(Written November 21, 2020)
There is a craft fair today.
I am sitting by the cold of the door painting little birds on small wood pieces. I am greeting people, making tentative connections, occasionally chatting, even selling a few paintings.
One gentleman came by and commented on my precision work, noting sadly that the shakes came by and hit him a few years ago. I made a sympathetic comment, but it sounded inane even to my ears. For a skilled artisan, the loss must have been great.
Thank you, Sir, for reminding me why I am doing this now. Why I am carving out time amidst the whirlwind of raising and teaching children, when life is so full it seems like it may burst at the seams.
There is no guarantee that I will still be able to paint when life gets less busy. There is no guarantee of a continual steady hand or good eyesight until my children grow up and move away.
Aside from any other benefits of doing art with children, this is when I am physically capable of doing this work. It may be now or never. I think it is worth doing now.
The Mid-Missouri Artists annual summer exhibition is almost over. We have a virtual summer exhibition at the University of Central Missouri up through tomorrow, June 30, 2020. (https://ucmgallery.com/mid-missouri-artists-50th-anniversary-summer-exhibition/) We were each invited to enter three pieces. Please go see it while it’s still up; there’s a lot of beautiful work in there. I thought I’d speak a bit about my submissions.
The Blue-eyed Grass, Sisyrinchium bermudiana, was painted when I was still in college. It was intended for a brochure on the wildflowers of a local park. Since the purpose was field identification by visitors and we did not want them digging plants, none of the botanical illustrations showed the roots. Unfortunately the project was abandoned on the brochure side. I went on to graduate school and other things.
I got married and had children and focused almost completely on photography for a number of years, though I kept sketching and occasionally painting a bit.
In 2018 I pulled out my paints again and made a practice of going out with watercolors in the morning. One of the morning roses I photographed and picked to take inside so I could paint a more finished piece. Here we have the Red Rosebud.
In the fall of 2018, I was an “artist in the window” for the Heartland Home Educators group during the Dickens Fair in Warrensburg, Missouri. I didn’t figure flowers would do well on Christmas ornaments so I tried birds, some from memory and a few from my photos. I painted them on the same hardened dough ornaments we had for children to come and decorate.
People liked my birds! I needed a more permanent surface and began practicing birds on wood slices. I gave them to my family for Christmas that year, and in 2019 I made enough to sell some too, both as hanging ornaments and as magnets.
This cardinal was painted in 2020 with watercolor instead of the acrylics I had been using on the wood pieces, and using watercolor was like greeting an old friend again!
Since this is my own site, I will show a fourth. I was visiting my parents on their anniversary and my dad asked me to paint a bird for him to watch. I didn’t have my wood slices or photos handy, but an orchid Daddy had given Mama on another occasion was in bloom. I painted it for them in watercolor, and he said that was nice enough.
I have been listening to the book Finish by Jon Acuff. In one section he talks about “noble obstacles,” things that seem noble to do but really throw a wrench into the works of the goal. One of his examples was a woman who wouldn’t start her blog until she talked to a copyright lawyer, for fear of someone stealing her content.
My husband heard that part and gave me a long look. I said, “We don’t know anyone like that, do we?” He had the audacity to actually say out loud, “Just you.”
The nerve of that man! I don’t need to talk to a lawyer first. I just want to register my copyrights. To everything. Before I use the pictures. Because it’s cheaper 750 at a time unpublished than registering every three months after they’re published, of course.
There, you see, I have good reasons for not having my stuff out there yet. Because with six children and some dairy goats to take care of, it’s pretty hard to get the time to go through 16 years of digital pictures (two years are already done) and predict the 750 I will want to use from each year, spend $55/batch to register them (if it hasn’t gone up), and keep track of the registry to make sure I only use the registered frame of a series that has 30 nearly identical photos.
It’s enough to make a girl just want to pick up a book instead of even trying. What? Are you looking at me too?
I don’t very often get to sit down and watch a whole sunset. Last night I did. I saw the first blaze of yellow-orange and pulled up a lawn chair and sat there with my camera until the last pink faded to blue-gray.
There was a spot so beautiful that at first I thought it would be a spectacular sunset. The clouds were very interesting, but as sunsets go it was simply pretty. And I figured out something about what makes a sunset dramatic that I had never noticed before.
Now it seems so obvious, but here it is. To have gorgeous color all over the sky, you have to be near enough the edge of the cloud bank—or have enough breaks in the clouds—that the clouds over you are not in shadow.
I rested and watched a pretty sunset where I was. I watched a fabulous sunset . . . for those ten or fifteen miles to my west. I hope someone there saw it and enjoyed it as much as I did.