I sat on the ground, maybe twenty feet away, and observed the spell-binding sacred moment of birth.
The labor, the exhaustion, the slow delivery process, the maternal instincts for cleanup and greeting her offspring, the bonding . . . all consumed my camera’s attention for over two hours. The other cows grazed silently nearby, as in a prayer vigil for the completion of the task.
This moment, this precious moment, was captured as the Mother Angus was successful in nudging the new life to stand on its own four feet. The cord was detached. Air was expanding the lungs of the little one. Thin legs were shaky, but strong. Initiation to the herd followed after this.
The Mother will continue her role of guiding and providing, until the young one is ready for independence. I’ll keep watching to determine how she knows when it is time.
With humans, the cords may be detached, but the heart strings remain intact for years and miles. And, we are glad to be able to keep in touch with our children through technology. Call your Mama, today.
Remember when you were a child and would look up at the sky and pretend to fly away? Clouds floated gently on the wind, while changing shapes. It seemed they could lift you easily into the sky, where you would experience looking back at the earth below.
As I painted this wispiness of clouds, the words “fly away” came to my mind in song. I couldn’t remember anything about it but those two words sung over and over. I googled later, and found many songs with the words “Fly Away.” Many. So, when I tell you the one stuck in my mind was sung by John Denver, you may equate that with my Boomer age.
For the past two years, I have been obsessed with watching the sky on this Texas Prairie. It’s so different each day. This time, the shadow of a cloud and the bright light, cast on the horizon, caught my attention just long enough to snap a photo for studio reference. The painting of the “cloud dance” continued for weeks as I changed them with as much undetermined shape as they change themselves. But as all paintings come to an end, I finally made myself put down the brush and back away, continuing to ponder how one’s spirit can fly away.
I remembered that it was the light on the earth that attracted me to this scene. And perhaps, that is the reminder for me. While it seems easier to “fly away,” avoiding all of the problems of today, the earth is our home for now. We are here to care for it and its inhabitants. We are here to be light, to love, to guide, to encourage, to teach, and to support. I need to work on letting the worries fly away, casting my burdens to God, trusting that He cares for us.
And I’m reminded of that other Fly Away song that the old timers always requested at Sunday Night Hymn Pick — I’ll Fly Away. “…And when I die, Hallelujah, By and By, I’ll Fly Away.”
My morning meditation thought — As you build homes, doing all the tasks of daily life, remember to take time to look up.
While looking at my “to do” list of tasks that needed to be taken care of, the sounds of birds and beautiful light beckoned me outside to paint! Grabbing my gear, I walked around to find something to paint. I decided to focus on the bluebird house that my husband built. The warm light hit across the tree where it was hanging. I thought of the bluebirds that would soon begin building nests inside as spring approaches.
Some artists wear earbuds while they paint outside. They are missing the point! The sounds of birds and other creatures of nature is one of the senses that draws me outside to plein air painting.
As I painted the box, a repetitive bird sound caused me to look above me. It was a bright red cardinal! The rhythm of his call could have been, “Hey, why don’t you look up?” As I lifted my eyes to the sky, spotted him among the beauty of branches, and inhaled fresh air, my spirit soared. I was refreshed as I remembered that it is easy to be absorbed in the shadows of life around us. But, when we lift our eyes and spirit toward The Creator God, we are refreshed. Once again, I’m in awe of the beauty of the earth and comforted by the spirit of the Lord, and ready to move ahead to the tasks of the day.
(I videoed the cardinal singing in the treetops. You can find it on my Instagram account @melaniestokesart.)
A recent paintout with Outdoor Painters Society in Temple, Texas, took me to Summers Mill Retreat Center near Belton. The acreage is full of vistas and vignettes for a visual artist’s delight!
It’s always more fun to paint with a friend, so Karla and I searched together through many possibilities for painting on the property. One little thing that captured my attention was the light on the edge of an old wagon as it leaned under a cabin’s shelter. So, we set up our gear under the nearby massive oak to enjoy a few hours of painting there. (Well, actually Karla was sitting on the back of her car because she forgot her tripod, but that’s beside the point.)
As I painted, I enjoyed the shade of the oak, the sunshine on my back, and the sounds of children playing in the distance. Families strolled by and some individuals wandered over to see what I was doing. After a few quick conversations, I would return to the visual dance that the sunlight was having with the old wooden wagon. What was up with that pale turquoise green color in the late 1800s? It seems to show up in houses and furniture and now on this wagon. Was it on sale or something?
Now, here is the rest of the story…
The scene The wheel I was paintingGrandaddy’s Wagon HubMy painting in progress
As I painted the wagon wheel, I noticed the rusty metal rim tires, the faded wood of the spokes and then the cup shaped metal and wood that formed the hub in the center of the wheel. And suddenly, there was a familiarity hugging me that took me by surprise! It was the same as a wagon wheel hub I have sitting in my house! The same as the wagon wheel hub I possess from my grandfather’s old wagon, the one that probably belonged to his father, the one that I brought in my move as one of several family treasures that connect us to our ancestors. Back in the day, Grandaddy Miller drove a wagon that must have looked like this one! And the connection grabbed me, quite took me by surprise, and made me almost gasp! I could almost visualize the grandfather, who I only knew in childhood, hooking a mule to that old wagon and rattling up a dirt road in the hills of North Georgia. It was one of those serendipitous events that make you go, “Awww.” Those are the little bonuses that often happen on a plein air adventure!
After a few days of painting in both cold and warm weather, being with like-minded artists, exploring new places, and even having a visit with a Fallin cousin who lives only one hour away from me, I’m back home now. (And, found that my sweet husband remembered to clean up the kitchen!) Sometimes, this life is just plain good!
Each morning, when I open window blinds, I look toward this row of trees in my yard. It is a morning refreshment to see the rising sunlight shower its brilliance on the leaves of the oak tree. As the sun rises, the color of light on these trees often gives a foreshadowing of what kind of weather we can expect.
On this particular morning, stormy weather was on its way out and breezes were blowing clouds across the sky to dust away dreariness. A couple of bucks had rested for the night and were stretching toward nourishment for another day.
Sunlight has a deep impact upon my ability to feel refreshed and energized. There is much to be said about a good dose of natural Vitamin D! Even on cloudy days, we know the light of the sun is still there. But when the sun shines bright, it refreshes my soul!
Morning refreshment for me also includes having a few cups of coffee, while reading Scripture and devotional thoughts (before I jump into social media.) This painting makes me think of the phrase, “His mercies are new every morning,” so I pulled it up from the Bible:
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him.'”
When I was a child, I sat by my father in church, because my mother sang in the choir every Sunday. At the end of each worship service, people would gather up their things to leave. I knew the end was coming because the bulletin said, “Benediction.”
Now if you looked up the definition of “benediction,” it would not say “time to start gathering the bulletin you drew on, put up the half pencil in the pew rack, and pick up your Bible and sweater to leave.”
I learned as I grew older that a benediction is a blessing, an expression of hope for the coming days, and a petition for guidance as we part.
As I come to the close of painting this collection of Texas Skies, I have decided this one shall be called, “Benediction.” It is at the end. It is the twentieth 24×30 sky canvas that is hanging in my studio. It is painted with the blessing of spiritual peace I’ve experienced in this process. It is painted with a hope that it will bring peace to the ones who view it. It is painted with prayers of petition for many. And, painted with a prayer for God to guide my direction as I look for venues for showing this body of work.
May the grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, be now and forever more in our hearts and minds, as we continue to serve Him on this earth in the days ahead.
And because this is my Benediction, I will now gather up the paintbrushes and prepare to leave.
One day last winter, I stopped and took a photo of neighboring cows. The scene caught my attention because in a landscape of bare winter trees, the cows were resting contently on the verdant green grass; lush grass that seemed out of place in winter on the Blackland Prairie soil.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures…” Are there times when God does help us slow down, stop, or lie down long enough to look at the green pastures of provision he gives amidst the harshness of life? Maybe so.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul.” Psalm 23. Surely, He does, … with goodness and mercy.
This old barn is deserted, but still standing, beside County Line Road #939, near Mart, Texas. It grabs my attention each time I travel by. With the goal of painting its stately beauty, I stopped recently for a few photos in good light.
The gambrel style shape of the rusted tin roof may be the first thing that caught my attention. It’s red patina is smooth and beautiful, against a blue sky. But, the unique advantage of being able to see light coming through a window on the back side of the barn captured my emotion. The left side of the barn is whole, complete with a closed door. When one walks to the other side, the open wall reveals the darkness of the hollowed out void inside the deserted barn. Weathered wood and weeds winding inward guard the edges. Yet, there is that small window of hope where the light of the sky enters and shines through to the front.
And somehow, I identify. We have sides of us that are protected, closed up to risks and leery of dangers. But, every now and then, someone walks around to the other side and sees our soul; bare, raw, and open, allowing light to enter and come through the hollow spaces. There is beauty in aging gracefully against the wind. And strength in allowing light to shine through.
Friends who know me know that with this move to Texas, I have become acquainted with cows for the first time. I paint cows because I watch them daily on our central Texas property. The sunlight on their hides create planes of color that interest me. They parade by several times a day, based on their whims of grazing. These “girls” have been together for about a year and seem to have a hierarchy of their own personalities. (Well, they do in my imaginative mind, anyway.)
The one with “the look,”is most easily spooked by us when we walk in the pasture. She is always the first one to pop her head up from grazing. She gives me that spooky look, like she doesn’t trust me, and it is a reciprocal feeling. I am spooked by getting too close to her. We call her “Spooky.”
We lease the land to a young man who has all the responsibility of the ownership of the six cows. We get the benefits of having them entertain us as we share their space… and step over their fertilizer. (!)
These paintings were an experiment in complementary colors. I began with Venetian Red and used Burnt Sienna and Black to create the various red shades. Ivory Black (or maybe some Mars Black, depending on which one I picked up) and Yellow Ochre gave the greens for the complementary background. Both Titanium and Warm White were used. And maybe you can spot a bit of Radiant Red (pink) in a few spots. All the mixing and smudging and wiping made it fun.
As I watch cows move slowly through each day, I wonder if they are bored. I wonder if they wish the boundaries would take them further. I wonder if they plan where they are going to sleep each night. I know. I wonder too much and need to get out more! But, that’s the Story Behind the Cow Paintings.
I have struggled with this painting for a few weeks in my studio. There were moments when I thought I was finished. And I let it rest… only to come back to it a few days later, pick up the brush, and continue to struggle with it more.
It was a peaceful painting when I began. The hay bales at rest in the freshly cut field, the soft clouds floating along with a breeze, and the muted colors described the peace I wanted to convey. But, then those Caracaras floated by… They are also called Mexican Eagles. Beautiful as they are, there is something foreboding about their presence. They are predators (for which I am grateful, for they eat the field mice). Yet, something about that one sitting on the hay bale, as if he rules the roost, just added a touch of unrest to my painting that brought the struggle.
Then, I began to see the message. The Rest and Unrest of Our World these days is the topic we can’t ignore. We are divided on opinions. We struggle with what is true. We are encouraged one minute and disappointed the next. The peace that we know is invaded by predators that we are not sure about.
I decided to leave the Yin and Yang feeling in my painting. I can’t ignore it in reality. I have to learn to make peace with it, just as I have learned to make peace with my environment. My peace comes from an eternal God who reaches down and offers his Peace to us through accepting that Jesus is our Savior from this fallen world. God’s Peace is bigger, brighter, and more lasting than the predators of this world. I will continue to rest in that thought. (And I’m laying down the paintbrush on this one.)
