Every year summer happens. This is not a surprise. Summer means lots of time in Mineral King. It means paintings of Mineral King get sold at the Silver City Store. This is not a surprise either.
Every year I am just certain that this will be The Year I Paint Ahead. This year I actually am painting ahead, but that’s because the Redbud Festival is next weekend, May 3-4. Then, if Mineral King paintings haven’t sold, I’ll be a little bit ahead for summer in Mineral King.
A painting begins with a flip through my extensive photos of Mineral King to see which ideas float my boat. No matter how many terrific views there are, Farewell Gap with the Crowley Cabin is the most popular. The Honeymoon Cabin is always #2, and Sawtooth is next. After that, no discernible difference. No matter what, always always always have a painting (or two or three) of Farewell Gap on hand, in multiple sizes if possible. (I keep the words “Farewell Gap” on a sign in my painting workshop in case I forget. . . Middle-Aged Mush Brain requires more reminders than Youth.)
I chose the canvas sizes that are most likely to sell (this IS a business), put hardware on the back along with the title and an inventory #.
Sometimes I “draw” the painting with a brush first.
Sometimes I do two paintings at the same level of progress. (I almost wrote “at the same time”, but then you might think I am painting with both hands. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not THAT good.) If I’m going to mix the paint color, I might as well mix enough for two!
These are drying. The top one might need more detail and a signature, the second one needs wildflowers and a signature, and the bottom one may just need a signature.
There is cat hair on my computer keyboard and Perkins is on my lap. It makes it awkward to type, but my boy might know that Mineral King season is coming, and he isn’t invited. We miss each other, and that is the season when I lose cats. Perkins has survived 15 summers while his comrades have been picked off, one by one. It ain’t all roses and lollipops in Three Rivers. . . sigh.
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