watercolor of convict lake by emily weil

daily painting | convict lake

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I hardly know where to begin. I am the grateful recipient of a gift of a vacation in Mammoth Lakes, in the eastern Sierras, an offering from a dear relative who has a place here, and who knows the losses of the last few years in my family. It is a reset button for me — I am resting, crying, grieving, exploring, painting and writing. At Convict Lake, a gob-smackingly beautiful place, I set up a little painting station and chatted with fisher people and other hikers and watched bald eagles catch trout. After painting I walked partially around the lake, and a man stopped me and pointed up to a bald eagle in a tree just above the path! So we marveled and shared our views with other hikers. An elderly couple came by, and I gave them my binocs to get a closer look at the majestic creature. The man said he was 87 and had been in wild areas all his life and this was his first sighting of a bald eagle. I was thrilled for him. 

I am healing. I am absorbing all this beauty and love from the wild. Craggy peaks out of every condo window and aspen trees with changing colors. Stars and the milky way — I’m at 8,000 ft. and Jupiter beams like an incoming airplane. Local natural hot springs to soak in. This is good. This is beyond good. I’m a big grateful, absorbent sponge. 

Don’t want this to be a boring travelog. But boy howdy I am appreciative of this slice of magic wedged between death and grief and mourning and my life in Alameda.

10″ x 7″ ink, watercolor on paper

 

 

 

watercolor of pears by emily weil

daily painting | august pears

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I walked along the estuary last night to the perfect waterside bench for watching moonrises. The August blue supermoon, pumpkin-orange in the smoky air, rose like a beautiful ghost. I didn’t understand why hundreds of people were not lining the estuary with me, appropriately worshipping her lunar beauty. 

Earlier in the day I spotted a gorgeous adult Cooper’s Hawk perched high on the silos in the marina parking lot, scouting for a small feathered snack. 

I painted pears yesterday with our Brushes by the Bay group. Such a peaceful, pleasant, satisfying afternoon. 

I embrace my grief. It is deep, reflecting the close bond my brother and I formed in his 16 months of sickness. It is a gift. Evidence of living at its most glorious. I am elated and shattered and grateful all at the same time.  

6″ x 8″ ink, watercolor on paper = $65

 

 

 

watercolor of flowers by emily weil

daily painting | quickie bouquet

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I think love survives death. I think it is such a powerful force that the ending of a human life cannot extinguish it. I believe love between humans transcends the death of the body. That’s how powerful it is. That’s how transcendent it is. That bond is transmuted into a force that glues our molecules together and that keeps us afloat in this treacherous, beautiful journey on this earth.

That is the power of life. The sacred miracle. John Lennon got it right.

8″ x 8″ ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper = $85

 

 

 

watercolor of apples by emily weil

daily painting | holly’s apples

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I splashed some paint around yesterday with our artists’ group, Brushes by the Bay. We meet, paint and discuss our work every week, and provide support and encouragement to each other. Holly brought these nice apples for subject matter. 

That I could function at any level was encouraging, for I am grieving my brother who died several days ago after a long, 16-month journey with brain cancer. I am happy for him that he’s done and I’m heartbroken. For a couple of days I felt him near. I felt his love for me. I think he’s looking after me (I told him before he died that he’d better).

It’s kind of like being on hallucinogens, intense grief. How can it be that I lost all my siblings in less than three years? What? I looked at a to-do list I’d written and I might as well have been watching ants crawl across a piece of white paper. Concentrating on anything is useless. Everything is upside down. I’m trying to remember how to do basic household chores; simple tasks confuse me. I’m disoriented. My ears are ringing. I’m nauseous. I suppose I wouldn’t be so shattered had we not loved each other so much. So maybe I’ll focus on that. The miracle of that.

I sound like I am feeling sorry for myself. Please forgive me. I think it’s more like shock. But self-pity works too.

I think I’ll go lie down.

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor on paper

 

 

 

watercolor painting of bouquet of flowers by emily weil

daily painting | tj posies

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I did several iterations of this Trader Joe’s bouquet, getting my paints out before my commute to Mill Valley for brother-time. As I’ve said about 100 times already, grabbing my porcelain tray full of watercolors and opening a hot-press watercolor paper sketchbook to spatter some “Opera Pink” onto wet paper heals my soul and helps me grieve. I feel so fortunate to be an artist. I suppose it helped as a kid too, now that I think of it — I doodled a lot with pencils.

Well maybe this post will actually trigger the MailChimp feed to send out emails to you folks who signed up for daily painting alerts. Invisible anti-art ghosts in the system have made things kind of messed up.

So here’s a question I wouldn’t ever in a million years have expected to ask my brother, but I did this morning on the phone: “How’s your penis?” He had a catheter malfunction yesterday which nicked him a little; the hospice nurse came to remedy the problem but, yuck, poor guy. The indignities and discomforts of needing nursing care. Once he was fixed up, I left his facility to drive home. Cried along the way, especially while listening to an interview on the radio (Fresh Air) with a neurosurgeon. I’m kind of tired of learning about brain tumors (while at the same time I continue to be fascinated). Should have changed the station to hear about how we women are again second-class citizens.

7″ x 7″ ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper = $65

 

 

 

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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