Sunday, October 23, 2011

Painting the Night

I've always loved the dark. Perhaps it began while growing up in a secluded hollow with no electricity. I dream of being able to get away from the city lights that surround my current home; there is no true darkness where I can enjoy the beauty of the night. I regret that my grandson never knew the thrill of playing hide and seek in the dark and that millions of city dwellers will never be able to see the Milky Way or appreciate starlight. And so I compensate these days by doing night time paintings from time to time.

I've already mentioned the recent workshop I took from Marc Hanson. One of the things I admire about Marc is that he loves the dark as much as I do. He actually spent a month doing two small paintings each night in the dark. Marc also has the artistic capability to create night time paintings from daytime scenes, something I was determined to learn while he was here.

The painting you see above was done in one morning. Its inspiration was a photograph taken on a late afternoon when sunlight was streaming over the hill in summer time; everything was mostly green. Marc declared it a successful painting and commented that I might consider adding just a few stars but only if I wanted to. Mission accomplished. Although I can't often enjoy true darkness, I can always do paintings that will take me there.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Why Take A Workshop?



























As someone who has been painting for many years, I sometimes wonder why I continue to take workshops - not that I take that many; usually just one every year or two.


But sometimes an artist comes to town whom I greatly admire and I just can't resist. Last summer it was Marc Hanson who lives in Taylors Falls, Minnesota. Not only does he use the muted subtle colors that I love but he also paints beautiful nocturnal paintings. This was my chance to learn from a master.


Featured today is one of the paintings I completed during the workshop. No one will ever say it looks like a photograph but that wasn't my goal. It was about 5:30 on an October afternoon and a golden light was streaming over the hill when I took the picture. My workshop goal was to capture the peaceful feeling I felt that day while standing on the banks of 13-Mile Creek that flows past the farm where I grew up.


Those of you who attend art workshops know that students should never expect to produce outstanding paintings while trying to learn techniques that are foreign to them. With that thought in mind, I simply threw myself into trying to learn as much as I could in a short three days. Is this painting a masterpiece? Of course not. I can see things that I will change if I ever paint the same scene again. But I do sense that feeling of peace and calm I was trying so hard to capture. Mission accomplished.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

My Princess Dress





The elementary school granddaughter of a friend was recently assigned the task of writing about her favorite piece of clothing. Her little story was then shared with me and another mutual friend.

Since the three of us are interested in preserving our family histories, we collectively decided to write our own memories about our favorite pieces of clothing. I was subsequently treated to two lovely stories - one about a white wool blazer that was lovingly hand made and given as a Christmas surprise to a teenager who thought she'd never own such a thing and the other about a favorite soft yellow dress that was worn when meeting a future husband and has been kept ever since.

Here is the story of my own favorite piece of clothing:

MY PRINCESS DRESS

My Grandma Burns was a seamstress for many of the ladies in Leon, West Virginia. She made all of my clothes, including my winter coats, until I was in high school. Even then, I continued to wear her creations interspersed with a few purchased items such as sweaters and scarves.

Many of my childhood dresses were made from cotton feedsacks. Before I proceed to the story about my princess dress, I should explain what feedsacks were for the sake of generations who will not otherwise know. A little research on the internet provided details about feedsacks that never entered my mind as a child. Here is a condensed history of feedsacks:

Early in the history of our country such things as flour, sugar, and grain were shipped in wooden barrels. Between 1840 and 1890 cotton sacks replaced those barrels. At first the sacks were plain unbleached cotton with product brands printed on them. In order for women to use these bags they first had to remove the labels. Housewives used such methods as soaking in kerosene or rubbing with lard followed by scrubbing with lye soap. Fels-Naptha soap and chlorine bleach made things a little easier when they came along.

In spite of heroic efforts the entire label didn't always come off and sometimes it didn't seem worth the bother - especially when making underwear. As a result, some amusing stories arose regarding feedsack underwear. For instance, "A young girl was out walking with her beau when she tripped and fell. Imagine her embarrassment when he saw 'Southern Best' printed on her under pants." And then there was the story about the woman who made her husband's drawers from a feedsack and left the words 'self rising' on the cloth.

Around 1925 feedsack makers began producing colorful prints that housewives could use for making dresses, aprons, and children's clothing. They pasted on the labels, making them easier to remove. Woman began choosing flour, sugar, beans, rice, cornmeal, and even the feed and fertilizer for the family farm based on which fabrics they wanted. Printed feedsacks lasted into the 1950s. The picture I've posted here is a sample of the patterns that were available.

Keep in mind that farm women bought these commodities in large quantities. For instance, I remember my dad walking home from the store with 25-pound bags of flour and sugar on each shoulder. It was more than a mile up and down hills each way. No wonder he was skinny! The 5 pound bags of flour and sugar that we buy today would never have made my princess dress but a standard 100-pound feedsack averaged about 37X43 inches when unstitched and laid flat. Chicken feed and other livestock feed that we used came in those 100-pound bags.

Of all my feedsack dresses, one clearly stands out - my princess dress. In fact it's the only childhood dress that I remember specifically. Although Grandma could cut her own patterns, she occasionally bought a pattern if a new style came along. In this case it was called a princess-style pattern and she made much of the fact that she was going to make a special dress for me.

The feedsacks were white with tiny red flowers and little green leaves all over. The dress had puffed sleeves, a white pique collar, and little red buttons all the way down the front. It was gored from top to bottom. Fitted at the top, the seams continued past the waist and flared out into a wonderful full skirt that stood out almost straight when I spun around and around (which I was not allowed to do except at home because it showed my panties).

Grandma called it my princess dress because it was made from her princess-style pattern but Dad took one look and said, "No! It's called a princess dress because Sallie Anne looks like a princess in it!" I believed him.

I was a scrawny nine or ten years old at the time and beginning to put on the growth spurt that would take me to my final 5 feet and 6 inches by the time I was twelve. It seemed that every time I went to church Milton Burdette made some comment about either my height or my weight or both. "When are you going to stop growing? You look like you'd melt if a raindrop fell on you. Look at those teeny little arms and legs. How tall are you going to get anyway?" And every week I dreaded seeing him coming. Until I got my princess dress. If Dad said I looked like a princess, then I was a princess.

That dress gave me the confidence to look Milton Burdette in the eyes and answer back rather than standing in silence as I usually did. Although I would never have been allowed to be rude, I found myself able to say things like, "When I'm ready!" and "Maybe I'll get taller than you!" Even as a child I understood that Milton didn't like that last comment because he was a short man. And, yes, Milton was an adult who should have known better than to say such things to a sensitive child - especially since he was a member of the teaching profession.

I wore that dress until it practically fell apart. At one point my mom said people were going to think I didn't have any other clothes because I wanted to wear it to church every Sunday. I remember that Grandma let down the hem at least once - perhaps more. She always put wide hems in my dresses for just that purpose.

It's strange that I've forgotten whether Milton stopped teasing me or whether it just didn't bother me any more. But I will never forget my princess dress. In it, I became a brave and beautiful princess and it really didn't matter what Milton Burdette or anyone else might say. Thank you, Grandma. Thank you, Dad.