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

 

 

 

abstract acrylic painting by emily weil

daily painting | roughage

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Well lately I’ve been spending time in my studio creating/redoing large abstracts. My space, in the Temescal neighborhood in Oakland, is perfect. I can splatter paint and make messes, I can store large paintings, there is a sink for cleaning out brushes drippy with acrylic paints, I have a cushy chair I can sit in and cry when I need to, and my landlady kindly assists in installing shelves and rag racks. Yesterday I finished up this painting, and again I’m curious about choosing those crazy colors in this dark December when family grief sits like a heavy cloud on my head. I watched a documentary about Bob Ross last night (Netflix, I recommend it), and his joy in painting was genuine. And his demos creating a “happy little tree” attracted thousands of viewers to his TV show, bringing encouragement and hope (and, in one case, the prevention of a suicide). I’m not going to paint on TV any time soon (not to mention I can’t stand being observed while I paint), but I get the excitement at creating art. It absolutely heals and buoys my soul, and today a cherished neighbor sent me a loving, kind text, complimenting me on a small painting she bought from me yesterday. Though today I am frustrated and discouraged that my many attempts at fixing a leaky spot in my roof have failed (drip drip in the living room), and my heart aches from painful family legacies, I can always paint. This colorful corner in my life fills me with gladness; I can always go there and make splashy puddles of wet pinks, yellows, blues and greens on canvas and paper. And I will. Like, right now.

28.5″ x 31″ acrylic, oil pastel on canvas (stretched) = $1295