daily painting | abstract amaryllis

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I tried to ignore the impeachment trial today. I really did. And I failed. But then I did turn it off for a bit and crank up a few blues tunes and work on the deliciousness of yet another blooming amaryllis stalk, v. 2 from the bulb I received as a gift. The first set of flowers faded and dried up and were replaced by these! And there’s another shoot visible, popping out. Woot! I wanted to be super loose with this painting and use bright colors and pastels and be freewheeling and splashy, so I started with sticks-and-ink, then added big splotches of watercolors, followed by pastels and acrylic pens. Didn’t really care if you could ID the subject. I couldn’t tear myself away from the news so I did this at home, and that was fun too though I often suffer from quarantine cabin fever. But I’m safe. Vaccines are on their way and I’m ready. My gosh I’ll be squeezing my kids and grandkids and great-grandkids until they squawk. Not soon enough. Oh! And Happy Valentine’s Day! You know what? Here’s another thought. Such a damn loaded day of the year, right? I’d always longed for a romantic celebration of this day. And I’m truly fine with what is. And I got wonderful prezzies from my daughter in San Diego (which included a darling mug printed with the words, “Best Effin’ Mimi Ever” [I’m Mimi to my grandkids]). So sweet and it makes my heart so full. Accepting what is is the best. I resist so much, often. But trusting, and letting go, and “non-resistance” equals contentment, and — dare I say? — joy.

16″ x 12″ watercolor, pastel, sticks-and-ink, pencil, acrylic ink on paper = $250

 

 

 

daily painting | outburst

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My lush, blooming amaryllis bulb has four giganto blossoms atop its stalk like those tall poles with siren loudspeakers you see outside sometimes. Four! Each the size of a big salad plate, with another stalk reaching up, hoping to outdo its sibling. I decided to do a rendition of this lushness in my studio using larger paper, ink with sticks, watercolor and pastel.

In elementary school I remember science projects, simple experiments of planting seeds and watching them sprout and grow. I was quietly and secretly amazed that little small hard things could contain a miracle like that — how could a tiny seed hold so much information, and need so little to burst open with life? I carefully — unconsciously — held back my curiosity and thirst for knowing these things, as that meant vulnerability and vulnerability meant exposure and exposure meant danger, either from my father’s rage and derision or my mother’s mocking, sharp tongue. I learned to stay deep inside myself and thus survive. Once I arrived in my twenties, struggling with crippling PTSD from childhood trauma, I sought — and found — professional help. My first therapist gave me words for my roiling feelings, helped me find support groups, counseled me and guided me into hope and love and wholeness.

These spectacular blooms grew out of a lumpy, humble, ugly duckling of a bulb. How is that not a divine marvel? As I painted these flowers, I got completely lost in the creative process and felt a joy in making art I hadn’t felt in many months. I was a whirling dervish of splashy bright paint and powdery pastel chalk and drippy India ink and I hardly knew my name, what day it was, the time. It was a Disney Fantasia dream reminding me that life happens, whether from seeds or bulbs or paintbrushes or pens and inks. No stopping its amazingness!

22″ x 19″ watercolor, sticks and ink, chalk pastel, pencil on paper = $550

 

 

 

daily painting | amaryllis from angela

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What could be better to lift one’s spirits than dramatic blooms like these that magically grow out of a bulb that was a gift from a kind neighbor? It’s a kind of miracle, and things that are alive bring lightness to my tired soul — from these stalks erupting into dramatic blossoms to feisty finches at the feeder to cormorants diving for wiggly little worms. Focusing on the natural world is a wonderful and encouraging distraction. I’ve been watching this stalk of green grow up out of a ceramic pitcher in my living room for several weeks and — voila! Big showy white flowers! Another stalk is also ascending so maybe a second act is on its way. Such simple, glorious beauty growing out of a bumpy bulb (my experiment with growing sunflower sprouts has been slightly less successful). I’ve been watching the stalks grow, itchy to paint the flowers once they popped. I was happy to get my watercolors out today after a morning of sadness, followed by the lovely news my sewage outtake hose had disconnected outside my home (all fixed now; again, Angela’s kindness via a phone call alerted me to the yucky problem she discovered while walking past my house; Vern to the rescue!). I’m fairly snugged in now, warm and comfy as the rains come and the winds start to pick up. Yet again I am saved by putting one foot in front of the other even when my insides are roiling with grief. A story on NPR today helped as well — about people hitting the “pandemic wall” as we desperately hope this terrible virus will someday fade into the background though now it continues to hunt us and scare us and keep us from each other. I have hope but my dark moods I’m sure are part of the state of things we humans now struggle with. We’re all hanging in there. And we will keep doing so. We just need to keep paying attention — to our feelings, to each other. How lucky I am to have warm and kind humans in my life!

10″ x 7″ watercolor, pen, acrylic ink on paper = $90

 

 

 

daily painting | amaryllis sprout

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After being too shocked and news-addicted to paint yesterday on such a humiliating day for our country, I pulled out my watercolors today to soothe myself. Did one of a neighbor’s chili peppers. It bombed. Did another one of my orchid. Disaster. So, as it often happens, I tried one more quickie of the amaryllis bulb starting to sprout in my ceramic pitcher; the bulb was a lovely gift from a kind neighbor. Liked it; a very simple painting but this new growth is a comfort as 2021 begins. Too bad the new year’s promises changed dramatically to showcase shameful behavior by politicians. And lies and shocking violence. I got the hell out of my house today to watch plovers zipping around the water’s edge at Crab Cove with a dear friend (it helped). And we saw long-legged stilts. And diving terns. And dozens of other shorebirds. I’m really too speechless to say much today. But I do desperately want to hope that the truth will win out someday. It always does — always. Sometimes it takes too long. But it always bubbles up to the surface. I am a big believer in telling the truth, however uncomfortable or painful. It’s an absolute necessity regardless of how overwhelmingly noisy the lies are. We will survive this stinky swamp. I believe in us.

7.5″ x 7.5″ watercolor, pen, acrylic ink on paper = $75