Yesterday’s “Painting in Church” post ended with Music Man turning on the stage lights for me. He also said it was as if I had read his mind in how the mural extension should look, and he had a suggestion for extending the ridges that was altogether excellent.
I felt a little bit stuck. Maybe a few branches extending to the left of the door are in order.
This is hard. I don’t know what I am doing.
That’s it for Day One. I was getting sloppy and stupid, a dangerous state, particularly when combined with having slept poorly the night before, skipping lunch and being a little bit lazy.
I really thought I could do the left side in one morning and the right side in a second morning?
Two years later, I added snow covered mountains in the distance.
Yesterday, I began adding to the left side, thinking a few trees would do the trick.
First I studied the wall, then I added 2 lines where I thought it needed trees.
Inadequate. It needs more trees and some ground so the trees aren’t just floating, or sprouting out of the carpet.
Wholly inadequate. The meadow needs to be extended.
The Music Man came by and turned on the stage lights for me. This showed me that I didn’t know what I was doing, and it was too dark to mix the greens correctly. Should have had lunch. Wish I’d slept better the night before.
I thought I’d do the left side one day, the right side a second day.
Fall down laughing.
Come back tomorrow to see the progress once the stage lights were on.
Last weekend began with setting up the for the Redbud Festival on Friday, taking photographs of how everything fit together, then packing all the merchandise into boxes and moving it inside the Memorial Building for the night.
On Saturday morning, I went to a memorial service for the father of a dear friend. It was a bit of a reunion, but instead of hanging around with old pals, I jetted off to Arts Visalia to teach a drawing workshop.
I was sort of hoping that no one would sign up so that I could just hang around with my old buddies, but a few days before, 4 people signed up. When I arrived at the gallery, I learned there were 6 participants. Then I learned that the drawing pencils were no longer in the closet in the workshop room. Well, oops.
So, the gallery director got a short list together, disappeared for about 45 minutes, and reappeared with some drawing pencils. We made do with the other supplies I had brought along, and the class of 6 was a compatible, enjoyable, personable group who did very well!
Redbud, indoor booth in 2017
Meanwhile, some friends were working our shared booth at the Redbud Festival. The show organizer called me at the end of the drawing workshop to ask if I was okay with leaving all my merchandise outside overnight underneath the patio overhang where we were situated. I thought that the overnight security sounded secure, so I agreed. That way my friends wouldn’t have to take it down, pack it up and schlep it all inside, nor would I need to reverse the process on Sunday morning.
This is how it looked before the beautiful slab furniture, felted purses, knitted hats, and tie-dyed baby clothes were added. The tables looked great sitting beneath the paintings, and the colorful fabric items were on a table to the left.
Redbud Festival hasn’t happened for 2 years, and this year it was organized at the last minute. We no longer have a newspaper in town, and there are so many methods of communication that it is a wonder anyone can learn anything at all. As a result, there weren’t many vendors, and not many visitors, but this allows for longer conversations with the visitors and opportunities to get to know the other vendors a bit more than usual.
I walked to the Memorial Building on Sunday morning and learned that sales were steady on Saturday. Sales were slower on Sunday, but also steady. The number of packages of cards that sold was astonishing, particularly since they are now $10 a package. I joked that next year I will just rent one square foot and bring my card spinner. Yes, paintings sold, but they require the screens, which makes the set-up and break-down quite time-consuming, and I get a little bit older every year. (Thank you, Captain Obvious.)
Breaking down the show was the easiest it has ever been. Because we were on the patio, I simply lifted everything up to the driveway, with the Botmobile very close at hand and Trail Guy there to use his master packing skills.
The screens almost blew over on Saturday. Someone had some rope and tied the whole apparatus to the vertical pole.
Now, I need to get some new paintings done to sell at Silver City Resort. Chopchop!
After obsessing over the wildflowers on the hillside behind my house, I headed to the painting workshop to paint some of my own wildflowers.
But wait! There are other flowers in bloom in the yard, and they also deserve attention. I picked some Lemon Geranium to put in a vase near my work station, because it keeps mosquitos away. (in theory)
Wait! I can’t work on that piece today. It doesn’t have the tight deadline that the Redbud Festival is pressurizing me with. IT IS TOMORROW, 10-5 at the Three Rivers Memorial Building and SUNDAY, 10-4.
Get to work, Central California artist! Chopchop.
I love this view of Franklin Creek, at the upper crossing, below the dam.
Mineral King Wildflowers, 6×18″, oil on wrapped canvas, $165 (plus that pesky California sales tax).
Then I finished this 6×6″ poppy.
I have more finished little paintings for the Redbud Festival but you might have to go to the show to see them.
Maybe I’ll show you those other flowers in the yard on Monday’s post. Or maybe I will tell you that I sold everything at the Redbud Festival. Or maybe nothing will have sold and I will invite you to a bonfire.
“She” means me. Loving flowers is a cliché, and as someone who normally marches to the beat of a different drummer, it is a little embarrassing to admit how much I love flowers. After all, who DOESN’T??
Oh well. I am 62 years old, and I can say and do (almost) whatever I want. Of course there are consequences to one’s choices, but I don’t see any downside to admitting that I love flowers.
One morning, the local crew of superior weed-eaters showed up at 7. In my opinion, they could have waited a week. However, these guys are popular, and we wanted to get on their list sooner rather than later. And if they come early in the day on a day that isn’t hot, there is less fire danger.
BUT THE HILLSIDE STILL HAD FLOWERS!
So, I was out there at 6:30, doing something I NEVER do: picking wildflowers. The Fairy Lanterns were so good this year. What if we weed-eated (weed-ate?) too soon and there won’t be enough seeds to bloom next year??
At least I have my photos.
Maybe they’ll last longer on the front porch.
How about from the other angle?
Or some close-ups:
Okay, how about seeing them straight-on:
Let’s observe a moment of silence for the end of spring, the demise of the the wildflowers behind my house and everywhere. . .
Since we are nearing the end of my favorite time of year, I thought I’d give you a break from watching painted flowers develop and show you a bit of the rest of my world at the time I was painting that bouquet.
There are many distractions when one works at home.
First, my neighbor has this incredible plant, and I don’t know the name, but the deer haven’t eaten it yet, so I NEED the name, because I NEED this color.
The mail came, and it contained a package of 2 new yarns. I haven’t talked about knitting for awhile; didn’t want to lose any more readers than I’ve already lost because the emailed subscriptions don’t show photos on people’s phones. (Still unsolved; my web designer is still too busy.)
The pinkish red yarn might exactly match the few remaining flowering quince. As a self-proclaimed color junkie, I had to check, and yeppers, it matches. (Destined to be a baby blanket).
I also needed to know if the lavender matched my blooming lilacs.. Nope, not quite. This one is destined to become another sweater that I don’t need; my knitting is a continual triumph of hope over experience, just like my gardening efforts. Sometimes I get lucky and all the parts work out. Usually the sleeves are too tight or too loose, the buttons keep falling off, the ends don’t stay woven in, I find a dropped stitch after wearing it several times, the collar won’t lie down, it is too short and fat, it is too long and tight. . . you get the idea. (Baby blankets always fit their recipients.)
I really did have some work to do that day. When one is an artist in a small town (the sign for Three Rivers says 2600 but I don’t know if all those people really live here) where one’s life overlaps with friends on many levels, one is often privileged to help out. This was fun, but definitely best viewed from the back of a fast horse. (Would take too long to explain and I’ve already stretched your attention span by going on and on about color and knitting.).
On one of my trips back to the house (a 30 second trip on the Zapato Express*), the light was beautiful on the hillside.
The green and the wildflowers are so fleeting; my daffodils no longer look like this.
So, even though all this distraction and sidetraction (that’s a good word, don’t you agree?) is taking me from my real work, I believe that it is an artist’s obligation to absorb as much beauty as possible whenever it is available. That’s part of the business of art.
What is a blog? It is a web log, an online journal, shortened to blog.
What is a blogiversary? It is blog anniversary.
Yesterday was my 12th blogiversary. That is 12 years of posting 5 days a week about the business of art, life in Three Rivers/rural Tulare County, peculiar sights, a (rare) visit to another place, things I learn, and always, Mineral King. That is approximately 3,350 posts.
Today I am just giving you some photographs of beautiful things in my little world. It has nothing to do with the business of art, other than an awareness of beauty which I believe is the basis of good art (“good” as I define the word).
Thank you for hanging with me through the years, or thank you for joining up somewhere along the way.
By my own distinction between hike and walk, this was actually a short hike, because we took packs with food and water. It was bee-yoo-tee-ful—green, wildflowers, blue sky with puffy white clouds, and it wasn’t hot yet.
Goldfields are on the left; bird’s eye gilia on the right.
Popcorn flowers
This one is a brodiaea called “Pretty Face”, or “Golden brodiaea”.
I didn’t take a lot of photos, in spite of the good variety of wildflowers. It was good to simply be there. I wasn’t even tempted to put together a new book of foothill wildflowers—completely off-work, completely in the moment.
“She” means me. Loving flowers is a cliché, and as someone who normally marches to the beat of a different drummer, it is a little embarrassing to admit how much I love flowers. After all, who DOESN’T??
