I may have previously stated that I adore the shapes of bell peppers. I couldn’t help but do another pass at this guy before he ends up as dinner. It sure seems the fewer expectations I have for a “keeper” painting, the more happily surprised I am with results — I put my watercolor pad and paints out on my kitchen counter as in between appointments and chores and phone calls and errands I just wanted to enjoy the messy creative process. I so love the rounded, twisted, bent shapes of this savory (and sometimes sweet) vegetable! Whether applying ink-and-stick or watercolor or pencil (or, more likely, all of the above), it’s a fabulous subject to rest my eyeballs on, and my splashing around with ink and cadmium red paints is a delight. And my day was made even sweeter by a thoughtful text from a grandchild. OK now I must get back to preparing a roast chicken dinner and putting together a lunchbox for banding tomorrow. What a goofy, rewarding, wonderful old-lady life this is. [I’ll post a pic at some point of the magnificent adult red tail hawk we banded last week; see ggro.org if you are curious.]

12″ x 9″ sticks-and-ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper = $140

A large bulbous deep-red-hued pepper just gets me all excited to get out my watercolors. As soon as I saw it in the bin at Berkeley Bowl, I knew it would get painted several times before it ended up in my fry pan getting sautéed for a pasta dish (now that they make quite palatable gluten-free pasta). I could do dozens of iterations of this gorgeous vegetable; I need to go back to get yellow and green ones. I think I was smitten with peppers when I first saw Edward Weston’s black and white photos of these guys years ago — so many ways to enjoy their sensual shapes. I’m not even that crazy about this creation, but I will do more — sometimes in the produce dept I am shopping more for interesting still life subjects than dinner. Let me pivot now into gratitude for every day happy events (which includes finding surpisingly shaped veggies), such as joining a lively group of urban sketchers at Urban Ore in Berkeley (one artist recognized my masked-self not by my visage but by my spattered palette, which is like going to the dog park and knowing all the dogs by name but none of the humans). I painted a bin of brooms, which is an OK painting. I was grateful to have a phone conversation with my niece whose loss of her mom to suicide is still so fresh and painful; I’d like to think we comfort each other. I was also lucky enough to be invited to a small, Covid-safe BBQ in a friend’s back yard in Berkeley and the grilled salmon was exquisite, as was the most remarkable pie I think I’ve ever had, along with warm and loving conversations. And then coming home and feeling happy for community but also glad to rest by myself on my lily pad and sitting on my deck under the dim stars while black-crowned night herons squawk as they alight on the bow of my neighbor’s sailboat. There are always problems to solve in life — losses to mourn, conflicts to resolve, questions that will never be answered. But these daily gifts are sparks that light my way.

9″ x 12″ sticks-and-ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper = $140