My guardian angel
Collection for local Library
We have a new baby in our family. We find it very exciting because it has been awhile since we have had a new addition. Of course, the mother being lovely didn’t hurt the painting.
Playing Dress Up
You call me your princess,
but I’m not worthy of a title
filled with such nobility.
I’m far from regal, you see,
and I wish you wouldn’t give
me so much to live up to.
For I’m destined only to disappoint
when you hold hopes so high.
I’m nothing more than a child
in her grandmother’s old clothes,
pretending to be royalty.
What you think you see,
is nothing more
There was drama on my easel with this one. It doesn’t surprise me as I’m really not ever drama free, although, it doesn’t invade my easel too often without it being a purposeful thing. I was in the middle of painting this dude and decided to research snake charmers so I could educate myself a little. I found that India’s Animal Rights folks are advocating doing away with snake charming. It seems the charmers have taken to wiring the snakes mouths shut and allowing them to starve slowly, or pulling their fangs out. So, when did the charmers become such chicken livers?
My conclusion is that these snakes maybe starving to death or missing some fangs, but they dance on. I know several people in my life that is like that. It wouldn’t do any good to name them because they would disagree with me, but I think a lot of them for getting up every morning and sticking one foot in front of another. Anyway, I gave this charmer an Animal Rights Button to assure the viewer that my snake is very dangerous. Yes, I do realize that this is contradictory as the charmer wouldn’t even be charming the snake if he was actually in the movement.
No doubt, this little girl got a dirty deal in life. We all know about the different burdens that are bestowed on individuals. Some people are predisposed to drug and alcohol addiction. Others are prone to diseases such as cancer, diabetes, heart disease and mental illness. This little girl’s is poverty through no fault of her own. It is written all over her face and shows in her eyes. I can’t count the times, while watching TV, that I have switched a station to keep from facing this sort of child poverty. I saw this same look on my father’s face while viewing a photo of him as a child. At the time, I found it shocking the unhappiness in his eyes. There was no hiding he was a child of the depression in America. He never talked about it. I said, I wasn’t going to paint anymore negative art but since have changed my mind. I suppose it is the ying to the yang.
Message Received from person who snapped this photo-
Debra, this is beautiful. I love the way you painted my special friends. I like her smile. My friend Will, passed a year ago this month, so that makes your painting even more precious. Thank you. I am going to print this and send it to her. I know she is going to love it!
I say this photo speaks the truth. It’s hard for me to resist the truth.
I see faces in random patterns. Last night I was sitting at the desk, looked down, and pulled out the shape of a woman from a tile on my floor. I have heard other people speak of this, as well. There was many an hour, as a child, that I lay flat on back looking up at the clouds and forming images.
I had never really studied Pollack and understood what he had achieved on canvas. I thought it was just about the drops and balanced colors. But, most of his paintings of drops contain faces. He purposely captured on canvas the possibility of pulling out an image from a larger random image. I have found if I don’t study modern artist that I miss out totally sometimes on the meaning of their work. As artist we can have some strange thoughts though. For instance, Pollack actually said his work is representational. Ok, I realize it does come from a part of our brain that does exist, but I wouldn’t go that far as to say it is representational. I think people would never in a million years describe it as such. Another example would be that Picasso thought his goat sculpture looked more like a goat than the real thing. He allowed also that he owned a real goat and would tie it to the sculpture in his yard. This makes me smile every time I think about it.
I suppose to follow in the master’s footsteps I will confess my loony thinking. I watched Pollack in a documentary stand over his canvas and drop paint randomly. As I painted this girl, I thought about rain drops and how it isn’t different than Pollack’s drops other than these were created by God, so say I. I also surmised that rain is more extraordinary because it sustains life. I decided to paint a face in the graffiti background. Can you find it? See there I can be weird too. (^_^)
Baby of our Family
I had seen photos of these train tracks over the years, but never knew where they were located. This year a compadre and I found them on a bluebonnet run right outside of Marble Falls. If the measure of how great the trip was how many bluebonnets we seen, then we hit pay dirt. We came across a shop owner that shared a map of several back-roads that ran through ranches located between Marble Falls and Fredericksburg, Tex. There was one beautiful landscape after another. It was like another Willow City Loop which is located on the out-skirts of Fredericksburg. I’m definitely feeling the need to run these roads again in a few years.
12×12 Oil on Canvas
When the cupboard is bare
And the cat’s had the cream,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When the house is on fire
And the birds have all flown,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When your loved ones have gone
And you’re left all alone,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When the seas have dried up
And the land is all desert,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When the Sun has gone Nova
And we’re all blown to bits,
Who cares about a dead fish?
When it’s all empty space
And there’s nothing at all,
Even a dead fish would be worth caring about.
This was a lot of fun to paint. The image scared me at first because of all the detail in the clothing, but what the heck, it wouldn’t have had the same mood with solid clothing. I got plenty of compliments from the website I snatched the photo from.
Sometimes a lingering image in your brain drives an artist to paint one image over another one. When a cornfield or an image of one is mentioned this is what pops into my head. I was a country child the first eight years of my life. I played hard and was a nasty sweaty little girl by the end of the day. Every evening came my ritual bath and events always went smoothly till it was time for my mother to comb through my tangled wet hair. She and I both dreaded that moment together. Her warnings began before my hair was touched, “Debra, there will no jumping up and down and screaming tonight.” As she started putting the comb through my hair those warnings would disappear from my mind and be replaced with pain. Her mantra was “one of these days I am going to get the scissors and cut it all off.” Her threats didn’t work.
The day she warned of finally arrived. My Aunt joined in the fun. They picked a side and started whacking. The lengths, of course, came out uneven, to which, they both began to laugh uncontrollably. My bangs were crooked as well. The laughter waned when she decided my father would be angry at her for what she had done. Then a conversation began on how to soften the impact when he saw me. I’m not sure why she had come to this conclusion, as he never fussed over the way I looked. She finally decided the solution was to send me out into the cornfield till she had time to explain away my crooked hair. As a pay-off for staying there I received a quarter. I stood in the middle of the field dreaming of the ice cream cone I was going to buy. I didn’t budge till the sun started to set which means I wasn’t privy to her performance. Honestly, it wasn’t until I received my school picture, that I realized how bad I looked. I cried for two days knowing how ugly my appearance was. Of course, my mother was right there reassuring me that I was beautiful.
Here rest the weary oar! — soft airs
Breathe out in the o’erarching sky;
And Night!– sweet Night — serenely wears
A smile of peace; her noon is nigh.
Where the tall fir in quiet stands,
And waves, embracing the chaste shores,
Move o’er sea-shells and bright sands,-
Is heard the sound of dipping oars.
Swift o’er the wave the light bark springs,
Love’s midnight hour draws lingering near:
And list!– his tuneful viol strings
The young Venetian Gondolier.
Crystal beryl flows wherethrough
Sweet air floats
Friendly faces after every narrow window
Soft clouds murmurs
Lovers’ strolls leave not traces
Poems be made
Ruins be visited
Time stands still
Well, now…. I’ve got to say this was one of the best days I ever had. And yeah, that statement does exclude the day I got married and the days I had my children…Blah Blah Blah… Perfection in company, weather and location.
I went out scouting the hill country in Texas with several compadres of mine for suitable subjects to paint. We did most assuredly find a couple of places to plant our easels. The first being a wildflowers farm that will be in bloom on our planned ramblings. The second is undeveloped land that a local person of Fredericksburg has offered to share with us. Sprinkled on the land are a hundred year old cabin, stream, old grave and trees that have more character than most humans.Spring is definitely in the air here in Texas. We best enjoy it while we can for with one blink of the eye it will be gone and 100+ temperatures will replace it. This is my story and I’m sticking with it.
The painter who is a machine will pass away, the painter who is a mind
will remain; the spirit forever triumphs over matter. –Wiertz-
I am most creative in the morning as I lie in bed. I think it is because the mind has the least amount of distractions and is clear and crisp. It took years of lying still before I learned this about myself.
I have become a tad bit obsessed with circles and have acted on it. The photo for the painting came from one of my many stops along the highways to capture images to paint. This particular day I was in a cemetery when I came across a bell. Folks, bells in a cemetery are not a common sight in my neck of the woods. I put the image on my computer and loved the composition, and the rest is history.
“He who lets the goat be laid on his shoulders is soon after forced to carry the cow.”
Aren’t horses supposed to be a southern woman’s favorite animal? Of course, being an artsy- fartsy person I would have to choose an animal that is not as free and romantic as a horse. I make no excuse for caring more for goats. I know they’re not beautiful animals, but neither am I. It does take a special person to purchase one of my goat paintings, but they do exist. Goats look out of place in the flat lands of Texas. I noticed it doesn’t take a lot to make them happy. All a person need do is simply put a bale of hay in the middle of the field for them to climb on.
Is it possible to attend any place with the word “possum” attached to it and not be a redneck?
The Possum Kingdom art show is upon us again, titled “Arte De Los Brazos”. The art club I belong to participates in it every year.
I obtained a local national artist to judge our entries. Fortunately, I live in an area that is rich with well known artist. They always seem willing to help our art club in any way they can.
I volunteered for hubby and I to transport the art work to and fro. I have two entries in the show. One Robert chose and the other was automatically entered because it won a ribbon in our art show the previous year.
I have invited a couple of art club members to tag along. We all have travel trailers and plan on staying on the near by lake.
There has been a discussion of us attempting to catch fish to eat. We’ll see…it’s been a while since we have accomplished that feat. You would think because we have lived on a lake for the last 15 years we would have figured it out. The truth is we haven’t made it our mission in life. This is my story and I’m sticking with it.
Folgers Decaffeinated Coffee
Pen and Ink, Watercolor