Monday, August 24, 2015

Locked Out

I detest standing outside locked doors under porch lights while fifty frantic bugs flutter around me.  I can hardly bear it.

But this naturally glamorous moth kept quietly to herself, and I admired her for it since her kind are normally the most fluttery of them all.  Maybe she wanted to keep her antennae nice, or maybe she just wasn't the in-your-face type.  I would have liked to know her story or where she bought those expensive-looking wings, but then someone unlocked the door and I bolted in and never saw her again.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Finished (or Destroyed)

My original plan: a monochromatic scheme of greys and browns... What happened?
And why did I chop it all up with scissors?  I don't have the answer to these questions, although I will try from now on to avoid making art when I have a headache... I think my discomfort carried over into the work...

Monday, August 10, 2015

W.I.P.

"Don't overthink,
Stay confused,
Reject boredom."

- Allan Espiritu

One Lovely Farm

Stephen's bike broke so Olivia and Seth and I left him behind, and while traveling one rocky road we passed by a particular farm.  We couldn't help but stop to look because there was an adorable donkey and a pony (a mirror image of Samwise Gamgee's good old Bill) and a large number of white ducks in a pen.  Later, as we passed the farm on our way back, Seth convinced Livy and I to dismount our bikes and walk up to the door with him.  He knocked.  "We were just wondering if we could come back later and paint your animals."  The lady was quite shocked and told us absolutely not.  The door was nearly closed when she suddenly opened it again and asked if we meant to paint the animals or paint a picture of the animals.  We had a good laugh.

She kindly welcomed us to come back later with our paints and sketchbooks.  I brought my watercolors, while Seth managed some very nice oil studies of the horses, mules, and donkeys as they munched a pile of hay.  We had no idea how many animals were actually on the farm until we came back that evening and they had all come out of the barn.  An old hound rested in the grass, a mother hen scurried around leading her little ones here and there, soft cats stepped daintily, investigating things, a baby pony came out with its mama... The white ducks were deathly afraid of Seth for some reason... after long moments of hiding they would come awkwardly outside, nervously muttering to themselves; I could sit and draw nearby, but the instant they caught sight of Seth they would all turn and speed-waddle back into the darkness of the barn, nearly tripping over one other in their hurry.