6 degrees and it is still dark out there. Warming up in my studio with hot cocoa and a large painting of my friend Ann's garden. A complete summer painting, by that I mean I'm putting in June flowers and late August flowers and all those that bloom in between. Ann, being the Gardener she was, is looking down at me and just shaking her head.
Ann was a watercolorist, taught watercolors, and was the most knowledgeable watercolorist I knew. Ann could tell you what colors were permanent and what results you would get using the different papers out there. But it was her gardening where I saw the real artist inside Ann, and that impressed me the most.
Walking into Ann's back yard was like walking into a master's painting . It was not the biggest garden, it was more of a little jem. You know those little paintings we all do that turn out better than our planned masterpieces? I was so overwhelmed that I actually had to do a small figure of one of the other artists there painting. I took in the different ponds and the little stream connecting them. Ann explained what each plant did, besides being beautiful. Some created hiding places for her fish when a Heron was in the area; other plants provided resting places for her frogs. Butterflies, honeybees, and scary bumblebees were all welcome. Dark blue wine bottles resting on metal sticks added color and more interest. Crazy looking bird houses added a bit of whimsy for her grandchildren. There in that garden Ann was a true master artist.
It was there, painting in her garden, that I became aware of other forms of art. I thought of my mother's small garden and how mom painted with flowers. I look at the unfinished corner of my painting and wonder what Ann might put there. Mom would say a rose and “Get rid of that frog, he'll eat my butterflies.”
A sip of cocoa and some more remembering before lifting the brush to canvas. Robert Henry's, “The Art Spirit,” explains it. I just go with it, and let the overthinking of art fade away. Too much green, again.
