What Color Is The Sound Of The Cricket?

A dragonfly has Henry's full attention as he stands guard under my French easel. Nothing gets past his post, neither butterflies nor bumble bees are too fierce for him. He stops the occasional two legged stranger from keeping me from my work too, by answering all their questions with sharp serious barking. He’s always to the point. Move on, he warns them. A bit of chicken is his reward, before curling back up under my easel. His sense of duty to attend all painting lessons is better than any student one might have.

We're out exploring places to take in the sunset. A field of wildflowers or some cows grazing add to the setting sun. Henry seems partial to the cows. It's the end of a day, the awakening of night creatures begin to color my canvas as well as my soul. What color is the sound of the cricket beneath the wild cabbage? What shape is the brushstroke for the mouse moving the Queen Ann's lace. Henry stretches as I mix the pale purple for the paintbrush like flowers. As the sun spreads its colors among the lingering clouds, I shift to high gear. Detail gives way to a desire to capture what is happening before us. Henry is less interested in the glory of a day's end. Flooding my soul, my want is my passion for color. Speed enters into play, a bit of stress is now part of the process. Colors race to the canvas as the reds of the setting sun push aside blues and the whites of the noon sky. A deep breath calms my hand, capturing the wispful clouds. My goal of putting a sunset to canvas is near.  The first star appears to tell me to hurry, I've gone beyond time. Henry stands ready as I tell myself to pack up paints and easel. Fireflies rise from deep green grasses, frogs begin their call of romance. One last touch before wisdom advises me to pack up.

Henry, ready to lead the way, and ready to clear the path of strangers, trots ahead. “Wet painting! Clear the way!” he barks. Ahead of me, he pulls us to the car, and waits at the driver's door as I secure my efforts in the trunk. A last look, a pat on the back, a good working day for us. Me with my painting, Henry with his guard duty. He jumps up into the car and waits for his window to be lowered. One last look at the landscape before starting the car and turning on the headlights. Other visitors to Nelson's Lake are allowed to leave in silence, with Henry's approval. Our one-sided discussion on the drive home is about possibly returning tomorrow, for a bit of detail for the large piece I am planning. Henry settles down for the ride home.  

Gathering Information

Another day at work. Henry rides shotgun, alerting me to anyone too near the street. He barks a warning to the guy waiting for the light to change and another warning to the lady hanging her wash up in her backyard. Information collecting is the business of the day. It's what I do some days, either with my sketchbook or with my camera. I prefer sketching over snapping pictures. With sketching I remember more, there is more of a personal connection, like the little things about a subject. With snapshots, I don't always remember why I took the picture... Years can pass and I will still remember why I sketched that particular person though. It's the time spent drawing a subject, studying that subject, studying the form of that subject. That's why I love sketching people. The lady reading the paper while walking her dog. She still has her apron on from making her husband's lunch that he takes to work each day. The apron with a pocket, with what appears to be a washcloth in it. She stands there, as her dog lays its business on Mrs. Peter's lawn. She wears the same dress for days which gives me the opportunity to add a bit of the pattern of dress to my sketch on another day. Henry sounds up and her dog answers. Tomorrow I may add a bit more to the sketch should our paths cross again, and they will, knowing her habits now. 

The hunt continues for Information. Those winter days when the studio is so much friendlier than outside, I will look through my sketchbook and pause at the sketch of the lady reading the paper and possibly attempt a tiny color sketch of her. Smiling as I do.  

Turning down Mountain St., I spot Mrs. Vera out watering her flowers which line her front walk. Another sketch for a winter day. Henry grows impatient for his treat and walk, so it's onward to the river walking path. An extra long leash makes him happy and quiet, allowing me to sketch a fisherman. Making note of which blue I should use for his jeans, and the color of his straw hat. I think how strong the colors should be when I do the color sketch from this pencil sketch. Henry pulls at the leash to check out a tree he may want to mark. 

We head to the dam at North Aurora, where I unpack my paints.  A full work day is what I aim for each day. When I'm asked the question "if I have ever had a real job, " I just smile and think of the hours I put into a work of art. My job is putting that smile on someone else's face.