Too Hard, Part Three

A few years ago, my mom and I visited Blowing Rock, North Carolina. This is where her mom, my G’ma grew up. We were exploring a bit, and I took a few photos of a little creek near G’ma’s homestead. Mom expressed an interest in having me paint this for her, and I have been procrastinating for 5 years. The point of this procrastination is to acquire more skill.

I’ve been messing with this painting that is too hard for me for several days in a row. Finally, I got an idea.

Since I took the photo and it is on my computer, I pulled it onto the screen and enlarged each murky spot so I could see what I was trying to paint. It’s pretty stinkin’ hard to paint things that I can’t see, and I finally accepted and understood that I cannot see what all those dark murky things are.

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Look at that! The colors are brighter and the details appear on the laptop screen.

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Now I have lots of rocks in the closer water area.

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It’s hard to tell anything in the full sized photo, either as an 8×10″ or on the screen. But when each thing is enlarged, VOILA!

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I THINK THIS IS GOING TO BE FINE!

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Excuse me for shouting. I’m so relieved. It is too wet to photo (too shiny). It is too big for the scanner, so maybe I will get a good photo when it dries, and maybe not.

Phew. Christmas is 2 days away.

Too Hard, Part Two

When something is too hard, we go slowly. Think about a steep trail. Think about moving a heavy piece of furniture.

S L O W L Y.

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The background, the part where the sunlight is brightest, and the bank to the right of that area is beginning to make sense.

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Ick. This is terrible, and there are too many dark rocks. The colors are all either dark brown or something sort of greenish-brownish-gray. Why did Mom and I like this scene so much?

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Best viewed from the back of a fast horse.

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Hey! this is looking significantly better! I’ll tell you why tomorrow.

This scene is near Blowing Rock, North Carolina, and is significant to my Mom. I hope to finish it by Christmas AND have it dry enough to transport.

 

Too Hard

Since spending hours working on a painting that is too hard for me (i.e. “above my pay grade”), I’ve been thinking about how we handle things in life that are too hard. . . we take them S L O W L Y.

I can’t remember when I started this painting. It was many drawings, paintings and at least three murals ago. Many projects with real deadlines interfered with the progress. Finally, I decided to finish this to give to my Mom for Christmas. It’s okay – she doesn’t have a computer or know what a “blog” is.

It has been lurking in the background for months. This was last spring. I got the basic shapes on canvas and decided it was too hard.

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It kept asking for attention, so I dabbed at it a bit more.

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This was how it looked in July. It is also how it looked in December, when I decided it was TIME. Nope, past time.

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What’s to be afraid of? Paint slowly, one tiny area at a time. Mix the colors, dab at the canvas in the areas you know how to handle.

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The areas are beginning to get defined.

Whoa. This is too hard. I have to stop and breathe.

Oh – it is near Blowing Rock, North Carolina. Don’t mention this if you see my Mom, okay?

Easier a Little Bit Too Hard

That was an awkward title. See yesterday’s title and post about “a little bit too hard” and then maybe this will make sense.

Still a little bit too hard, but not as difficult as The Flower Girl.

This is Grandma’s Creek. It is where my Grandma grew up, outside of Blowing Rock, North Carolina. Oh so very beautiful, and maybe, just maybe, with enough layers I can capture the feeling.

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Blobs, big areas and little “landmarks” on the canvas. Holy cow, why am I doing this when the photo itself is a thing of beauty?

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A bit more detail, beginning in the upper left corner. Leaves can’t be all that hard – I certainly have painted them many times before. But I don’t even know what kind these are!!

Grandma may have referred to a creek as a “branch”. They talk funny in North Carolina, such as saying they will “carry you to the airport”. Wow, they must be strong there!

Never mind.

Back to the easel. . . feeling inspired by beauty, challenged by the subject matter, wanting to excel in my skill as an oil painter.

And More Redbud Festival

It got busy at the Redbud Festival in Three Rivers at the Memorial Building this year. As usual, I saw a ton of people I knew, but I also got to meet new people. The standout to me was meeting Earl from BLOWING ROCK NORTH CAROLINA!! Really! I am that excited! That is where my G’ma grew up, and I visited there in 2010 and just fell in love with the place. And Earl is going to be a friend, I just know it. He came back on Sunday and told me about some books he has written. When I am finished with this series of blog posts, I will be searching for them on Amazon. He is also an oil painter and a retired pastor.

The Writer’s Corner was a busy place. I really enjoyed listening to them and learning about how the different writers chose to publish. All were self-published, some using assisted self-publishing companies like CreateSpace, and others just going at it pioneer style, as I am doing with The Cabins of Wilsonia. (Guess I am a little like my distant relative from North Caroline, Daniel Boone.)

I bought a book about old people who downhill ski, written by Mr. Fischer, who taught at Redwood High School when I was there in the ’70s. I don’t remember him. That’s okay. He doesn’t remember me either.

And isn’t this weird? The Memorial Building has a drinking fountain! Remember in the olden days before we were all raving environmentalists carrying around plastic water bottles, people just got a drink of water whenever they wanted one? No fuss, no muss. Probably no chlorine or special filtering either.

But I digress again.

There were quite a few musical performers who kept any radio dead air away. Sometimes I would say to a passerby, “Want to come into my booth so we can shout at one another over the music?” Most weren’t loud. The belly dancer’s music was really loud. I couldn’t watch her because I was too embarrassed. Guess I’m about as old fashioned as a drinking fountain.

Commissioned Pencil Drawing Coming Up

I’m drawing my brains out, working on The Cabins of Wilsonia. (Okay, I’m not really drawing my brains out – I need them for stuff like posting to my blog. Try not to take me too literally here.) When I get commissions, I take a break from that Giant Project.

There is a house here in Tulare County that I have admired for years. It is on a road I really like – it is curvy, against the foothills, and it meanders through citrus country. A friend was hired to do some work at this house and provided the name and address of the owner.

I had the audacity to write a letter introducing myself and asking if he would like to hire me to draw the house.

He did not respond.

I was embarrassed, but got over it. If I was a really good business person, I probably would have followed up with a phone call. Alas, I don’t want to be sellsy, so I let it go.

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by the man’s wife, via a common friend. (She isn’t really “common” – she is actually quite special. But, what I meant is that she is a friend to me and to the wife. Try not to take me so literally here.) She asked if I could draw the house for her hubby’s upcoming birthday. She mentioned that I had written to her husband awhile back – I was a little embarrassed, but also pleased that my self-promotion hadn’t been too sellsy.

Trail Guy and I went to the house to get some photos. Now that he is retired, he gets involved in the more fun parts of my business. He also does errands for me so I can draw uninterrupted.

These are not the photos I am using for the drawing – because it is a birthday surprise, and because there is a 1 in 1,000,000 chance that the man reads my blog, I’m not showing you those yet.

On the off chance that he does read my blog, he won’t know which view I am drawing. Sneaky of me, yes?

Now that I only have Perkins, I am especially vulnerable to any and all cats. Try not to take advantage of this weakness, please.

If I didn’t love living in Three Rivers, I’d want to live here. Of course, I thought that when I was in Blowing Rock, Washington, and Downers Grove. Stop it.

After the birthday gift has been given, I’ll show you the photos I used, the ones I didn’t use, and the finished drawing. I think it turned out great, but given the subject matter, how could it be anything except beautiful?

Grandma, what were you thinking??

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Grandma’s family had to cross this creek (called a “branch” in the local venacular) in order to reach their home. Mom and I were warned not to try to see the site (home was burned by vandals quite awhile ago) because of snakes. Creepy, hunh?

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Instead of contending with snakes, we trespassed ever so slightly on the neighboring property. I just wanted to get a feel of my G’ma’s growing up life. After seeing the incredible natural beauty and rural location, it just boggles my mind that she spent the bulk of her 94 years in Orange County, California! What were you thinking, Grandma? How could you leave this place?? Were you homesick? Were you just following your husband? Did you get stuck in a rut in the urban world? Did you consider it a groove rather than a rut, which makes for smoother traveling? (a description from my other grandmother)

More North Carolina photos

Rather than invade the privacy of my newly met distant relatives, I will show you some of my photos from the other parts of my trip.

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I love stone structures!

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This was my only view of the blue ridges of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

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This is the church where the family reunions used to be.  It has no air-conditioning, so now the family reunites in other places. Guess the younger folks aren’t quite as tough as Grandma’s generation. Grandma was very tough, and I aspire to be like her in that area!

More about all grown up

While in NC, Mom and I took the back road to the family reunion. I wanted to see the family cemetery, the site where Grandma grew up, the church where the reunions used to happen and any other sight that seemed connected to Mom’s family. We were tootling along a country road, and suddenly I said “WHOA! Did you see that??” It was a house that definitely fit the description of “all grown up” (this was before I met Cousin Don and he used that expression). Check this out:

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Imagine my surprise when Mom exclaimed, “That was Aunt Marticia’s house!”

 

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The satellite dish tells me it was probably abandoned in the 1980s.

Here is another way things become “all grown up” in the south:

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Kudzu!!