“Murder in the mist, a young jogger lay motionless on a foot bridge…” Elisabeth George captured my imagination with her opening description of the peaceful scene interrupted by murder. Pat, the gallery owner, did not want me to tell the inspiration for a painting of mine to the gathered audiences. She had turned the gallery into a restaurant setting for the opening of my exhibition, and between each course I was to talk about the coming to life of each painting. It was the pictures formed in my head while reading that had inspired it. These pictures have always been a part of reading.
Before the last page of this mystery that inspired a painting, Henry, my painting buddy, and I were out hunting for the elements that were going to make up this painting. The right foot bridge and church steeple, lilacs and the right creek were all needed. While Henry sniffed out trees worth including, I checked out foot bridges. Across the river, I saw my one foot bridge that looked pretty good. Henry was still marking trees as I sketched the scene with St. Nick’s church steeple in the background. Rough sketches, capturing part of the image from my murder mystery scene, took on the image in my head. I let Henry lead me on down the bike trail to view the bridge from another angel. Something about holding a sketchbook and pencil that invites people to stop and ask questions. A bicyclist or two will even slow to comment on my sketching.
Nine miles up the river may be a better foot bridge so its back to the car, a drink for Henry, and some touching up of the church steeple before leaving our first stop. Stopping at McDonalds, we get a burger to split. Not sure what Henry says at the pick-up window but he gets two Milk Bones. I explain to Henry I need a better church steeple, he eagerly agrees as he looks for crumbs and more of the burger. Head out the window, tongue flapping, he lets everyone in Batavia know he's the boss, and we mean business passing by.
More trees to mark and new friends to meet, he jumps over me to be the first out as I pull into Fabyan Park. Alerting all squirrels we're here, he marks his first tree and checks back with me to see which direction we're going. We are quite the team. The painting builds in my head as we walk the bike path to the first foot bridge. A bench to rest and sketch for me, joggers for Henry to annoy. A better creek accompanies this bridge, but the first bridge is looking better for the painting. I'll come back with paints to capture the creek. The murder scene in growing in my head and in my sketchbook. Like a puzzle, I gather and fit the pieces together.
Back in the studio Henry drinks a bit of water, looks for a treat, and sees if I'm heading for the easel. His morning nap is best under my easel, to keep an eye on me. Grabbing my camera brings him to attention. It's back out to get pictures of church steeples and the footbridge behind the iron works. Henry gives me Hell from the car window for leaving him in there as I make my way to the bridge that will be the one in my painting. I snap a few photos and walk back to a dissatisfied Henry. Lilacs will break up the greens I envision and that yellow bush in front of that house on Spring Street will add to it. Back at the studio again, Henry is ready for a bit longer nap and a break from my constant questions. With the London Boys Choir singing and Henry under the easel, I work on composition and design for my murder scene. Days of on the spot painting and trips to the camera stores, it takes a while for me to complete a painting. Never been able to complete a painting in less than a day or two, and some take a month. And those conversations with Henry sometimes lead me to my next painting…
