Enter Venus, Star of the Morning

I've mentioned in another blog that though I grew up seeing meteors, I did not know about meteor showers until the early 1980's. In the twenty odd years since that night in August, I've learned a lot about meteor showers. I have a favorite site that lists them all and gives general to detailed information about their origins, their patterns, the type of meteors to expect, the duration and the peak. It gives information and suggestions for viewing all and individual showers. I observe many showers throughout the year to different degrees.
This year, the normally quiet, less than spectacular Aurigids were hyped to be quite a show. Yet it was a party that only a few people were invited to. In the bulletins on Space.com we were told that the show was for the west coast people as the peak would be after daylight had begun in the central US. I enjoy a challenge. Earlier this week I began timing the advance of daylight and reading everything I could on the Aurigid shower. The moon would be bright, but the meteors were thought to be some of the brightest. On one site, the peak was set forward about an hour. Also, since the band we were crossing was relatively unknown and since people who studied that band felt it would be a quite strong showing, I decided I would find a dark sky and watch what I could.
Since so much, yet so little was being offered, I was not disappointed. Well maybe I was disappointed with our preparation to watch, but not with the shower.
We woke about 2:30AM CDT, made coffee, put together cots, chairs, muffins and bananas. I put the tripod and the camera in the car. There were things we completely overlooked as we set out from the house a little past 3AM: blankets (it's the first of September), jackets (ditto), tent stakes for the screen enclosure. We drove into Oklahoma to Lake Tenkiller State Park and pulled out on a little peninsula with a boat ramp and picnic tables. The ground is fairly level and even though it is a day use area, during holidays, etc., people use it as overflow for the camp ground. There were only two spots taken on the peninsula. We pulled our Suburban off the pavement and drug out our stuff oh so quietly – hmmm, yeah.
The first thing we noticed was that it was cold out on the lake at 4:30AM. The second was that we had no cover or warm clothing. We did have hot coffee, but aside from spilling it on ourselves, it would have no lasting effect. Once every thing was in place, my hubby started making numerous trips to the vehicle in search of anything warm to shield our bodies from the cold wind off the lake. He found a polypro rain jacket, an extra t-shirt he’d brought along for later in the day and a accordion fold window shield. I found some thick blue paper towels in which I wrapped my bare arms. He finally took the sheepskin covers off the seats and brought them out as well. Had it not been quite dark, I’m sure we’d have looked like a bad comedy act.
We hadn’t been on the cots 5 minutes when we began seeing a few dim meteors, with, every now and then, a brighter one. About 6 AM, the clear sky began to color in the east and it was then that we noticed Venus hanging slightly above the horizon, dazzling like a jewel. As the sky grew ever more colorful, Venus fought obscurity, her brilliance growing with the slowly brightening field in which she sat. Even though we did see some beautiful meteors during that time, our attention was constantly pulled back to the large spectacle of the morning. We watched for meteors until the last star was obscured by morning light. I’m sure we missed the bulk of them, but no matter. We had a rewarding sky show.
After packing up our mess, we began the drive around the lake to our property on the other side. We stopped to watch and photograph the sun’s grand entrance into Labor Day Weekend. Tired, yet excited, we worked, really more like piddling, ‘til we both were ready to collapse. A light lunch had us on the road for home. What a refreshing morning.

Surprise Drops

I walked out onto my studio porch yesterday morning. I had the mister going and I saw that little droplets had formed on a spider web on a small patio rose. I shut off the mister and got the camera. After downloading, I saw the itsy bitsy surprise in the slightly lower right center.
If you click on the photo and then knock it up to about 200% on the bottom right of your internet window, this little girl is a little easier to see. The droplets were teeny little things, so you can imagine her size.

Searching for resolution

For awhile now, I have been working to complete things I've started. Wow, I had so many things started. There were two paintings however hanging incomplete on my studio wall which were not the work of current students or my own. One is quite near completion and is the work of a young lady who is developing her own artistic style and legacy. I have decided to simply give it to her to finish on her own. The other is the work of a student who took a break two years ago to start his own business. Often he says, "I'm coming back one of these days." Yet the picture hangs there day after day, week after week, month after month, wanting resolution hating its suspension in progress. I decided to finish it.
It was an acrylic not an oil, so the process is fairly easy even after two years. Icleaned it and then opened the surface with medium and began to paint. A wash of color here, a thick layer there. Evaluation, construction, a highlight and a shadow. The picture is complete and ready for its owner and whatever comes next. I will not sign it or frame it. I will write on the back what it is and the co painters and date of completion. That is sufficient. My husband said he felt it was satisfied. I do too.
I told the former student what I had done. A look of relief spread over his face. Then he got excited. I'm going to get one of your paintings! (I never give students my work.) I told him it was as much his as mine. This is a new thing for me. I'm proud of the work, but I hope I never do it again.

Love

This picture was taken about 2 years after we married.

Twenty three years past he held my hand
And promised his fidelity would stand
As long as both of us live on in life
He was then, husband and I was his wife.

He took an awesome load to carry there
Away into the life that we still share
A wise man asked him if he thought it through
Would he be shepherd, father, husband too?
We stood and looked each other in the eye,
We both had fears and dreams, both bold and shy.
And yet mid witnesses, “I do,” we said.
That promise through the years has faithful led.


The years have not been easy, always kind
But somehow we have come this day to find
Twenty three years passed and we love still
And by God’s mercy know we always will.
DW 2007

This was taken this summer.

Catch a falling star

I grew up fascinated by the night sky. I knew many constellations early and the planetarium in Denver was a favorite outing. My parents were responsible for broadening my field of interest. But in Junior High School, one of my professors introduced us to the stars close up. He lived in a highrise with a roof deck and had a quality personal telescope.
After moving to Oklahoma right after marriage I found myself under dark skies hampered only by humidity – and mosquitoes. Eventually, life and child raising crowded out the sky at night.
In August of 1983, I found myself under a clear, bright, active sky. A divorced mom, I belonged to a Christian singles group who sponsored a canoe trip. A dear friend waited to transport me, knowing I got off work late and my old car might not make it. That night after setting up tents, eating supper and taking turns in the shower house, everyone, about 60 of us, settled in to bed. My friend was still up and I hadn’t yet wound down from the day, so we struck up a conversation. We weren’t a ‘couple’, but we were interested in going that direction whether we admitted it or not.
I’d seen a lot of shooting stars as a child. I knew about wishing on them and had been duly taught to call them meteors. I knew a meteorite was a piece that made it all the way to the ground. Somehow I missed the information about meteor showers.
That night in August, I watched, with my friend, my first meteor shower. I’d never seen so many in all my life. I didn’t know about the Perseid or any other for that matter. It was magical. It was the first of many we would watch over the next decades. A little over a year later, we married. Since that night, I’ve become acquainted with all the major, many of the moderate and some of the minor showers. I’ve investigated their origins and histories and I have a link to a very efficient meteor observing site on my favorites. We’ve often gone to some high, clear vantage to watch, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes in a group.
Two and a half years ago, we moved into a house with a large back yard. The first 50 feet are flat, treeless, and blocked from city lights. Right after we moved in, we bundled up and sat out to watch the Geminid. After years with no sky access at home, I was ecstatic. We’ve since put in a pool, but still have plenty of space for observing.
For the past week, I’ve observed at least one hour per night – generally 4AM to 5 or 5:30AM. After about an hour, the mosquitoes discover me and it turns into a self pummeling. There’s also the humidity, which worsens the light pollution. I had hoped to get into a darker sky this year, for it promised to be a good one with the moon at new phase and the sky clear. My husband had to work today, so we stayed put.
In preparation for the big night, I checked out a couple of our tents, but the screen openings were far too small for a good view. I was considering constructing something when my husband pulled out a cot sized mosquito net enclosure we had purchased when a local outfitter retired and closed his shop. We put it up last evening using telescoping poles from our camping equipment and rebar. It only encloses one cot. I’ll have to construct a larger one for future shows.
The show was a fine one, sans mosquitoes, though I began dozing off a little before three and lost it about four. I was somewhat sad to be watching alone, (except for a curious cat and a very persistent dog) but I didn’t really feel lonely, not with all the memories and stars surrounding me. And, because I believe God created all that beauty, I know he was watching with me.

NOT stupid.

I’ve never stopped wondering what it is that I do to inspire people’s evaluations of me. Perhaps it’s my incessant gab or maybe my hyper activity or maybe the way I change subjects or don’t. In high school (yeah, decades and decades) I took a IQ test because I was coming out of a private school and they wanted to ‘place’ me.
Later, my adviser suggested that I not share my IQ score with other people. I thought maybe I’d scored low. I had no idea what the numbers meant. It was in my file. The teachers knew if they wanted to. And at least some of them wanted to know.
Once I had my schedule changed while my adviser was out. The stand-in obviously didn’t see my file. I walked into my new improved science class with the transfer paper. The teacher took one look and said “No, you won’t” and left the room with my ‘schedule’. He was gone most of the class.
The kids in that class were from another planet. Sheltered, spoiled as I was, I had no idea people like that had landed on this earth – and in Denver. As the teacher came in, he motioned to me. I went. He handed me another newer and more improved schedule. That was the second indication that I was different.
I was an A student. Some things were easy, some were not, but I was an A student. My parents had never allowed me to believe otherwise. My grades really didn’t change much from private to public school. My social life did.
I remember one friend who asked if I made my own clothing. Yes, I did. “I thought so,” she added. “They’re just so . . . . . different. I mean, they’re creative. I mean, they fit you’re personality. I mean,. . . ” “They’re obviously not off the rack at Sears?” I offered. “Or any place else.” she finished. Surprisingly, different as we were, we remained friends. I just never got into the main stream.
Once I fudged and told a guy what my IQ score was. He laughed at me. “You silly girl, that was probably your advisor’s weight.” I laughed along and never brought it up again.
When 17 years of marriage to the afore mentioned person ended, I went back to college. I was given a battery of tests –to place me. After one semester, I was on scholarship. Not only was I poor, but I was a woman and I was smart. I qualified for tuition, money and a job.
One day my advisor called me into his office. He had questions he needed to ask. What did I want to do with the rest of my life? Seems every department on campus wanted a piece of me.
He looked me in the eye and said “You can be anything you want to be. You’re intelligent.” He laughed and looked away. “When you came here, I thought, ‘One more dumb blonde to train for a skill and toss out on an unsuspecting world.’ Well you had me fooled.”
People always seem to believe that what eggs I have in the basket were scrambled long ago. They make the most incredulous comments. Then one day, they open their eyes wide and say softly, “Oh, you’re not stupid.” Then they try to explain. I occasionally ask them to stop embarrassing us both.
I think I’ve mentioned in another blog that I spent a lot of time in the hall during elementary. It didn’t affect my grades or my spirit; it just made me wonder what I did this time. After being a public school teacher –not my first choice- for many years, I think I know. I was a very active child, mentally, physically, emotionally. That kind is hard to endure with a class of 25 to 30 children no matter how stimulating she would be one on one.
A while back I took one of those online IQ tests. My daughter and hubby were working in the wee hours on her vehicle and, since I am automotively challenged, I ended up the bored, can’t sleep tonight, water and cookie dispenser; so the test, bronchitis meds and all, after a long day, at about 2AM. I was disappointed, I scored a good 25 points lower than my high school test. They rated me at genius and wanted to sell me an education. I’m thinking genius at this level? What was I in high school?
Well so, my college adviser sat looking at me, wondering, expecting an answer. “I want to be a journalist.” “Why?” He emphasized again, “You can be anything you want. Anything.” “Well, I want to write and do photography for scientific research.” He was dumbfounded. “I’m promising you the world and you want to be a journalist? Why not the scientist?”
I got that first degree and ended up in advertising which I already knew I hated. So a few years later I went back and got my teaching degree. I remember one co-student who was ticked because I destroyed the curve for the rest of the class. She said "When you get done being miss know it all with your 4 point, you'll find no one wants a perfectionist. They can't relate to the common student." Excuse me, I work hard at this and it's a 3.93 thank you. I did get hired - my first year out.
It was, in the early years, the most incredible thing I could have imagined. I felt I should be paying them, or at least still be on scholarship. And now after years and changes and converting to private, I still love teaching. It still challenges me, knocks me down and picks me up.
So, sometimes, my conversations are kind of random. I have a strange sense of humor. I may be obsessive compulsive, stubborn and opinionated, but I’m not stupid. Even when I do stupid things.
Yeah, that's me: the one with the back injury, dragging a loaded back pack over large boulders.

Happy accidents

It's been a couple of busy days, so I've not been around much. That's another blog.
I saw my blast and thought I'd comment on it. I've been making easels and tables for my studio.
I have tables but they are big and awkward to walk around when I have several students. So, I thought to make a personal folding table that was easy to put up or down for need. I began with a wooden tv tray as inspiration and then began to think about the things the students comment on. I'm doing little tweaks yet, but that's about resolved.
I have easels but they are small wooden tripods that slide around on the table, are awkward to take down and put up, are hard to store and don't hold a larger size canvas well. To be sure, I have a couple of nice stand alone easels, but my students work from tables. I wanted something to securely hold a 36 to 40 inch canvas at a choice of angles and I wanted it to set up, break down quickly, and store easily. After one sort-of success, I made a small change and liked what I came up with.
One of my private students, who takes painting and drawing, commented that it was too bad we couldn't make the table elevate at the back. I looked long at the design but that was impractical. I also teach some students with arthritis who cannot paint in an upright position long without pain. They end up having to hold the canvas while they paint on it.
Well, last Friday I was making a couple of easels. On one, I made a couple of mistakes that I had to compensate for. While drilling, the wing nuts on the uprights vibrated loose and the whole top of the structure fell forward. I decided to step back and take a deep breath. I was getting really frustrated with myself. Suddenly I saw my easel anew. I had already created an elevated stand for my drawing boards and an arthritic easel as well. I was stoked! I giggled and played with it on and off all night.
If I hadn't made a mistake, I probably still wouldn't know what I created.

A road I know

It's amazing the difference a day can make. As I worked in my studio tonight, I was filled with painful memories: memories that bring self doubt and misgivings. I was "wounded in the house of a friend" withheld from the love and companionship I'd anticipated. And for what? . . . . .
The events that caused it are not important. The outcome is inconsequential. What I do now is all that will matter.
The poem is my own.


It’s not a road I planned once more to travel
A path I know but do not wish to follow
Yet, I stumble on toward my Babel
The promises I made resounding hollow.

“But tell me there’s not cause” the stubborn heart cries
As if that makes this journey now required.
With each word and step my joy and peace dies
While a flame with bitter fuel is fired.

Painful memories join to make me sour;
Gratitude and tenderness would stay me.
Angry sirens call me from their power;
One more injured thought comes in to slay me.

“Wait! Recall now where this road will take you.”
Comes a voice I know inside my spirit.
This soft voice, continuing to break through
Will help me turn away if I will hear it.

So, what will I do with this rejection
Shall I forge ahead where reason calls me
Where bitterness grows like a vast infection
Or shall I turn about and let it fall free?

Memories like other fine things must be handled gently and put away quickly or damage will be done. Why is all this stacked on my table? That's another blog.

overwhelmed

I walked into my studio tonight and was completely overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed by the change it has experienced in the past year. A year ago, I dragged my own paintings in among my student pieces to keep the walls from that bare sense of longing. Tonight, I consider hauling the last two out to make room for the up and coming.
As I looked about the room, I saw familiar pieces waiting for their resolution. Some are babes, just starting, expectant and invigorating. Some are adolescents, troublesome, uncooperative, but slowly bending to the heart and hand of the artist. Some are maturing quietly, rapidly, almost ready to leave this group home where they have grown and improved and become.
Against the wall, sit the lifeless, yet expectant future works of art in various sizes, all primed and ready for that touch of color that starts them on their path to being. I know the destiny planned for some and I can't wait to see it happen.
Taking in each piece, I hear the laughter, the frustration, the pleading, the excitement, the moment of Eureka! when their creators 'got it.' I feel the good will, tension and interaction between class participants and the thick intense learning of the one on one in private lessons.
The acrylic students ask about the progress of the oil painter who's impending move will wrench her from our lives into a far off place. She hasn't sold yet. The news brings both joy and sadness. They comment on the earlier class works in acrylic, giving critical evaluations both positive and questioning.
Even when they don't see the faces, they have gotten to know the product of each other's love and struggle. The oil painters spoke their admiration and concern for the acrylic girls who are doubling time to try to finish before their vacation. One took a drawing class last week and brought her work. I complimented, then explained what needed fixed. She understood and looked with new eyes on her handiwork. Now why didn't the teacher say something about that? I gave as much grace as I could while thinking the same thing. But it was a one day class at a nature center with, I can only imagine, how many students. Yes, grace, grace.
I rethink the instruction and plan for my next opportunity as I hear the classes replay in my mind like a hidden recorder. I hear and spontaneously join an old song in my heart.
Boundless love, unending joy. This is my life, it's what I know. And I can't believe that He selected me, Jesus My Lord, it's you I owe.
The sound fades off. Quietly I walk away from my own holy ground.

Entry for August 02, 2007

When I did the blogthings Who should paint you, I got Andy Warhol. I guess it works if we take the idea that he did an image over and over and over with little or no change. That seems at times like the way my life lessons go. Sigh. But of late, Kokashka has come to mind: acidic colors, bold strokes, in your face. Some times Munch: the crazy dream you can't wake from.
I've mentioned to a few of m v-friends that I loved the water color illustrations of Paradise Lost by Salvador Dali. Yet if he were to paint my life, it would be one of those multi meaning, search for the hidden, surreal jobs.
I have a tendency in painters to appreciate opposite sides of the thought and application pool. Kandinsky and Joseph Stella ignite my mind and subconcious. I get lost in a Pollock. Yet if we're not going there, I want the romantic/impressionism of Constable, Homer, Moran. I think I really like realism. It just doesn't have a lot to do with my living!
On second thought - scrap the realism.

We Don't Get Sunsets - Or Do We?

For 2 and a half years we've lived in a house that faces the morning. We have a fairly high hill - much taller than our house - to the west and at our property line is a thick tall stand of trees.
The other night I was talking to my daughter on the phone when I saw the colors. I told her I was listening but I had to get my camera and take a picture of the not sunset. "The NOT sunset?"
What startled me was a tall thunderhead with bright sunset colors hanging in the east right by the rising moon. I've seen several of these reverse or left over or reflected sunsets and often taken pictures. While it is true that we do not get to watch the sun sinking into the western sky, we certainly do see something awesome on a regular basis, in the evening, around sunset.

Inventions

I enjoy inventing and designing!
When a problem arises, my natural inclination is to scheme and figure and think. Most of the time after a prolonged period of arguing several sides of the issue, after debating with myself the pros and cons of various solutions, I go to sleep one night and dream a viable, less problematic solution or design. There are times I believe the solutions are divine and other times when I believe that I simply must get my cognitive self disabled so that a good solution has a chance to be born with out me killing it with logic!
I've just finished two inventions that I'm quite pleased with. One is a easel which will hold any size canvas I would care to consider portable and yet dissemble easily to fit in a small tote bag. It's sturdy, adaptable and adjustable. I'm pleased. My first try ended up being sturdy enough but would not dissemble. Luckily I have a husband who understands hardware!
The second invention is a stackable, storable work station which holds brushes or pencils, water, a resource, a palette and one of the afore mentioned easels. I actually need one more tweak for that to be complete - and of course, varnish or sealer of some kind. I already have orders for the work station.
I know that a french painters box will do much of what the two above will accomplish together. Yet it does not fit my purpose and they are costly when setting up a studio. Maybe not individually, but 6? While the workstation is a hybrid of two existing forms, it still is my hybrid, works better than a simple folding table and is still usable for painting with or without an easel, drawing wet or dry, etc. Both easel and workstation can be set up and ready to work in less than 5 minutes. And having these sets will reduce the amount of space needed and increase the ease of traffic in the room. I'm excited to get it done.
The picture is another invention of mine: a keyboard stand with music rack created in 2004.

Philosophy of painting according to Donna part 4

One of the things I have regretted most in my painting experience is seeing a painting I completed and loved wed to a horrid frame. I had the experience twice and they stick in my mind. Most professional framers carefully consider both the integrity of the picture and the wishes of the client. In both of the afore mentioned cases, the recipient of the artwork chose the frame. One was a classic sailing ship on the open sea. The person used a weathered barnwood frame that totally detracted from its character. Another was a simple Baroque flower painting which was placed in a large ornate gold frame. Sometimes no frame would be considerably better than a contradictory frame.
Also not protecting your work will leave it vulnerable to the ph around it and to grease and dirt build up.

Displaying a painting

Don’t be in a hurry to wed your painting to a frame. Let it mature and speak to you.

Paintings should have a protective coat. Acrylic: first coat of clear acrylic in about two months. Oil: first coat of clear finish in a year. Be sure to clean it gently but well and dry it thoroughly before coating. Two to three coats are sufficient on either medium. Use a satin to semi-gloss (not flat or glossy) archival finish (non acidic, non yellowing).

Think of the frame as an extension of the art not as a piece of furniture.

Never upstage or downplay your painting with an inappropriate frame. Use your heart and mind in framing also.

Give your painting space to be. Don’t crowd it into a decorating scheme that destroys its character.

The painting above is one from my NC beaches series. It was done from my own resources and based on a picture I took of my daughter and husband standing on the beach in the early morning watching the sunrise. It is acrylic on canvas, 36" by 28".

Darkness?

Dark is Relative


Sitting in the grey
listening to cicadas and tree frogs and crickets
competing desperately to be heard above the crowd,
feeling the wind blow moist kisses on my face and arms
caressing me with cool refreshment and warm desire,
watching the fire flies wink about trying to find mates
trying to mate with my solar lamps,
sensing the cool stare of a quarter-plus moon
ignoring me to look over his shoulder toward the eastern horizon,
smelling the faint perfume of mimosa, roses, crepe myrtle
settling about me with the evening dew,
tasting the goodness of a chai tea with honey and vanilla
mixing with a slight hint of the city’s effort to control the mosquito population,
knowing relative freedom from fear and anxiety
sitting in the grey, almost dark, of a summer midnight,
Lifting my face to the sky, I reach out my arms
breathing in life and strength for tomorrow.
Written by DW July 2007

The Picture is a pastel born of a pre-dawn vigil on the Outer Banks of North Carolina in 2004. 12" by 18", it uses the concepts of luminoscity. I tried to photograph it, but couldn't, so I drew it instead. The title is simply "Tuesday Morning".

Philosophy of painting according to Donna - Part 3

This is part 3, then: Finishing a painting


If you are using a resource, you must realize that no one cares about the resource unless you drag it along: bad idea. Serve the work not the resource.

Train your eye but follow your heart. Don’t be afraid to finish and then paint another painting. Most artists have several paintings of the same thing at some point in their development.

Details must be believable. Don’t add photographic blur or extreme foreshortening unless it serves the work. Sometimes, it’s best to get a second opinion (resource) if there is too much photographic distortion in the main resource.

Beware of the ‘great nothing’! Be willing to make a decision about what exists in dark, undefined potions of your resource. This decision may be based on additional resource, memory or gut feeling. It’s better to be wrong than to create a feeling of neglect.

Bring details into all areas together. Never overwork one spot in the canvas as that destroys unity. If you follow this concept, you will know when the painting is finished.
The painting above "Trail, Devil's Den State Park" is the one I referred to in part 2. I considered naming it "Out of the Shadows" but settled on Trail, . . . instead.

Philosophy of painting according to Donna -part 2

This post is an addition to the previous one. I have two more sections which I plan to post in the future.
Building a painting

Painting is like building a house. Like walls, floors, plumbing and wiring in a house, the structure of composition through line, space, color, form, shape, texture and value must be built intelligently and completed before you add the surface touches (details, highlights, etc.) If I carry in the furniture and china before the structure is complete, I slow the builders and my pretties will be destroyed.

Don’t fear your painting. The worst we have to do is correct it. It can always be fixed.

Take a break often and look at your painting from a few steps back, maybe from a lot of steps back. During the structural stage, the far view is more important than the close view.

Stop before you are exhausted and frustrated. If you start feeling tense or discouraged, back away or walk away. When you come again, take a long objective look. Regain your vision before you continue. Ask yourself “What does this painting need from me.” Don’t be afraid of the answers. Sometimes you must leave the original vision to serve the present work.

Bring the whole painting along together. One neglected area affects your opinion of all the others.

The painting above is one I worked on for a long time. Since it is acrylic, that was not a problem. In all, it took 8 or 9 years to complete! It's somewhat large and depicts a real spot in my real world. It became strongly representational and finely detailed. At first I was quite discouraged by that, for I had earlier painted a trail from the same park and it was spontaneous and free and had my heart. This picture is an example of discarding yourself to serve the work.
Many of my paintings are a result of my teaching and those often have a strong attention to detail. The paintings I do simply for myself are more formal in composition and more impressionistic in style.

Philosophy of painting according to Donna

Many people speak of wishing they could be a part of my studio and training. I’ve decided to share - every so often - some ideas and tips that I share regularly in my studio. Good painting is based on a mindset. I hope these tips will enhance your thinking about paint.

Beginning a painting

A painting is a painting not a drawing. Paint is not photography, colored pencil, crayon, pastel, conte’, or even watercolor. As you begin to paint, you must change your mind, leave the photograph and drawing utensils behind.

Accept and enjoy the thick, tactile opacity of the paint. Details may be delicate, washes may be transparent, but the painting should be neither. Don’t be afraid to commit to the paint.

If you don’t like that first quick emotion charged layout (and it should be quick and emotion charged) you will not like the finished painting no matter how much time and heart you put into it.

To love the first layout, you must learn to look into the future. You must know how to see and develop potential. Ninety percent of success at painting depends on learning to “see.”

Never allow the first layout to cloud your vision of the future. No matter how much you love the beginning, do not deny it its future. Never marry an infant painting to a frame. There comes a point when you must give up your will for the good of the work. It is that experience that makes you a successful painter, not the sale of your piece.

The above painting is done with 4 colors (red, blue, yellow, white). All mixing took place on the canvas. Donna Woodall, 2002

Smilin' n gigglin'

My husband is putting the pickets up on the railing around the deck. I flit in and out. I've worked on my epic poem some - it's getting close. And we've dreamed and talked and remembered while doing simple chores all morning. We've reached some consensus on what comes next as far as the remodel. That's a good thing!
While we worked and visited, I laughed at how the balls and floaties would no longer sail between the railing and wait patiently for retrieval at the bottom of my hill. "Boy, we could have used this," I commented. Yet inside I giggled at the games that we invented to manage retrieval when all available toys made it out under the boat or trampoline or behind the wall or deck. Well, we won't have to do that again. The thought is happy/sad.
Working around my pool is curious. For so long it's been a busy hubbub of laughter and splashing and various games. It is so quiet and still now. Yet there, this morning, was a sense of joy. It was like a neighbor child standing at the fence smiling, now giggling, saying "Wanna come play?" I left a few floaties in place just in case I become thoroughly convinced! Yes, the pool is missing the children. Me too.
Long separated toddler friends, my neighbor's niece came to swim with my granddaughter. That's another story.
Blessings

Entry for July 19, 2007

I woke very late, for me, today. There is so much to do: grapes to mash, laundry to do, rooms to clean, plants to prune, weeds to pull. Well, I read blogs and such as that! So now with less than an hour to face my students, I pull myself together, clean and arrange my studio for the day. Today I have acrylic classes, so I must clean and put up all remains of yesterday's oil classes.
Teaching is so good for me. Cleaning my house would be a good thing, but I really am glad to have retained my summer classes. There have been a few times in the last 4 weeks when I considered it a bad choice, but honestly, it stablizes me. When I'm in my studio, I am captured by it mentally, physically, emotionally.
There will be times for processing when I get back to my routine of waking early and all that that brings. I will get the posts on either side of my trail up the hill finished. I will get the last wall of the sunroom and the definition on the doors of my Kiln room. I will begin the upper gardens and the play tower on the hill. We'll start the renovation of our kitchen and the building of our carport. All those things will fit themselves into our minutes and hours, but for today, I'll don my teacher hat and smile and forget anything else exists. Blessings.
The picture is a lead piece for an acrylic painting. I always lead students through their first encounter with paint so they will learn good habits and thinking and establish a positive relationship to the paint.

I'm here

So here I sit: in a house that seems too large, too quiet. Just a short while ago, it was brimming and bustling. Activity, concern, requirement, love, disappointment, desire. It was not all it could have been.
My house is not the clean, organized efficient thing it was a little over a month ago. And that previous evaluation is questionable now. Little things we ignored became frustrations. Big things we dealt with became impedance or reroute. Nothing really went as planned. Yet, I would not undo it now if I could.
The third week into my busy, my mother was here. To be sure, her visit was affected by the rain, but the truth is she’s slowing down quickly. She will be 90 in September and for the first time, I am considering the fact that her time is concluding. Her perception is hampered, her body is shaky, her mind is –unstable. It has occurred to me in the past few days that one day in a not distant future, I’ll receive a call. I’ll hurry a few things into my car and, with or without my husband, rush off down a road familiar yet strange to sit or stand at her bedside.
I’ll no doubt think of the busy times when I only saw her as a result of furious planning and quick short visits related to a holiday or birthday or some serious breakdown. I’ll probably remember those times when I promised and couldn’t deliver. I’ll remember the times she and my dad took up the slack in the lean times. I’ll also remember looking into her vibrant blue eyes sparking with excitement and hope. I’ll remember combing her long blonde hair and waiting impatiently for dresses that were never quite finished but were worn anyway. I’ll remember camping and Christmas and the house my parents built but didn’t get to live in.
I’ll remember love and joy and help and pain and anger and sorrow –those things that make up life and relationships. I’ll wish for summer of 2006 when we laughed and talked and played and developed a little of the relationship we both wanted and never had. It’s a long drive with lots of time to think.
I’ll probably run into her room amid others who had a shorter ride and call out, “Mom I here.” I’ll probably see her intense blue eyes mist and fix for a moment on me and then I’ll sit with the others and talk of days and times and nonsense while we wait.
Our relationship has been a curious thing. I’ve never felt truly accepted by my mother, though I did feel loved. Even if she had any reason for pride in me, she would never have admitted it. In fact she still won’t. She probably says those words to others. Maybe it’s a sense of competition. Perhaps owning my piddling successes would have made her feel her own losses more acutely. I can’t say I understand, I only try to justify the rejection with the love.
I will remember that at times I was selfish and didn’t go just because I didn’t want to face her. I’ll understand that when things were critical, I did go. I’ll see ways I could have made her life sweeter, calmer. I’ll also see the times I tried to place myself in the gap for mom and dad both. I’ll recall angry words and desperate prayers. I may remember firmly insisting that she stop thinking her own thought and listen. I’ll remember telling her that I know she is strong and spiritual. I’ll hear myself saying “I’m not trying to instruct or change your belief. I want you simply to know me and understand if only for a moment.” I’ll see her eyes drop their veil for a short time as I try desperately to explain what I mean and why it’s important to me.
Yet on that day, the time for reconciliation will be past. “I love you,” will be the only important words. Tenderness and compassion will be the only valid emotions. I only pray she will hear and accept when that time comes.
And just as I see myself standing there, sitting there, I see myself lying there listening for the last child to say “Mom, I’m here.”

Simple Pleasures

We stayed home this weekend. I wasn't too thrilled with yesterday (Saturday), though the trip out to the star party should have been a hit. The kids were too tired and I'm not sure just what they were expecting. Even though there were lots of kids there of various ages, ours did not soak into the idea of standing in lines to look through any size telescope to see any kind of stars or planets! For sure they thought the lazer used sparingly by the University Prof was really cool, but he didn't loan it out or even let them hold it. It was a fairly clear sky in the long run and I told them some stories about my experience with some of the constellations, but they were quickly ready to come back home.
Today, after church we decided to just stay put. Louis suggested a trip, but I knew they were all exausted and felt it a better idea to just hang out and maybe play in the pool with them. That turned out well. We let them pick a place for lunch. Afterward, at their request, we watched a Veggie Tales movie, then batted three balls around the pool trying to keep them in the air long enough to justify setting up the volley ball net. We didn't. We made a rule that who ever batted the third ball out of the pool had to go get them all. Eventually the game deteriorated to a variety of face and body pummellings with frequent retrievals. Of course every time someone had to get out to retrieve the balls, they- all three kids and sometimes grandpa- would have to cannonball into the pool in sync. The resulting waves were quite fun.
We decided on a spaghetti supper on the deck with the waterfall and lights on. The girls took turns helping me fix supper while grandpa set stuff up. We lit the torches and had a sweet satisfying supper together. I put the icecream mixture into the icecream freezer right after supper and we all got brainfreeze from eating it too fast. Then just before bed, we put on a recording of the Lord's Prayer and did it in sign language several times. It's a beautiful recording from a multi-artist project called Let's Roll. It was quite an enjoyable end to a very enjoyable day.
Sometimes, the simplest joys surprise us.
The picture is of Louis (pink air mat!) and the girls coming off a short drop last weekend on the Little Missouri, Winding Stair, near Mena AR.

Just Thinkin'

Today was a difficult day. I can't explain why. My classes went well. I made specialty waffles for breakfast which seemed appreciated, but it was still a difficult day.
The time with my grandchildren is going so quickly, and I'm having difficulty processing it all. They were all quite tired tonight and ready to go to bed.
The rain let up long enough for the sun to warm the water a little. The two younger and I swam and baked goodies while the older and my husband took off for a youth meeting. She said she enjoyed it. They exhausted themselves and me with water volleyball, diving tricks and pranks. The tent I had set up in the back yard to dry from last weekend's campout dried today and I was able to get most of the gear put up.
The camping trip went okay. We went to Albert Pike State Park and hiked down to a awesome mile long boulder field on the Little Missouri River called 'The Winding Stair'. We only played in about a quarter mile of it-a quarter mile filled with deep pools, fast steep shoots, small water falls and huge boulders to jump from. The kids seemed to love it, at least for a time. But we didn't have an over abundance of time at the 'Winding Stair' anyway. On Monday we had planned to hike a little, swim a little and then go to the falls to play- another lovely natural water park. It rained on Monday so we waited, ate lunch in the Suburban and finally walked to the falls in the rain. Consequently, I didn't get pictures of the falls. You're not supposed to carry anything out of a wilderness or a state park, but no one told the chiggers.
Yesterday I began a painting with each of the girls. I think they didn't understand how it would play out and were a little reluctant to accept what I was telling them. Today, they both made good progress and I think they liked the results. One is almost finished, the other has a bit to do yet.
Something that happened today reminded me of Shel Silverstien's book "The Missing Piece." For the first time, I realized that the book is terribly one sided. It only tells the tale from the perspective of the wheel. I wondered how the wedge felt about the whole thing. What was its story sitting there unable to move, alone, searching passers by and hoping for that part that would allow it to be complete, to see the world, to join in. Then after a short period of acceptance and purpose, it was again cast aside to a lonely existence, perhaps forever! Sheeze Donna, it was just a story with a point to make.
The picture is from the Little Mo near Mena, Arkansas.

Black

There is a blackness that sits encased between my conscious and subconscious. The solutions are based on undefined problems. I'm truly tired. Not weary mind you, but tired. I can't process it, any of it. The tired doesn't spring from labor or business, but from answers I don't want to know and feelings I don't want to own. My mind struggles for a coherent alignment of reality with my emotions, my heart turns a deaf ear and cries silently at the possibilities and impossibilities. The poet still clings tenatiously, now tentatively to a cliff above an abbyss. The words rhyme, but they have no soul.

The aged warrior has killed the bard.
The child tried to resurrect it,
But resurrection takes time and the ability to hold on to belief
To believe in purpose and cling blindly to truth that can only be felt.
The child turns to sing with the bouncy sweet popular unprincipled idiots
The sirens of youth and desire feed an unknown longing
They distract the heart from a sworn value, a determined purpose.
And so the aged warrior’s knowing insistence breaks in
Condemning this and that it gains strength though not mobility
The child simply shrugs, laughs and bounces away
As the bard gasps a song with its dying breath.

The picture is from the Little Missouri River in Western Arkansas.

Can't Go Back

This is my mom and I at my dad's grave last Sunday.
If you hit mom on my tags, it will give you an entry for July 6 last year. This entry explains some of the world between us. Not too important unless you're interested.
This year's visit has been different. Mom has slowed alot. She has ignored my gardens this year primarily because of the rain and rain and then there was the rain. She's only been in my pool once this visit. Today it was warmer and sunny, but she doesn't go out in the hot sun and after her eye visit, she didn't seem like she felt wonderful. She went to bed after supper and I haven't seen her since. Been trying to think of excuses to get her up and visit.
We had planned to take her home on Saturday, but then we were going to camp with the kids and play in one of the wildest, most wonderful rivers in the state. But the rain . . . . Even though it is forcast to be nice Saturday and Sunday, the rains will have swollen the river and saturated the campsites and trails. Tonight Louis and I talked about taking her home tomorrow. I haven't consulted her yet, though I imagine she'd be overjoyed.
Tuesday I stepped out of my shower into a lake! Yep. Plumbing nightmare. We got it fixed this morning. Yesterday's fireworks were nice, not stellar, but nice. My youngest daughter went with us. When we arrived home, the country club down the end of the street and around a bend was starting their fireworks. They were very nice, but mom didn't feel like walking out to the deck to watch. She went to bed and Louis and I sat on the deck and watched them.
Last year we had so much fun in the pool together -just the two of us- swimming every hot evening just at dusk. I was looking forward to that time and sharing, but this year was cool and rainy. I had so many thoughts. I think the family cookout was a good thing even in the rain and the trip Sunday was a warm fuzzy. It will have to do until next time if there is a next time. Peace.

A good visit

We picked my mom up in Lousiana on Friday and planned a family get-together so that my girls and their families could spend some time with her. It was huge and fun even if it did rain most of the day. We didn't have lightening and the kids were already wet! When everyone left, we cleaned the house and the yard and the porch and the pool and the deck and . . . well you get the picture!
Sunday, my husband, my mom and I headed out after church for a town she used to live in, an hour and a half north, to let her visit old friends and to visit my dad's grave. It was a great day. She got to see several friends, we visited the cemetary and took pictures. It was a sweet, mellow day. The rain held off while we had to be outside. There was a rightness with the world.
Today we almost had a disagreement, but instead of walking away from it as I once would have, I insisted that she hear my words and understand and not take offense. It was tense for a little, but worked out in the end. Tonight, she read my current writing project and commented enthusiastically and then we talked fast and furious telling stories we all know and have told or heard a hundred times.
We have 4 more days. We take her home on Saturday. I hope it goes as well.
Peace.

light show

walked out tonight and saw this sight

with colors bright in sunset light

with camera tight in sudden flight

brought it right before the night

Entry for June 16, 2007

So this picture is 3rd in a series taken a few nights ago. It may be a little anticlimatic, but I like it still.
This is a little funny thing found on blogthings. Personally, I'm glad they chose eagle, for I'm writing an epic poem about 4 animals and one is an eagle. Studying reference material on all 4, I was excited about the character of these four I had chosen. But I was most impressed with the eagle (golden eagle)
Now about the whale. Yeah, right. I'm probably more whale-like now than I've ever been. (Turns head and snickers while grimacing if that's possible.)
but then I like the descrip. and think it's fairly well on.

Your Animal Personality

Your Power Animal: Eagle Animal You Were in a Past Life: Whale You are active, a challenger, and optimistic. Hard-working, you are always working towards a set goal.

The Animal Personality Test

Addition to previous post

I took this picture last night with my DSLR. It's the trellis with its lights reflecting in the pool water. The torch is visible to the right and the horizontal lights are under the edge of the pool rail and reflected as well.

It's a wonderful life - remake

Sometimes I get so crabby. I read a pass-it-on email from a friend containing a supposed piece written by Jay Leno about American ingratitude. Whether it was written by him or not is not important. Truth is I gripe needlessly. Tonight I sat on my new deck, listening to the waterfall, the night birds, and the frogs after getting out of a light lined pool the perfect temp for a swim. Torches cast an added glow while discouraging insects. I was sipping a tall rootbeer float and I thought of all the things I gripe about. How spoiled am I?
My house is perpetually in a state of not-quite. But it's comfortable, no strike that. It's enjoyable. It's not the fancy, all impressive, manicured place that some of my friends live in, but they really are no happier with theirs than I am with mine. Sometimes I'm self-conscious when people with 'more' stare into my not-quite world, but tonight I realized how much I have, how much I enjoy it. I told my God "Thank you" tonight and I meant it.
I want to remodel my kitchen and I get snippy about it and am always looking forward. My ice maker can't be hooked up. My oven is too small. The space gets cramped when more than one of us is working there. The hot water stays hot until you turn it off, then you have to let it run again. But it's still more than adequate. I have all the appliances I can use and some I only use on rare occasions. It's all at my fingertips. Nothing breaks down regularly. I have to fill the ice tray so it will complete it's cycle. Wow, how hard is that. Yet I'm often ungrateful for a kitchen that many in the world would dream of. And yes, even when I remember and feel grateful, I still want to remodel it.
The list could go on and on. Truth is, we train ourself to be ungrateful. We watch all the latest and see all that's available and teach ourselves to want that. Advertising fuels sales and sales fill pockets so that someone somewhere can want more. I know we need a strong economy. But I'm not really hurting. I'm sure there are those who are. Yet, sometimes we are dissatisfied because someone somewhere is telling us we have less than we should have. It might be good for us to really think sometimes if our "needs" are even reality at all. I'm not rich. Or am I?
Do I need or want new shoes? Do I need or want a new car? Do I need or want to build a new master bedroom? Do I need or want a jacuzzi? (I definitely need a jacuzzi!)
My husbands niece said she won't let her kids watch cartoons - because of the commercials. When they watch cartoons, they won't play with the toys they have. They whine and beg and refuse to be happy with piles of toys recently acquired. Maybe it's time for some of us "grown-ups" to ask ourselves some hard questions like "Why do I gripe?"
The picture? My new deck. I made the table last Saturday with a little help from my mate. We drove 10 minutes to a super hardware store purchased the exact lumber we wanted from a large selection and I measured and cut and screwed and nailed and sanded with a wide selection of well made power tools. Then we carried it to the upper level our deck obtained in the same way, adorned it with a large wood and canvas umbrella and have enjoyed it repeatedly since. Why do I gripe?

Faith, Hope and Love

“Now faith, hope and love remain and the greatest of these three is love.”

In the past few years, I’ve embedded lines from a contemporary Christian song in my mind. ‘Give me faith to move this mountain. Give me hope when times are hard. Give me love to conquer all. Give me You to fill my heart.’ Quoting these lines in a time of need has set my mind on a rectifying path often.

I’ve stated several times to many audiences that I was the spoiled child of an incredible father. My father was a stabilizing effect in an otherwise chaotic, and sometimes irrational childhood. Had my father been aware of the irrational parts of my life, I’m not sure what he would have done.
Dad was strong on discipline, but not the abusive kind. He disciplined mostly by example, direction and training. He also talked a lot. That may be where I got some of mine. It’s not to say he never spanked me, I just don’t really remember him spanking me, though I know I got some from him. And kind as he was, there was a line nobody crossed with my dad.
I don’t think daddy ever administered corporal punishment to me in anger. Sometimes words were thrown in anger but not hands, fists, or belts or such. Yet once he did punish me in fear. I shall never forget it.
My mother worked as a professional seamstress at that time in a mens’ clothing department. She usually worked until 9 PM. Daddy got home in the afternoon about an hour and a half after I got home from school. There was an unspoken rule. I came home with a family from the private school I attended or I waited on dad. On rare occasions, I would walk the two miles home, but only if I knew I could be there when dad got home. I didn’t like walking by myself and seldom would unless I’d just missed the last train out, so to speak.
Daddy and I would have supper together and on occasion make a late supper and set an ‘elegant’ table for my mom as well. When she had a day off during the week, she’d bake something yummy and spend the rest of the time gardening or visiting friends or talking on the phone.

A rabbit needs chasing here for clarification. My dad had a reputation for being a man of integrity and wisdom. He wasn’t a pastor, as such, or a preacher, as such, but he mentored many people through finances and marriages and substance abuse recovery. He spoke in jails and nursing homes and filling stations and restaurants about his own transformation, gratitude and resolve. In this capacity, he met a couple and mentored them for several years in all of the above categories. They came to our home frequently and their three boys and I played when younger and visited and played board games as we got older. Dad kept a kind but watchful eye on this process. He despised the oldest son “JP”– a couple of years older than myself – and made it known that I was to develop nothing but a very distant relationship with him. This was not a problem to me. There were too many fish to be caught and daddy had taught me much about fishing! That rabbit caught and fried, I continue with the story at hand.

One afternoon, I, being the editor of the school yearbook, missed my ride home. As I hurried out, “JP’s” mom said “The Ogles said they had to hurry and I said I’d take you home.” That was fine with me. I had a lot to carry and didn’t relish lugging it 2 miles. As I got in the car, she said: “I have just a couple of errands to run.” Something inside said “OH,oh,” but I settled in between twin brothers in the back and we started out. Those errands included bill paying, a visit to the attorney, and a “short” stop for groceries. A couple of times I offered to just walk on home. She insisted it would be just a little. It got dark. I knew dad was home and would be furious. After buying groceries, she needed to take them home so nothing would go bad. When we got to her house she asked “JP” to take me home. At my wide eyed alarm. She told “JP” to drive carefully and take me straight home. She told me she would call daddy and let him know what happened.
Her call was as timely as the trip home.
When I arrived, my dad was looking out the window. Before he got to the front door, “JP” pealed off leaving rubber, smoke and noise behind. I walked up the sidewalk feeling abandoned and defensive. No explanation was tolerated. My father exploded into a whirlwind of F5 characteristic. He threatened, berated, used language I never heard before or after. He struck me.
I sat wounded, angry and bitter in my room when I heard the phone ring. Then it rang again. One call was from “JP’s” mom, the other was from the previously non-present spouse in the Ogle home who had heard her say she’d bring me home. When dad barged into my room a few minutes later, I wouldn’t even look at him. I knew he knew, just from the conversations I’d overheard. I was ashamed for him, but still angry and hurt. He told me to get my sweater, wash my face and come with him. It wasn’t an optional request.
He took me to our favorite restaurant and ordered for me. We sat in silence for awhile. Eventually he began to talk of his dreams and hopes and fears. He was very explicit in his admissions of fear. This was as close to an apology as I would get. It may have been the only way he knew how to apologize to me. His dreams were his confidence in my character and abilities. His hopes were his expression of love and devotion. I was still angry but no longer hurt or bitter as we walked back up the sidewalk and into our house. Mom was home. Dad just said “We got a late start and so I took her out to eat.” My mom didn’t ask. Later that night I contemplated the fear that could slay my father’s integrity. Eventually I accepted it.
It wasn’t until many years later that I understood the secret here. What temptation and anger cannot touch, fear can destroy in a second. Fear has only one battleground: the mind. Fear is no respecter of physical or emotional strength. The only way to beat it is to arm the mind in advance.

Now faith, hope and love remain.
The picture is a scan of dad and my 4th daughter 30 years ago