watercolor of crab cove park by emily weil

daily painting | crab cove

“Linda Wishkob was magnetically ugly. Her pasty wedge of a face just cleared the post office counter.” Louise Erdrich wrote those astonishing sentences in her book, The Round House. What a writer! Those two lines alone are worth the price of her powerful novel. I love being in the middle of a book that pulls me in its direction throughout the day making me look forward to whatever time I can carve out to devour it.

Speaking of writing, I am finding writing in my journal to be helpful. It’s like talking to a therapist. It’s a release of emotion and very healing as I don’t have to edit my words or try to sound nice. I can write with abandon, knowing that no one will look at me with that dreaded look of concern while they worry I’m going to go jump off a bridge.

Grief, man. What a trip.

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

 

 

 

abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | crab cove confab

One of my great joys is gathering with other artists — a sketch group, perhaps, or a class I’m teaching, or meeting my painting pals Sue and Madeline at Crab Cove to draw, paint, gab — or maybe just stare at the water in a slight daze or notice how the Canada geese goslings are growing up. There are big leafy trees, people with those colorful crescent-shaped wind-sail thingies out in the bay, cacophonous crows squabbling in the trees, cooling, salty breezes off the water, families having picnics, neighbors walking dogs, nature classes for kids. An embarrassment of riches. I am humbled and grateful for these warm-hearted and soothing conclaves. On a recent afternoon I doodled this abstract.

7″ x 7″ watercolor, pen, pencil, acrylic ink on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | crab cove calla

Aaahh… the time of year my favorite flower blooms. Spotted this glory at Crab Cove, and no I will not divulge my secret stash of overlooked Calla Lily plants somewhere in the bay area where I can swipe a few and no one pays any mind. The simplicity of this flower! The sexually suggestive “spadix” — isn’t that a fabulous word? — stunning. How they unfurl when  blossoming, like a sail. The creamy whiteness of the “petals” (actually the scientific name is “spathe” and aren’t you excited to learn such trivia?). There is something cosmic and magical about these beauties and I can’t get enough of them, which is obvious if you’ve seen past blog-posts. The challenge for me is to keep the painting uncomplicated and not noodle around too much, avoiding adding details that only distract. I love juicy simplicity. Which is a good thing, as life during Covid has been pared down to fewer elements — simple exercise, an afternoon on a socially-distant beach, cooking soup, Zooming with friends, playing with pen and ink and watercolor. Grieving. Challenging days, now. But I know there is much to look forward to when it’s safer out there in the world to roam around and travel and go to a favorite cafe and hug our friends. Holding on to those visions during my darker, sadder days, which helps.

8″ x 7″ watercolor, pen, acrylic ink on paper = $75

 

 

 

daily painting | amaryllis sprout

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