The Coronavirus of 2020 – Time stood still while we all hunkered down in our homes until further notice was given.
This painting is of our home. It is a solid, roomy structure for both my husband and me, with more than necessities inside. It sits on flat land, surrounded by pastures and the movement of cattle and birds. The sky is ever-changing! The wind blows at varied speeds. Even the ground changes when it rains! But the home is solid, stable, and constant in the midst of motion. For that, I am grateful.
As I paint and think about Sheltering in Place, I wonder about those who have no home, those who have a transient lifestyle, and those whose homes were recently destroyed by storms. I wonder about those who are packed into crowded quarters, and those who are used to different schedules in different places, and now, all together in one place. I wonder about those who live with abusers, addicts, alcoholics with raging tempers, and hate. I wonder about those who are bored with each other, finding new ways of ignoring each other. I wonder about the dynamics of strained relationships and quirky personalities. I wonder about the children. I wonder…and pray.
It had been raining for about a week – a week of “social distancing.” As an artist, I’m very comfortable with being alone in the zone. But it was the lack of sunshine that was about to pull me under.
The fog was thick from the moment I opened the window blinds that morning, yet beautiful, in a peaceful kind of way. The fog hovered until mid afternoon. The weather forecast for the next week said plenty of sun and heat! I couldn’t wait. I knew that “this too, shall pass.” And I felt, hope.
I had heard the words before. “This too, shall pass” are reassuring words. Mammy had said them to me last week as we talked on the phone about the crazy state of things.
We are looking for reassuring words in these very different days. Corona Virus, Social Distancing, Shelter in Place, Essential/Non-Essential …have all been added to our vocabularies. But the reassuring words, the familiar, encouraging words, are the ones we all want to hear.
We know that this too, shall pass. We want it to happen quickly, suddenly, instantly, over and done. But most things don’t happen that way. The challenge for us is to hang on to the ancient words, the words of promise, while we wait for it to pass. Words like trust, faith, abide, prayer, encourage, redemption, eternal. These are the words we cling to and share, as we wait…with hope.
The huge bare tree in the stark winter landscape filled the sky in larger than life proportions. When I took the photo in a Texas State Park, I noticed how small my grandsons looked in comparison. Although these brothers argue and fight like any siblings do, they are walking in the same direction on most days, looking out for each other. It only emphasized the message that jumped out at me. This road we travel in life can be spooky at times. There are huge obstacles growing before you that seem unsurmountable. The shadows seem to come out of nowhere and cast gloom on some days. We can’t always see where the journey is leading and it takes courage to keep going around that corner to the unknown.
May there be someone to walk with and talk with on the journey, someone to keep you company, and someone to love and love you. We are on this road together!
Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falls; for he has not another to help him up. Ecclesiastes 4: 9-10
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.
This 30×40 canvas has been on my mind for a few weeks or months. I wanted something big on a particular wall in our new home and I wanted to capture the sunrises that we enjoy on this Texas Prairie. Using one of my photos, I painted big and was pleased enough to hang it, …only to walk by later and take it down to rework the sky, …several times. After another afternoon of painting and reworking, I walked out to “let it sit.”
Funny how when you are in the middle of a painting, it seems to sit there in your unconscious state for days, just waiting to be worked out. Anybody else? Well, our pastor made a statement that was an “aha” for me. He said, “You have to paint the whole picture, before you can see the light.” Now, he was not giving painting advice. It was much more spiritual than that. But those words wedged their way into what was going on in my own mind about how to solve this puzzle of putting light and dark on my canvas.
I wiped off as much as I could of what I had painted the day before, mixed up a dark blue and covered over the light. And I left to let it dry. (such patience) Only then was I able to pop in the light of the sun, waking us to another day.
So often we have to see the whole picture, the darkness that was there to begin with, before we can appreciate the change that is made with light.
Another fun fact to share — this 30×40 canvas has a painting of a dark swamp underneath. It was one of the darkest paintings I have ever done. When it didn’t sell, I decided to cover it with white gesso and use it again. So it truly has gone from darkness to light!
I am coming to the end of a season, in more ways than weather. While the fall breezes are beginning to tickle at the edges of the intense summer heat, our time at The Ranch is coming to a close, also. Our new build is finished inside! We are moving in this week! After nine months of being in a transitory state, I think we have birthed a barndominium!
Before and After
You might remember, we began with a metal barn on 29 acres. Steve took walls apart, designed a new floorplan, and we secured a contractor to get this project underway. We chose this site because it is six miles from our son’s family. The acreage gives “room to breathe,” and be close to nature. Interior photos coming soon!
Since November 2018, we have lived in a log home at the 85 acre ranch on the northwest side of Waco. (If you missed those adventures, scroll back and read the blog.) It has been the perfect Artist Retreat for me with access to almost daily plein air painting. And, I have more than 50 or so new paintings and studies from this place.
I’m in the process of revealing these new paintings in a special online art show on this website! Also, many of them will be featured in my space at the Brazos Fine Art Show, to be held at the Waco Hilton, November 8-10. All paintings are for sale!
The end of a season is usually welcomed. Most of us are glad to pack away summer clothes and get out sweaters. (Most of us are just as glad to pack away those sweaters when the warmth of spring rolls back around. ) Yet, there is something melancholy about coming to the end of a season. And while my knees are ready to live on one level again, and I am eager to bid the outside laundry room goodbye, I will miss the sunrises over the pond, the surprises of wildlife strolling by, the shade of the front porch swing and the ever present hospitality of the Covington Family, the owners of the Ranch.
With gratitude, and a bit of anxiety, I close this chapter and look forward to what’s ahead on Red Gate Road. —Melanie Stokes
I’ve been watching the water level in the pond get lower and lower with the summer heat. The edges now show yellowed grasses that were once rooted deeply in the water. The fish fins pop up and I wonder if they are getting crowded as the water shrinks in August weather.
This morning I woke before sunrise and went out on the porch to drink coffee. I studied colors as I watched the peachy pink sky become lined with lavender and explode into orange, as the bright ball of sun said, “I’m back! And ready to heat things up and soak up all the moisture I can find!”
It’s been a while since I had an opportunity to paint outside. I’ve been working on a commission, (which is a great plan for days when air conditioned studios are preferred.) But I was missing my interaction with nature and my communication with the Creator, as painting outside is my favorite form of worship.
I knew if I only drank one cup of coffee and grabbed my paint gear, I could get out there before the heat became miserable. But I sat and stared. I was running low, as low as that water level dipping below the reeds. My mind had been overloaded with this thing we call life; too much going on, too many decisions to make, too much noise and too many interruptions. Can you identify? I needed to be alone with God and paint, to see the things He wants me to see, both visual and spiritual. So I picked up my backpack and easel and drove to the other side of the pond.
I saw the beauty of the water’s edge, the light and shadow in the surroundings, the cool yellows of morning light, and the white and purple blooms of the wildflowers produced by the August heat. And I began to feel reassured that I’m surrounded and supported by God’s love and goodness, His direction and provision. Thus, my spirit soared and was renewed.
By 9:30 a.m. the sun had made its way over me and pushed me indoors. I packed up as I chuckled about the irony of someone naming an August wildflower “Snow on the Prairie,” despite the August heat! It must have been due to wishful thinking.
Here’s to the days we are “running low” and praying for the desire to overcome it. My wishful thinking has something to do with hoping my energy level will rise.
Isaiah 40:31 says “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings of eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint.”
Oh yes! I am hanging on to that. Maybe you needed to hear that, too.
Though it’s getting too hot on August 1 to paint outside in Central Texas, I was out early today to catch the soft lavender hues being awakened by the morning sun. It was good to be painting in this place once more, after being away a few weeks. The wind was gentle, the colors were softened and beginning to fade from the summer heat. And yet, another wildflower was making its debut on the hillside, sprinkling a bluish lavender that reminded me of bluebonnet season. I’m calling it a “wild petunia” until someone corrects me.
What kind of flower is this?
So, I observed and painted, enjoyed the gentle breeze, and listened to birds and cows, until about 9:00 a.m. when the sun began burning the back of my legs and arms. It was a signal even stronger than the chime of my cell phone, telling me it was time to move indoors. But for the moment, I had been “Graced by Wild Petunias” and the beauty of another day.
And when I say “Welcome Spring,” I truly say that with feeling and meaning this year! Was it a long winter for you? Or is it just me? (My thoughts go out to those who live “above the snow line.”) Here are a few spring paintings from my easel:
At Day’s End
16×20 oil
Spring Paintings En Plein Air:
Bluebonnets are just beginning their season! More to come!
I am certainly enjoying being able to paint outside comfortably and seeing more variety of colors in the Texas landscapes. And yes, all those infamous Texas wildflowers are truly amazing!
Morning in Brazos Park East – 9×12 OilMorning in Brazos Park East – Waco, Texas
All paintings are available. Contact me for prices and commissions.
A Recent Commissioned Piece – based on a plein air study of peach orchard – 24×36 oil
And…
To answer the question I know you want to ask, …”Yes, construction has begun on our home!” (That was another reason the winter of waiting seemed to be long.) Steve has been drawing up plans and doing the “Demolition Dance.” Now, our contractor will take our ideas and this shell of a metal building and turn it into a home. (Really. We aren’t crazy, just creative. Stay tuned to be sure!)
dwelling – (noun) a house, apartment, or other place of residence. a home, accommodation, lodging, abode.
(verb) to live or stay as a permanent resident; reside. to live or continue in a given condition or state: to dwell in happiness.
Dwelling 24×24 Oil
This Dwelling has become Home until further notice. It was offered as a place to stay until our new home in the country could be completed. All of our furniture, pots and pans, sheets and towels, books and pictures, are in boxes in a storage unit, waiting for the day they can be reopened and put to use. Meanwhile, we are “dwelling” in this furnished “dwelling” on 85 acres of rolling ranch land in Texas.
We have been here about three months now. That is long enough for me to realize I have come to a place of contentment, most days, about living here. It took me a while to get to this point.
It’s not that I’m ungrateful. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to be here, the provision of a place to stay, and the friendship of the owner. But the challenges of being in a new place, upstairs/downstairs, not my things, no dishwasher, outside laundry room, unfamiliar noises, cows all over the place, and a cold prairie wind, all took a toll at first. There were no huge challenges, just the little things we like to whine about as we fall deeper into discontent.
There was also some fear involved, though I fought it with all my might… Fear of being in a new environment, fear of this Waco traffic, fear that a mouse could be lurking in the laundry room, fear of big cows staring at me and getting ready to attack, fear of the tin roof blowing off in a windstorm, fear of us not finding the right contractor for our building project, fear of our retirement budget not being enough, fear that I would never sell another painting… Fear becomes irrational and can spiral into frenzy.
This past Sunday, the pastor said one thing (well, maybe more than one thing) that spoke to me. “Fear is the contracting impulse of the soul.” – St. Thomas Aquinas
I thought about how fear keeps our soul from growing, from loving, from trusting, from experiencing contentment. I’ve known this for years in my aged wisdom! Yet, I realized that these last three months of dwelling in this dwelling have been somewhat of a laboratory for God to continue teaching me about being content with the present day, to continue trusting Him, and to let go of fear.
As I painted, I thought about all that brings contentment in this present time: a place to dwell for now, daily companionship with my husband, the provision of new friends in a new place, these acres to roam on daily walks, beautiful scenes and changing skies to paint every day, peace with God, new mercies and grace every morning, and Blue Bell ice cream in the freezer.(!)
As I was debating this move to Texas, I told some of you, “Trust is my mantra.” I’m exercising the Trust Factor. And, I’m still learning to dwell in the present and be content. This dwelling is helping to teach me.
“… and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Psalm 23:6 The Psalmist was learning contentment, also!
