watercolor and ink painting of yellow flower by emily weil

daily painting | sunny yellows

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I wanted to paint this yellow flower as it is as bright and comforting as the chilly but welcome sunshine here in soggy California. A dear friend who is especially kind to me in this time of loss brought this bouquet to me along with yet another bountiful bag of delicious lemons from her tree. So I did this simple card to say thank you.

My living room is looking a bit more comfy and orderly in the absence of buckets and bowls and puppy pee pads and soaked upholstered chairs, as the rains have subsided for now. Looks like a new roof is soon on my horizon and I admit that a drippy ceiling during the atmospheric river pushed me over the edge into the drink (I think it was putting plastic bags and towels on my bed that turned me into a screaming meemie). And yet, these are not big complaints as my home wasn’t carried away by a mudslide, my business didn’t get inundated by the Pacific Ocean, a tree didn’t crash into my bedroom and I am still upright (while driving across the San Rafael bridge in those storms to see my brother was a bit nutty).

I feel unhinged most of the time, and I’m learning to just accept it. My brother is slowly declining, and I had the shock the other day of realizing he could be here a few more months so I have to adjust my caregiving accordingly as I’m pooped; in my wildest dreams I didn’t see him making it to 2023 (he was diagnosed with aggressive brain cancer last April). But he’s still mostly lucid (though very fatigued) and we have sweet and intimate conversations and I will forever cherish these times.

I feel awful most of the time. And I am often swept away by moments of deep gratitude (like right now when the reflections from the water outside do magical dances on my kitchen ceiling). What a mix! Life is so nutty. And I’m showing up for it. Every effing day. 

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | seattle sunflower

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Drip management. That may sound like a description of online dating, but it’s about my roof. I’ve had four contractors up there over the past two years smearing sealant around but still I need to line up the bowls and buckets on my living room floor. Fingers crossed the seemingly competent roofer that came last week to inspect and offer advice will arrive to finally and literally seal the deal. And soon.

This kind of stuff can really freak me out — my home! It’s violated! I do enjoy that lovely chorus of raindrops on my roof, even if accented by the splashes of the leaks plopping into the bowls. I strategically line up the puppy pee pads on the floor in case the drips migrate and miss the bowls (terrifically absorbent; I use them for the bottom of my guinea pig cage).

But now that I’m a relic of “mid-century” (born in the 1950s), I’ve learned a few things. Like how life always has challenges and problems to figure out. And how to adapt and fix things and relax; a solution will sooner or later present itself. Might as well keep going and enjoy life’s amazingness.

Like a good book! I’ve decided that since I’ve never read them, I’m going to read the Harry Potter series; now’s a good time as my brain operates at about the level of a third-grader. And they’re terrific. Good to read about magic and wizardry and owls that deliver the mail. A lovely relief from grief and death. I tell ya, I’m learning a few things.

Happy New Year.

[painting from photo of sunflowers taken in October in my sister’s neighborhood in Seattle]

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic on paper

 

 

 

watercolor and acrylic abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | december.

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Well sports fans get out the bucket and hang it on the tree for I’m about to get sappy. Some people scoff at the popularity of the movie, “Love Actually,” which came out 20 years ago. I’m in love with it. I usually watch it every year as I enjoy its Christmas theme (and Bill Nighy’s performance is priceless) and frankly it helps me keep my heart open so I can better see how much love is in the world, and in my life. I’d frankly rather be cynical and be a self-protected hermit — it’s safer and is usually my default point of view (John Donne may have said that no man is an island, but some of us are inner tubes [I stole that line from a book]). In my time of grief, I tend to tuck myself in and keep my distance as I nurse my wounds and soothe my sadness. Which is appropriate and it’s often what I need (like today when I have the energy of a dead slug). But I aspire to live my life wide open and with love and trust and faith as that vulnerability is rewarding and surpising, in happy and sparkly and unexpected ways.

May our holidays be sane and that we notice small, wonderful, miraculous moments that bring us hope and connection and comfort (one of my treats a few days ago — watching a soggy and healthy-looking Cooper’s Hawk on a telephone pole with its wings out and its tail feathers spread, drying off after the rains; it was a gorgeous bird).

[Finished this painting at home today. Don’t forget to stop by Frank Bette Center in Alameda for the Holiday Boutique sale this coming weekend and check out my small paintings and other artsy holiday gifts!]

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil, acrylic on paper = $130

 

 

 

daily painting | december fruitiness

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Though I painted this last month (it got lost in the holiday shuffle), this piece still cheers me today with its bright pink and red hues. Pomegranates are so bold and unapologetic for who they are — strong colors, tough skin, lumpy shapes, funny little tart seeds, called arils (my mouth is puckering just thinking about them!). Something about things continuing their growth patterns even when the world seems to be collapsing all around us brings comfort; fruit still ripens, flowers still bloom, cute little wintering ducks still dive for food out my window, hilarious finch-fight drama at the birdfeeder. I found it very hard to get through my afternoon yesterday and I can only think it was because my whole body felt immersed in grief. I sat in my chair in my studio and wept. Then it subsided a little and I got back up and grabbed my paintbrush and continued with a small painting. I am riveted by political news today that is both horrifying and historic. So I didn’t head back to my Oakland studio; instead I applied for CA grants, worked on a graphic design project that I received today for the first time since last March, crossed my fingers the E Bay Pump folks fixed the marina pump that whined all night outside my window for a second night, checked in with friends who are ailing, tended to household chores, cleaned up computer clutter. Today I feel no need to be heroic or strong. I am just here. Staggering onward, rejoicing (thank you WH Auden).

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

 

 

 

 

daily painting | christmas still life

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You know you are an artist when you roam the produce dept at Berkeley Bowl looking for still life material instead of recipe ingredients. In this case I “shopped my refrigerator” and put this together on this most remarkable Christmas Day, the first day in my 68 years to have a solo quarantined December 25th. Wow, I must say it’s been pretty damn interesting. And amazingly happy. I knew it would be a quiet day here in the marina (neighbors’ remodeling projects temporarily stilled), and I’ve been paying attention to and appreciating a complete lack of family drama. Is that a good thing? Am I destined to become a recluse? Who knows. But I admit I am glad to observe my adaptability to this somewhat sequestered life. And I completely enjoyed a rainy, windy holiday walk on Crown Beach with a good friend. As I sit in my slightly rocking houseboat enjoying a winter storm’s arrival, anticipating putting together a Christmas feast just for one, I am standing outside myself a bit and watching my life as an aging woman. Content, surely. Filled with grief — how could I not be? Flexible, sturdy and rolling with the 2020 punches. Merry Christmas everyone. Though, as a dear friend said, “Merry” and “Christmas” are not exactly a well-matched pair this year.

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

 

 

 

daily painting | smudgy trumpets

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Searching for subject matter, I found a photo of this trumpet vine that grows outside my studio. Played with watercolor, was dissatisfied, added pastel, added acrylic pen and more pastel and then just said oh hell I’m going to have at it with the chalky, brightly colored sticks and smudge this thing into a pink, hot mess. It’s satisfying just to let go and forget about end results. Sometimes that makes for a good painting. Sometimes not. My mind’s not made up about this one, but my dark moods these days obscure my perceptions. Yesterday, though, offered relief and peace and those moments really sparkle against the murky grays of my grief — it was the 15th anniversary of my mom’s death, and my sweet brother and I went to the beach to visit and reminisce about our family. It was comforting to be in agreement as we reflected on our experiences with mom and dad and to love and console each other as we watched the surfers at Rodeo Beach, spotted dolphins foraging for lunch, soaked up the sunshine, remembered summer vacations as kids, and mainly just appreciated being together as the numbers of our sibs dwindle. So soothing to my sore heart.

7″ x 10″ watercolor, pen on paper

 

 

 

daily painting | december persimmon

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I think most of us would agree that this is a December unlike any other. For the first time in forever I will be locked down at home instead of in San Diego for Christmas with grandkids — so many Americans will be quarantined as well, lonely for family. I am grieving my sister, who was taken out by cancer, but I cannot ask my friends for hugs. I watch in horror as Covid death numbers rocket through the stratosphere in the US. I worry myself sick about my daughter’s family. I watch politicians deny and subvert the truth. It’s like trying to breathe after having been swept off the mountain by an avalanche, crushed under eight feet of snow.

And yet. Small treasures keep my focus on the glory of just being alive today. Bike rides to Crab Cove to meet a kind and warm friend and together watching leggy black-necked stilts at the water’s edge (I looked them up!). Spicy, hammy bean soup in the crock pot. Getting out my tray of watercolors and painting this persimmon I set up on a flowery napkin I lifted from Uncle Fuzzy’s kitchen. Doing mindless chores like laundry which soothes me. Celebrating my health. Drinking my sister’s favorite brand of tea I ordered on Amazon, brewed in the little metal teapot she used every morning that her wonderful husband mailed to me. Netflix series about spies in WWII. Green herons out my kitchen window. Inhaling fabulous apple-cranberry homemade pie a friend made. Marveling at the hopeful news of vaccines. Dancing lights on my ceiling, reflections from the water outside my boat. Finches fighting at the birdfeeder. These are small slices of life that keep me from being squished, giving me a breathing tube that reaches up through the suffocation of snow into fresh air. I know I am quite sturdy, all-in-all, but Jesus, Mary and the Pips what a year.

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