There is something about painting on the spot that invites strangers to express opinions and questions, such as why I have chosen the subject I have to express myself. Painting is about emotions and imagination. A fallen oak awakens my sense of wonder with its second-life colors. Green moss wraps fallen giants while bright orange fungus springs forth, giving comfort to tiny furry creatures and keeping them safe from the sharp eyes of the kestrel circling about. Tiny black eyes peek out from the hollowed giant at me as I mix colors.
An elderly couple out keeping fit, taking time from their morning hike, informed me about the fungus that is appearing on my canvas. Their opinions on my work so far are encouraging. A quick sketch of them arm in arm, continuing on their way, is an unexpected reward. The deep red browns of the decaying trees set off the oranges and pale yellows of the fungus. Moss greens tickle my browns and the deep purples I use to outline the leaves of the plants carpeting the forest floor. More colors and hues appear as I work. Colors the camera misses are there for the finding.
A young boy takes a seat next to me as I tackle a scene of the river and the footbridge in Fabyan Park. The bike path nearby attracts people from all over. Some come from as far away as Chicago. I've gotten used to people commenting on my paintings. This boy just sat quietly watching me mix colors and lay paint on my canvas. His mother, after half an hour, enticed the boy back onto the path with a promise of McDonald’s french fries. To encourage him to go with her I told him french fries sounded pretty good. An hour later came a nudge on my arm. There was my little fan with a bag of french fries for me. He stayed another half hour sipping a coke, watching me finish my river scene.
Most times I enjoy visitors with their questions and critiques, even the negative comments I get at times. There are other times I want to pull my hair out, like the time a man pushed through some bushes to see what I was doing. A billion tiny gnats were stirred up and hundreds landed on my near finished painting. One time my sister Cathy was on the bike path with twenty of her friends. She had each one ask me my favorite question, "What are you painting?” when I was nearly finished with my painting...
