Wednesday, June 30, 2010
I get such inspiration and rejuvenation from the garden.
What could be better than sitting on the deck, in the sunshine, drawing the flowers blooming all around you?
Nature and art seem to go together so naturally. Even the original cave paintings show nature - well, usually man conquering nature as they show people driving mastodons over a cliff. But still, art is a way for us to make sense of the world around us, to capture a part of nature forever.
In the dead of winter, when I look at this little sketch, I can remember the sunlight and the birdsong and know that nature renews itself as it renews me.
Watercolor pencils in the Pentallic sketchbook.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
These superstars are (from left to right) Japanese Daisy, Siberian Daisy, and the always lovely and graceful day lillies. Welcome back!
Pen and watercolor pencils in my lovely new little Pentallic Nature Sketch sketchbook. The paper is divine and takes water really well. I like it a lot.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
This is also my 250th post. That's also kind of blissful (and amazing).
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
My tulips came up and budded out in April when we had some nice warm weather. Then the weather turned cold and they stalled. These ones I rescued from the snow that threatened to crush and break their stems. They bloomed inside and were such a sunny, cheerful hit of spring I had to draw them. And this poem is the perfect description.
by A.E. Stallings
The tulips make me want to paint,
Something about the way they drop
Their petals on the tabletop
And do not wilt so much as faint,
Something about their burnt-out hearts,
Something about their pallid stems
Wearing decay like diadems,
Parading ﬁnishes like starts,
Something about the way they twist
As if to catch the last applause,
And drink the moment through long straws,
And how, tomorrow, they’ll be missed.
The way they’re somehow getting clearer,
The tulips make me want to see—
The tulips make the other me
(The backwards one who’s in the mirror,
The one who can’t tell left from right),
Glance now over the wrong shoulder
To watch them get a little older
And give themselves up to the light.