Sitting at Jake's, I am drawn to a young mother creating a memory for her excited four-year-old. Years from now the little red-headed girl will recall sharing a bagel with her mother and watching the geese drifting along on the river. She may even remember the old gentlemen at the next table smiling over at her.
A mental sketch forms in my head as I watch them enjoying their orange drink and coffee, and the scene grows to a possible painting. At first, I make a mental note and try to do a mental sketch. To reinforce the possibilities of a future painting, I try out my photo ability with my phone. Not trusting my skills with the phone camera, I grab my sketchbook in the car and begin making both written notes and rough sketches. Sitting in my car in the bagel shop's parking lot, I refine the sketches of this gifted moment. Only when I have strong notes, both on paper and in my head, do I return again to the bagel shop to sketch chairs and tables. Really into the idea of painting the scene I just experienced, I check what I have and I proceed to the studio.
The process of creating a painting is quite exciting and rewarding in itself for me. In the studio I load the photos into my computer and see they are as I expect, a bit blurry. Katie, my model, arrives and my mind is now split between my present painting on the easel and a new one forming in my head. Focusing on Katie and the light coming in the window, I set aside the new image of the little redhead and her morning with her mother.
Katie and her stories of her brother now have my full attention. All my models treat me with both physical beauty and wonderful stories and tales. These stories add to the richness of hours I spend in the studio. Only after Katie is gone and her stories are part of my own life, do I pick up my sketchbook and see how strong my desire remains to attempt a painting of the morning's scene. I cherish all the stories of those who pose for me and the little scenes of daily life. These little things grow into masterpieces.
