watercolor painting of cows by emily weil

daily painting | curious cows

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Cows. So fun to paint. These interesting (and interested) blocky-headed creatures gathered around our car in rural Sunol, where several of us who are E Bay Parks volunteers ventured out to the hills to observe golden eagles. Cows are curious, and they were likely wondering when the bales of hay were going to emerge from the backs of our vehicles. They kind of lined up, staring. Cracked me up. Ben, the biologist who has much experience with both the birds and the rural areas we visit, said that once he’d parked his truck and traipsed off to look for eagle nests and when he returned the cows had licked every inch of his truck clean. Including the windshield which, after this bovine tongue-lashing, was clouded and made his ability to drive impossible. No clue as to why the cows considered Ben’s truck delicious.

I love these outings to rural areas to track the birds. Paul, my volunteer birding pal, is great company and as we look to see if our pairs of birds have had kids we solve all the problems both in the world and in our families; politicians should give us a call, as we’ve worked through every kind of global issue and we definitely have all the answers.

I’m an artist. I am beyond lucky. And I get to appreciate local raptors. And I get to teach art to open-hearted students. And I get to enjoy my lovely home on the water and chuckle at my guinea pig Buster Posey’s little noises (nothing cuter than a guinea pig sneeze). And today I watched the tugs nudge a container ship up to the shipping cranes along the estuary with the foggy SF bay as a backdrop. I was funky today, as I come to terms with visitations of memories of childhood loneliness. My belief is that when these visuals surface in my brain, it is an opportunity for me to love and comfort that little girl who was so bewildered and confused. She’s mine now. I protect and love her and we heal together. The possibilities are endless.

10″ x 14″ watercolor, ink, acrylic on paper = $200

 

 

 

daily painting | wild lily

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So I’m kind of into pastels these days. I think it’s because I am liberally using them in the commissioned series of paintings I’m in middle of. Also it’s fun to use the pastels with abandon when I’m finished with a watercolor I’m not excited about — if I have a painting that’s kind of, well, meh, I can’t wreck it by getting fast and loose with these bright chalky pigments. Which is what happened with this lily bouquet this afternoon.

Today was a day of peace. A fun meeting with my fellow golden-eagle-watching pal as we figured out the new software to file reports (did you know that the concentration of golden eagle nests here in CA, between the Carquinez Strait and Morgan Hill, is the highest in the world?). We work with the East Bay Parks district to collect data so that new wind farms are not built near nests; the blades kill more eagles than the birds can replenish (they also kill thousands of other birds, and bats). So the biologists in the park system try to work with the wind turbine companies to keep eagles safer. And dear Jonathan came by to finish up details with the new water heater. He’s a doll.

My heart feels full and, at the moment, whole (sometimes it’s quite shattered and that’s just the way grief works). I am grateful and content. And I can take hot baths again. 

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil, pastel on paper = $150

 

 

 

watercolor and ink drawing of hollyhock by emily weil

daily painting | peralta hollyhock

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As I left my therapist Lucy’s office on Peralta Ave in Albany the other day I noticed this lovely hollyhock towering in a yard across the street (snapped a photo). There’s something about these flowers — I only see them in the summer, and they seem quite accessible and almost pedestrian but also very gorgeous. They are not sophisticated or aloof, like a perfectly grown rose or an elegant lily. Which is why I think they are magnificent. Lucy is helping me walk through this very difficult chapter in my life (and in my family) — death, dysfunction, addiction, estrangement, cancer and suicide lurk. And death is a natural — even miraculous — part of life. And those of us left behind get out our mops and try to clean up the bloody bits of our beat-up spirits. Lucy advises me to keep my heart open. Which often seems impossible. But when I do, and choose to see the love and magic in the world that surround me, my steps are a bit lighter — I appreciate the red-shouldered hawk that flies overhead when I have conversations on the Mill Valley patio with my brother as we sit under a huge, blooming magnolia tree. Bright scarlet dragonflies zoom around outside my houseboat, skimming the estuary waters. Red tail hawks in a nearby Monterey Pine dodge dive-bombing crows. I get to see golden eagles have kids in the Sunol hills. Finches and sparrows mob the bird feeder on my deck. And, best of all, I absorb the warm hugs and loving affection from my brother. It’s a beautiful world.

OK now I am going to follow the steps a counselor suggested years ago when we experience hard times: Dial 911, step over the body, and do the dishes.

10″ x 7″ ink, watercolor on paper

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