sally even found a post on which to rest her paints after she discovered she'd left her easel at home. Three hours later, we had each made good progress toward completing passable paintings. Do they look like Marc Hanson's paintings? Nope. Beth's painting looks like Beth, my painting looks like me, and Sally's painting looks sort of like Marc Hanson's.
We learned a lot by creating paintings with only a few colors – colors we wouldn't necessarily have used if left to our own devices. We also learned that it's sometimes better to take a chance than to have regrets. It didn't rain, it didn't thunder, and it didn't hail. Although the little painting above got too wet to finish and will never be a masterpiece, I'm glad I spent my morning outdoors with two good friends while learning something new.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I have a wonderful friend who is battling brain cancer. She had a second malignant tumor removed last week. She came into my life about six years ago when she moved next door. Since then we've shared a lot – including several years of hour-long walks every morning through our neighborhood and the adjoining ones.
