I have reached a point where I want more, to go deeper, become more successful with art. I am starting to work my way through the books "Write it down, make it happen" and "The Artist's Way". I like to set goals rather than make "resolutions" but they are the same thing for me. I truly feel that writing through the exercises brought me to where I am today, getting to make art, having been able to travel to places I never thought I would get to, getting married a second time. Now I am ready for more. First, I have to figure out what that more is!
I must be on the right track because when I was trying to think of an image to go with this post,"Hope' is the image that immediately fell under the cursor.
"Your playing small does not serve the world. Who are you not to be great?" Nelson Mandela
I hate this time of year when it's dark all day. The sun comes up late and goes down early. The cloud inversion keeps the valley in twilight. Ugh! I just want to sit in front of Pinterest and veg out.
Instead, I am going to take Fiona and walk down to where they have been clearling the trees for the wildfire protection and use some of the branches for swaths for the front door. Remember, when life hands you melons.....you could be dyslexic!
This image was lifted from pinterest. I hate to think of how much time I waste on that site but it is so much fun!
Quick five things that I am grateful for:
that I have the opportunity to paint
that I have a patient and supportive husband
that I have amazing, beautiful and accomplished daughters
that I have an affectionate dog who (more or less) comes when she is called
that I have good health
(oh, there are so many more)
Can you rattle off 5 things that you are grateful for?
I quite liked this stretch denim dress that I found in a thrift store but it just wasn't generous enough in the hip area for my generous pear shape. I decided to take a page from Sally at http://www.alreadypretty.com/ and try layering a dress over a dress (or in this case a knit skirt). I'm kinda liking it.
Dress, skirt and boots, all thrifted. Tights from We love colors. Accessories, accumulated over the years.
I went out to help Bruce mark some lots on a project that he has been working on. This is looking down on the camping area. We had to borrow a canoe and paddle across the lake to finish marking a few spots. My stupid life belt wouldn't zip up and I was so terrified paddling across that cold void I kept splashing water in my face from paddling too fast. If I hadn't believed in Bruce's canoeing ability, I would never have been able to even attempt that crossing. The line from "Ghost Lake" (and the outcome of that poem) kept running through my head..."Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and cold"
On the return trip, I whipped off my bear spray belt and notched it over the preserver. That made me feel a lot better.
I don't like for Bruce to go out there on his own. There is no cell phone coverage and he is ambling through a 3000 acre tract of land. If something happened (predator attack, moose attack, canoe tipping over, breaking a leg) I wouldn't even be able to find him. If he doesn't arrive home by a set time, I would just call Search and Rescue. I think he lets me go with him because he's convinced he can outrun me in case of bear attack. Fiona LOVES to go with us.
In case you are not familiar with it, here is the beautiful and haunting poem:
The Skater of Ghost Lake By William Rose Benet
Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and cold: Ice black as ebony, frostily scrolled; Far in its shadows a faint sound whirs; Steep stand the sentineled deep, dark firs.
A brisk sound, a swift sound, a ring-tinkle-ring; Flit-flit,--a shadow with a stoop and a swing, Flies from the shadow through the crackling cold. Ghost Lake's a deep lake, a dark lake and old!
Leaning and leaning with a stride and a stride, hands locked behind him, scarf blowing wide, Jeremy Randall skates, skates late, Star for a candle, moon for a mate.
Black is the clear glass now that he glides, Crisp is the whisper of long lean strides, Swift is his swaying--but pricked ears hark. None comes to Ghost lake late after dark!
Cecily only--yes it is she! Stealing to Ghost Lake, tree after tree, Kneeling in snow by the still lake side, Rising with feet winged, gleaming, to glide.
Dust of the ice swirls. Here is his hand. Brilliant his eyes burn. Now, as was planned, Arm across arm twined, laced to his side, Out on the dark lake lightly they glide.
Dance of the dim moon, a rhythmical reel, A swaying, a swift tune--skurr of the steel; Moon for a candle, maid for a mate, Jeremy Randall skates, skates late.
Black as if lacquered the wide lake lies; Breath as a frost-fume, eyes seek eyes; Souls are a sword edge tasting the cold. Ghost Lake's a deep lake, a dark lake and old!
Far in the shadows hear faintly begin Like a string pluck-plucked of a violin, Muffled in mist on the lake's far bound, Swifter and swifter, a low singing sound!
Far in the shadows and faint on the verge Of blue cloudy moonlight, see it emerge, Flit-flit,--a phantom, with a stoop and a swing . . . Ah, it's a night bird burdened of wing!
Pressed close to Jeremy, laced to his side, Cecily Culver, dizzy you glide. Jeremy Randall sweepingly veers Out on the dark ice far from the piers.
"Jeremy!" "Sweetheart?" "What do you fear?" "Nothing my darling,--nothing is here!" "Jeremy!" "Sweetheart?" "What do you flee?" "Something--I know not; something I see!"
Swayed to a swift stride, brisker of pace, Leaning and leaning, they race and they race; Ever that whirring, that crisp sound thin Like a string pluck-plucked of a violin;
Ever that swifter and low singing sound Sweeping behind them, winding them round; Gasp of their breath now that chill flakes fret; Ice black as ebony--blacker--like jet!
Ice shooting fangs forth--sudden--like spears; Crackling of lightning--a roar in their ears! Shadowy, a phantom swerves off its prey . . . No, it's a night bird flit-flits away!
Low-winging moth-owl, home to your sleep! Ghost Lake's a still lake, a cold lake and deep. Faint in its shadows a far sound whirs. Black stand the ranks of its sentineled firs.
This was my original painting. I found the background interesting but maybe overwhelming. So I changed it. Whenever I have a painting that doesn't seem to generate a lot of interest, I figure I have nothing to lose by changing it. It either succeeds or gets painted over!
I think the figure has become more important now. I also softened the line at her hairline.
I am an acrylic painter exploring color and texture. I like horses, Canadian wildlife, old trucks, bold women, kind men, tequila and cashews. Most paintings are for sale. Contact me for prices and shipping if you are interested in purchasing a painting. And thanks for viewing my blog!