Monday, September 19, 2005

Day 5 (last Maine Watercolor Class)

The last day it is so foggy that the sky and sea are one shape and one color. David does his demonstration under dripping pine trees. We're not quite sure if it's raining anyway. One of the guys holds an umbrella over David, but the drips off the umbrella seem to land right on his paper. David can paint anywhere and has chosen paper that dries quickly because of the wet weather. He comes up with a piece of art. Some of us take pictures of it. I set up shop out of my trunk today, which keeps my paper dry. At the critique, all the paintings look like a foggy day, but I guess the sun was shining where I was. I laugh to myself. I'll learn. Give me 40 years and I'll be as good as David.

There is a wonderful lunch prepared by David's wife, Kathy, back at the house. We are free to look around. I go looking at every painting in every room. Some are David's. The house is a big old Maine house. Simple, pleasing, but not like a magazine picture. Real. I discover a third floor with a bedroom I like. A white room with a quilt, paintings, small rugs, old painted furniture.

I meet friends of theirs from church and talk with the wife. She does substance abuse counseling and she tells me great stories. More email addresses exchanged. I notice that the other students have gone and I decide I must leave too, though I don't want to. I know these couples are old friends and David and Kathy's daughter has arrived too, so I'm gone.

The drive home is relaxing and my mind and heart are full. What a gift this week was. I am so thankful to God for this.

Day 4 (Maine Watercolor Class)

Thursday we are at the beach. While David paints families arrive and kids and dogs and all show up right in his picture. He leaves them out. He never gets bothered by distractions, just says happily 'the sounds of summer'....This man can focus. He shows us how he does those wonderful skies and gets those colors to blend. We meet for critique at the lighthouse.

We take a group photo. Somewhere during the week 'verditer' has become the word. Stephan is French and when he says verditer it sounds really good. They joke about having a white t-shirt made for all of us with verditer written on it. Our little in joke. He says about my painting: I didn't see that much yellow in that sky. I say I didn't either I was just trying your technique. I'm thinking he has no concept of how little I understand what is going to happen when I apply paint to paper since he's been painting for 40 years and I have for 4 days. He talks about some artist that much yellow brings to his mind, and I don't say what I'm thinking ("who?") I assume everyone else knows of this artist. The old insecure me wants to whine that I didn't mean to do that, but he keeps talking and I don't care if I'm understood. It doesn't matter. I'm here to learn and I'm learning and I'm happy.

Thursday night we all go to Millers lobster pound, line up at the window and order. They bring it out to us at the picnic tables by the water. Now this is the lobster I have been waiting for. We have brought our own wines and I found one named Red Truck and had to buy it. David has been using a red truck metaphor all week. Someone takes my picture in my plastic bib with a picture of a lobster on it that says: Let's get crackin'. Now then I have not eaten whole lobster except with my Mainer son-in-law and I've forgotten what to eat first, so my tablemates help me. I squirt myself and my neighbor with my first crack. Oh dear. We are all laughing. On my right I find a lady from Indiana and I tell her I'm a Hoosier, too. She lives not far from me and tells me about a class she took that I could take too. She said it was good because it made her paint every week. We write email addresses on my paper bag from my Red Truck wine.

Day 3 (Maine Watercolor Class)(tidbit about grief included)


Day 3 my white boat at Mechanics point.. It was really hot and my scalp was burned where my part is so I wore my hat. I walked all around looking for what to paint...way out onto the dock and out there I saw lots of great shapes and buildings and the U.S. Coast Guard ship and lobstermen hauling real lobsters from real traps. I heard voices of Mainers and I thought of my son-in-law and I felt there were versions of him all around me. lobstah.

I find a spot I think may get shade before I'm done and I paint. I don't know how the colors I see on my palette will look when they are dry on my paper. When I have my water washed in around my boat, wow, that's bright teal. Did I do that? I'm working on the pier and the poles supporting it and the water behind it and I can't see it, looks like a mess. David comes by. Did he say I 'popped' my boat? Don't remember, but he says take this picture and Xerox it in black and white and look at your values. They are very good. At the critique he uses the word rugged for my painting but he says I should frame it and put it on my mantel. Wow. Really? I think my mouth is probably agape. I like my little boat and I am learning.

While David was talking about the light in his painting demonstration, I decided I must offer him my story about what I saw when my husband went to heaven. He would appreciate it because he is an artist and he studies color and light. So I had mentioned I wanted to tell him a story. At lunchtime he says he'll walk me up to town to show my where the eats are and I buy a sandwich, but he wants me to tell him now. He is curious. So I tell him the story. That will not be posted here. That is a very special story that needs it's own place and time. Call me if you want to hear it. Or write.

So lunch time was long and by the time I got back out there wasn't too much time left to paint. I was less ashamed of my boat at the critique than of my former work. By this time I haven't talked too much to the others, but at the critiques I've mumbled things to the person next to me, making excuses for my lack of skill. The air is so clean.

Oh yes, the Lobster Festival started that day and they expected 90 thousand folk. I dreaded the traffic coming in to town, but there wasn't any. Where are the 90 thousand? After class Christie and friends invite me to join them for lobster rolls at the festival. We walk through the midway area and we find out that all 90 thousand are there. We hung onto each other to stay together.

I have my first lobster roll and decide that a lobster only needs the boiling pot and drawn butter. Why pay for bread and mayo? It's nice to get to know some of my classmates sitting out by the water at picnic tables. It is sunset and the colors are lovely. There is live music. I discover that one of the women is a new widow and my heart goes out to her. She displays a brave attitude. I give her titles of helpful books.

This night too I'm driving home late and the stars are very bright against the sky. I think about what colors would make that dark sky. David has taught us to pretty much never use black. My hostess is gone, so I let myself in and greet the cats. I'm tired! I don't want to go home. Can I move up here for a while?

Day 2 (Maine Watercolor Class)

Day 2 -- I paint a rusty old bell buoy against some hills and houses. To me it looks like 6th grade painting with a set of Prang paints. But at the critique he finds words to encourage me, as he does everyone. He even says out loud that I need encouragement. I wonder if this is to let the others know that yes, he understands that this is awful, but he has to say something good about it, so bear with him........

Most of the painters found shade as it was hot that day. I had my sunscreen on and still was getting burned. I had started to repaint my picture in a bigger size, trying to make improvements. He said at the critique that I couldn't reproduce what I did in that little painting. What in the world is he talking about? It's awful. But he has said something positive and looks at his assistant, who was nodding her head. It was about the values I think, and trying to find interesting shapes and patterns to make art. It was about the red truck metaphor, building the object by laying down shapes of color around it.

Verditer forever! (Day 1 Maine Watercolor Class)

My feet are touching the earth again after being home from Maine a couple of weeks.

But Maine....the light, the sun blazing on the white buildings, the ocean, the Wyeth paintings, and Andrew Wyeth's haunts, the smell of pine trees, the varied colors on wooden houses, clean air, no traffic, and lobstah.

On the drive up I stopped in Connecticut to get Verditer blue paint that I could not find before I left. I had found the store on line and it was right on my path. Now I had everything on the supplies list.

This was a "Master Class". I never did ask what that meant, but I think most of the class members had been painting for many years. I told them it had been 35 years since I had painted. One woman said welcome back.

The first morning in the rain we met at David Dewey's house in downtown Owl's Head. He had tarpaulins drawn over a table behind the house and we crowded in. Some were wiping off plastic chairs. It was a tiny space for the 19 of us. Surprise. All of the attendees were my age or older except Stephan, age 33, our cutie pie from France who illustrates for Disney and has a Russell Crowe look about him.

David is talking to those who are already there and seems a little disorganized but we get into the official orientation somehow. Then he does a painting demonstration.
His pallet is a butcher's tray and it's dirty. He wipes off the middle with a dirty sponge but it comes clean. Then he starts painting. He's talking about building a painting from the bottom up as compared to building a building from the ground up. I take notes. We all have folders with our names on them. There are maps of Rockland and the various sites at which we will paint. There are a couple pages with color information, one that shows where to put which color on the palette and a chart with grays created by blending colors and a page with landscape colors. I don't know the names of the colors yet.

He talks constantly while he is painting. No, not mumbling to himself, no. Information is pouring out. Once in a while he says something that is beyond me, but I don't mind. I'm so happy to be there and I can't wait to get into my paints.

We got directions to our first site and the rain stopped. By the time I got my lunch and got to the site, several classmates were already painting. I didn't know what to paint. I found some old boats by the water and sat down. It took me a long time to unwrap my new painting board, my palette, and I even had to go find the bathroom to wash the stiffness out of my new brushes. When David came by I was just squeezing the paints onto my palette according to his chart. Good, he said, you're not using those little palette indentations. I'm sure I made apologetic statements about not being good enough to be in this class but I was happy. He does not tolerate any sort of self abasement, and always finds something encouraging to say. He is gifted that way.

He came by later and I didn't want him to look at my picture. It looked pretty much like mud on mud to me, but, no, he said it was intelligent. I said I don't have the skills yet, but I'm just trying to do what you were telling us to do with the shapes and values. He made two sketches of similar scenes right there, teaching me as he painted about composition. I can't remember learning a single thing about composition in art school.

At the end of each day we met and put our paintings up and he verbalized what was good about each one... When I saw the line-up, I saw real paintings, by real painters. I didn't want to put mine up. I suppose I was embarrassed and wondered for a moment what they thought when they saw my mudpie, but I didn't care. I was there to learn and maybe I could get a most improved award at the end of the week. Ha. Again the words pour out of him. He is extremely verbal and has a lot of good words in his collection. I'm drinking it all in.

I stayed past dark the first night. Back in Bath I go right to bed, but I sit in bed and paint a sketch of the refinery I saw on the way home, a dark tower against a dark sky with lights on it. I dream and everything I see in my dream is a potential painting.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

family family family

After the trip to the Great Northwest to be with my daughter and her husband, they came to me two days later and the day after that my son and his wife came, so my whole family was together the first time since Christmas. The weather was PERFECT. We played tennis and ate African food and grilled kabobs and sat out on the porch with a bazillion tea lights and laughed and talked till late. Everyone was tired and the next day only two of us made it to church. Then there was more tennis, leftovers, house projects that I can do myself but just have not gotten done.....done by my two oldest and one spouse. Such small things, but they are a great encouragement to me. I inflicted my paintings from Maine on them and talked about the photos of the painting class, showed them my teacher's paintings in his book and went on more than I should have, most likely.

The greatest blessing is just to see my kids laughing and playing together, especially on the tennis court. They can ALL play! The older two played competetively and are athletic and have competed in lots of sports. But the younger two were in tennis classes at a young age and have the basics. They were out there in their flip flops and could still hit the ball.

One of us is going away soon on a long trip and we prayed together.
I wish the Dad could see how well his children are doing and how they are growing up to be like him in a lot of good ways and like me in other good ways. What a great idea God had to make families.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Northwest


If someone asked me right now to choose between Maine and Washington state, it would be a hard decision. Last week I spent the week with my daughter and son-in-law in Seattle. Her boss has a beach house right on the Pacific and we stayed there two days. Besides the beauty, I was most impressed by the sound of the ocean. So much power. I kept trying to push the thought out of my head that it sounds just like the interstate, not when you are out driving on it, but when you are standing near it. That power. Unyielding, constant, pushing. I am here, I am present, I am strong, you cannot subdue me.

The view has big dark trees framing the ocean that look like the trees in a Japanese painting. The only mar in the scene is the roof of the house below us and it's 4 skylights that look like plastic bubbles. There is a lush piece of bright green lawn and an old ripped up hammock.

The prediction had been 60 degrees and rain, but the weather had moved through early and we had 70 something and pure sun for our day on the beach. We got up early and ran down past the rock to the inlet and back. We found some THING that looked like a whip and didn't know if it was plant or animal but it was washed up onto the sand and creepy looking and gnats were working on it. There were only a handful of other people around and a couple of dogs.

The house had lots of windows and a beautiful view from every side. We had our food and wine and played Trivial Pursuit. That is the first time I had ever played. Paul Simon's Graceland was playing.

We drove home the longer way around Olympic National Forest. After a short hike in the forest we ate fish in a little lodge restaurant called Roosevelt Lounge.
After dark, we took the ferry back from Kingston to Edmonds. Sure enough, we asked her husband what that creepy thing was on the beach and he knew: kelp.

While in Seattle, my oldest was anxious to get me back out onto the tennis court, so we went and bought a racquet and played. Between the crummy racquet and the rusty skills and poor conditioning (at least for me) we were both terrible. I made a rule: No one is allowed to think about their last bad shot, only their next better shot. After about 10 minutes we began to be able to hit a little better. We played a few games and she won 4 to 3. The guy on the next court had on street shoes and was out there learning tennis from his friend who didn't know much either. He, the learner, said: You probably wonder why I know so much about tennis. It's because I've been out practicing with Venus and Serena Williams at the British Open. I laughed out loud. Later he said: I would probably play better if you had on one of those little white skirts. But my favorite comment was when his "teacher" said: those girls over there are a lot better than I am.

It felt good. There was a moment when I thought: yeah, I could go out and enjoy playing again. It's been 6 years.

They have a new (used) camper named Bell and it is from the 70's but it's in great shape and only cost them $1300. Camping with a frig and stove and heater. I am thinking I want one of these. We talk again about me moving out there. Why couldn't I do that for a year anyway and see if it leads anywhere? I grab a real estate paper and look again, as I always do in Seattle. There are some really cheap houses on the way to the beach.

It makes me happy to hear my daughter talk about her new job. The smaller company is more family like and not as competitive as her former company. And it's right where she lives, no commute. She even rides her bike to work once a week and got some of her coworkers to do the same. Cool.

I painted a picture of Copalis Rock on the beach. It will take some time to learn to capture the color and commit to it while I finish a painting since the color changes during the couple of hours it takes to paint it. Mostly sky, a small ocean with no waves and the Rock. The rock is too dark and too opaque and I want to paint it once more and see what it looks like in transparent colors. I would also stretch my paper first so that it wouldn't rumple up when it gets wet. The sky was better than my first try in Maine. No where to go but up.

I dream of what I'd do with her boss's beach house if I lived there.

It was easier to say goodbye this time, knowing that 2 days later she and her husband were coming to visit me on the East coast.