It had been the kind of day that makes you want to wrap up in a blanket and watch tv. The cloud cover and fog made it hardly worth looking out the window. And the damp cold did not beckon one to go anywhere on that January day.
But, about sunset, on the day when I thought the sun would never shine, the wind began blowing the darkness away, the clouds broke open and the light burst through! The beautiful, multicolored, warm light, made my spirit soar! I posted the photo on social media and remarked that “the day had redeemed itself!”
With that in mind, the title, “Redemption,” is placed on this painting. The day redeemed itself so that I didn’t strike it off the calendar as meaningless. My attitude was redeemed by recovering from dreariness. And I was reminded of how beautiful it is when a wrong is corrected, or when things are made right.
Are you old enough to remember the opening scene of the Little House on the Prairie television series? You know, the one where Laura and her sisters are running happily through the waving prairie grass and swaying wildflowers?
Walking Through Wildflowers 10×20 Oil $150
Well, that’s the flashback I had when I was recently walking through wildflowers on a prairie near Waco, Texas. Two grandsons ran ahead, following the curving path their father had mowed. (I know Laura had to blaze the trail herself. It looks real picturesque on tv, but those grasses can cut and who knows what danger lies deep beneath them?) With the help of the pathway, we could enjoy the aesthetic, sensory experience in safety!
White flowers bloom for acres in August on the prairie. “Snow on the Prairie” is a fitting name. This day the storm clouds were beginning to bank themselves in the distance, providing a violet colored backdrop for the greens and white. The rain would be welcomed to give enough moisture for the next variety of flowers, waiting to spring forth from the cracked earth.
As we walked through the wildflowers, the boys ran ahead, delighting in finding trails that forked in two directions. The dog zig-zagged around in the tall grass, looking for whatever dogs look for. Our son and daughter-in-law walked and talked with us, as we explored and dreamed about the future. Eventually the boys came back around, the dog was called from his wanderings off the path, and all of us went back to the house to rest.
Walking through Wildflowers … if you lose your way, you simply follow the path toward home.
I know hummingbirds don’t eat bread! But, when I see them each morning outside the window, fluttering around as if they are afraid there will not be enough to eat, this phrase of a prayer pops in my head: “Give Us This Day…”
My husband feeds these hummingbirds every day. They have been showing up every summer for about ten years. And each year they bring their friends to the buffet! This year the count is up to about forty at a time! (give or take a few blurs as you count) They found the provision in these feeders yesterday, and they expect to find it again.
“Give us this day, our daily bread…” This is the prayer Jesus taught his followers. Day by day, God provides what we need. (Note to self – I said, what we need, as opposed to what we can store up in our homes and then have to clean out when it is time to move!) God sent daily “manna” from heaven to His People in the wilderness. Remember how it rotted when they tried to store it and save it? God promised to send just enough for each day. Day after day, we go back to the One whom we know will provide… and we bring our friends!
Recently, I was in a discussion about “skill vs. talent.” As an art educator, I’m all for training and acquiring skill! We need to work at our skills to make them better. Even talented people need to understand why they innately make art a certain way and how they can use that knowledge. But talent is more about the way you are bent, the amazing things you do just because you are you. While developing skill to make art is important, if there is no passion or emotion involved, skill doesn’t always speak. And Art needs to speak!
You have heard musicians who are highly skilled. They never miss a note, but their rhythm is so steady and notes so exact that it sounds like a robot is playing the piano! But when you listen to a musician who slows down, or speeds up, or gets louder, or gets so quiet that you can hardly breathe… you could be moved to tears and whisper, “Now, that is talent!”
Maybe “talent” and “skill” are not the words you use to describe this phenomena. Maybe it is the “art evokes emotion” theory. However you describe it, I agree that if art does not elicit a response from others, it is in need of improvement. (Notice I didn’t say to throw it away. You can always learn how to improve!)
Painting from the heart happens best when there is no pressure to perform. This “Painting from the Heart” began on a landscape that had been sitting in the corner of my studio. It had made the gallery rounds and was a peaceful landscape, but did not really say anything. No one was moved to tears. So, to keep from wasting a perfectly good 24×30 canvas, I turned it vertical and spread Gesso over the middle. Suddenly a vase of hydrangeas began forming in my head. I got excited. This was a day, after several days, when I needed to paint something to process my emotions.
And as I painted, these words formed:
Most days I paint from life,
Many days I paint from photos,
Some days I paint from memory,
But, today, I painted from the heart!
This painting has served its expressive purpose for me as I painted. Now, I would love to hear the reactions it may bring from you!
Some days you just need to “stop and smell” the gardenias!!
Stop and Smell 10×20 oil $160
I know, I know, I’m supposed to be focused on readying for ten kids in Art Camp on Monday. My studio shows evidence of that. I know, this painting hasn’t been commissioned and maybe no one will want to buy it. So, what?
Some days you just need to “stop and smell”… “be quiet and listen”…”be still and know.”
Every time I walk past the gardenia bush, I find myself slowing down, inhaling deep, and studying the soft petals. I ponder what color is really in that white…how dark are the shadows?…are they tinted warm or cool? And I thank the Creator God for his marvelous creation of gardenias. And I feel happy and loved. So today, I needed to paint that, as I spent a few hours in the quietness of worship in my studio.
Perhaps your avenue of “stopping and smelling” is not with paint. It might be in playing with a child, reading a book, writing your thoughts, petting a cat, watching birds, going for a walk, sewing or baking, maybe even taking a nap… As it says in Ephesians, “in all things, give thanks in the name of our Lord Jesus to God.” We do.
If my Mama could come back as a flower, I think it would be a geranium! (Now before you think I’ve finally gone off the deep end, hear me out.)
This morning, after seeing the inevitable Mothers’ Day posts on Facebook, I went out to the studio to work. I meant to finish up some things and clean up some things and pack some things for an upcoming trip. But the geraniums were beckoning me – calling out to me – luring me into the yard to paint them! So I did.
As I painted, I began to think about how like a geranium my own mother was: bright and cheerful, even in rain or hot sun; strong enough to stand, yet flexible enough to bend when necessary; commanding my attention when it needed to be focused; growing best in groups, she brought joy to those around! (Being from a really large family may have added to her gregarious nature.)
The shape, or non-shape, of a geranium bloom reminds me of Sarah Miller’s creative, spur of the moment, non-conformist spirit. The organic, curved lines are almost musical as they show up “here, there and yonder” like the songs that would erupt from Mama throughout the day. Just like a geranium, ready to burst with blooms, Mama was always ready to share a song!
Yes, I can see my Mama in the bright colors and fun shapes of a geranium. Oh, and the red is obvious to anyone who knew her – the red hair of the Fallin Family!
I’m so glad I live in the South! Though it’s unseasonably cold this April, I don’t think I could stand it any further north. And one reason I want springtime weather is that means it’s time to enjoy painting en plein air!
I recently enjoyed a few days painting on the waterfront of Saint Mary’s, Georgia. The breeze was enough to keep the sand gnats at bay and the light was wonderful. It’s always interesting to meet the people who happen by and want to watch. Thank you to the “random photographer” who happened by and sent me this photo. I didn’t get her name but maybe she is reading this.
Gilman Park 9×12 Oil $80
Here is an updated 16×20 version, painted in the studio.
Day in the Park 16×20 oil $225
And one more, painted from my photo taken the same week. Springtime in St. Mary’s is gorgeous, but remember to take bug spray!
Christ Episcopal Church, St. Mary’s GA 12×12 Oil $110
Several painter friends and I met inside the Sacred Heart Cultural Center, in Augusta, and searched for something to paint for a couple of hours on a cold, March day. The Sacred Heart Building, a former Catholic Church, was in disrepair for years when Pete Knox decided to restore and reopen the beautiful building. Today it is used for weddings, concerts, parties, and a variety of art events. Yet, the architecture, the stained glass, the sculptures and ornamental details are still rich with Christian history.
In the quiet, hollow cathedral, I walked around looking at light and shadow, colors and lines, repetition of shapes and tried to find a focus . . . and then I saw it . . . the face of Jesus carrying his cross. It was on one of the “Stations of the Cross” relief sculptures that line both sides of the building. I saw what I needed and pulled out paint to begin.
As I painted, a hymn tune began to play in my head:
“Man of sorrows what a name for the Son of God, who came ruined sinners to reclaim: Hallelujah, what a Savior!”
(and the song kept going over and over for another hour while I painted, know what I mean?)
Yet, as I painted the face of Christ, I saw pain, sorrow, rejection and exhaustion. And I hummed to myself, “man of sorrows, what a name for the Son of God who came…”
I remembered his love and marveled at his endurance. I noticed the figures around him in the sculpture, some helping him carry the heavy cross, some mocking him and some perhaps begging him for one last miracle.
I worshipped through paint as I studied the face of Jesus and sang in my soul, “Hallelujah, what a Savior!”
This Lenten season is a good time to look on the face of Jesus, listen to His Spirit and remember.
As I stopped at this crossroads, I took a quick photo with my iPhone. Something about the huge silhouette of the tree and house against the swirling sky demanded my attention. Images don’t always speak to me fully until I begin painting them. The process causes me to slow down and really look, so that my mind can ponder and analyze and make allegories while I paint.
I stirred and swirled the paint for the clouds. I swished and scumbled the ruts in the dusty road. I imagined a dusty truck, with big tires, wheeling past the stop sign, to turn left. The wind whispered through the towering trees as I placed the pale yellow tops of weeds, reflecting sunlight from above. And all the while there sat this dark form of a house in the middle of it all, oblivious to the movement around it, mysterious in its shroud of overgrown foliage. It was an object of the past. I imagined no one lived in it for years.
The phrase, “stirring up the past” popped into mind. “STOP (as in the Stop sign) stirring up the past” kept floating in and out of my thoughts. Just as the imaginary truck in this image did, I suppose I’m being encouraged to keep rolling on. No need to stir up the past! The dust will settle soon.
