The house on the corner catches the morning light. Its cool shadows cause my foot to ease off the gas. “Micky, Marty, Melvin,” I hear myself half whispering. Fond memories of calling their names through the screen door. Their mom's face appears at the kitchen window as she does the dinner dishes. A horn brings me back to the present as I glance in the mirror.
Fabyan Park is calling as I turn onto High Street. Sketchbook and pencils riding shotgun, are ready for a morning of work. Pen and writing paper in the back seat, in case people are sleeping in. Stringing words together is another of my joys, letters and terrible poems keep my restless mind and hands happy.
The roads hold striped cool shadows and warm rays of sunlight. I cross over to the West side of the river where there are more trees lining the road north. Light and shadow are my inspiration, whether in the studio, or out painting a farm scene.
Picking up a Diet Coke, the day begins with sketching the park’s “wisdom-givers”, drinking their McDonald’s coffees. A few new, old faces in my sketchbook, a refill, and I'm back on my way.
Fabyan Park is where I study people, get inspired, and practice my drawing skills. A watercolor may come about, at times an oil. It’s just about drawing people and giving my imagination a workout. Two women with babies set a rush in motion to find a blank page. Wild lines lead the way into my drawing. First, gestures fill the white page, then more important lines build the scene. Canvas, paints, and brushes are soon replacing the sketching. Only what is necessary is placed on the canvas. A leg, an arm, a stroke for a head of hair. This is what I practice for. Speed painting at workshops I now see working. Finally they leave, and I'm left to the background and my Coke, with a hint of turpentine.
