Apple Pie & Lemonade

I learn something every time I go out painting - not always about painting. Like why a farmer gave up dairy farming and replaced his dairy cows with Angus cattle. My friends, Paul and Linda, and myself, made it a custom to head out somewhere every Sunday and paint the local landscape. One Sunday we found an abandoned road which had been replaced by a new road with a new bridge, further down the river from the old bridge.  It was like our private place to paint. Cool and quiet, we set up in the middle of the road. One Sunday, well into our paintings, an elderly couple comes down the road to see what we're up to. After watching us for a while they invited us to stop by their farm when finished. Apple pie and lemonade was a nice way to end the day. We listened to stories of the old days from this couple, back when they had five kids to make light of farm work. They told us how they had to switch from dairy farming to raising beef cows when their kid went away to college. I sketched them, between slices of pie, as they told us of life on the farm. 

There is just something about country folk. Like the Nelsons, who turned their farm back to virgin prairie and gave it to the county for everyone to enjoy. We were lucky enough to meet the Nelsons on one of our Sunday outings. Linda bravely got to learn about snakes there at the Nelsons’ place. Seems we set up our easels where snakes like to sun themselves. Paul and I learned how Linda felt about snakes. I wasn't so brave myself, when a bull snake charged.  I got a number of nice landscapes from there, even with the snakes. 

Did you know there are beavers in Illinois? Beavers will sometimes take cornstalkes to build their homes. They can cause problems for farmers, so one farmer told us.  

Something about painting out on the spot that attracts people and makes them want to tell you about themselves. Some tell you things you never knew about Vincent van Gogh, and one farmer gave us pointers on how to capture the feel of the place we were painting. I never did learn how to capture the smell of angus though. 

I've always enjoyed the people I meet while out painting. Some I had to capture in my sketchbook. Some sights, no one would believe - a pig and a goose strolling around the yard together like best of friends. 

Thousands of Brushstrokes

A thousand strokes of color pour forth as the canvas begins to speak. Listening to the silence for a hint of direction, I find the path and slowly lift the clouds of doubt. Every painting starts with confidence but travels  the rough road I lay out for myself. Too much confidence & too many voices. My own voice is muffled. My reason for the canvas on the easel sometimes needs to be refreshed. Ideas fight each other as I paint.

Once I lost my way and the painting on the easel had to rest in my attic for ten years. Then one day, when I was ready to sand the canvas clean, it spoke to me and I was ready to listen. What I tried didn't make sense but it worked, and a work of art was suddenly on my easel. I had discovered art and what it meant to be an artist. My paintings didn't have to be works of art to others, only to myself.

I stopped copying what I saw and began painting how I felt. I stopped going to famous places to paint and began searching out places I was familiar with and places that meant something to me. The moon over the landscape with fireflies was the ride home from a day at Uncle Melvin's farm. Live chickens in burlap sacks in the back seat with us kids. I could feel those chickens under my feet as I painted that scene of the moon. The smell of garlic and coffee came to me doing a windowsill scene of Katie Linster’s window.

People used to have scrapbooks full of memories. I have paintings tucked away for memories. A portrait of Jordan's dad is one. He blew me away with his straight forwardness. A painting of Jordan breastfeeding Josephine lifts my spirits when down. Josephine, playing pick-up-sticks with my paint brushes pauses my painting of a farm. My mind wanders but my hand continues to work, laying in those thousands of brushstrokes.