Autumn morning at Jake’s, a breath of crisp air follows every patron entering the door. Coffee, tasty bagels and news of the town await those taking a table. New patrons become new friends, waiting in line to place their order. The aroma of cinnamon bagels drifting out from the oven fills the air with a warm friendly hug. Serve-yourself coffeepots with one's favorite flavors waiting for you with a smile and a comment from a new acquaintance. George and Melissa have their seats, as I take mine, and the rest of our group trickles in.
What's new with you? It’s the old opening question. Great deals on shopping are always discussed, as everyone nods toward a new patron covered in tattoos taking his place in line. A subject for a painting, with his tattoos, becomes the topic. He is already a work of art we decide and George points out the still, mirror-like waters of the river reflecting the trees on the island across from Jake’s. The strong morning light hasn't reached the grey limbs of a fallen tree. Its branches are like slender fingers reaching out, testing the waters and painting the scene for each of us. Coming in the east windows is that same morning light, falling on George's tree, and it has my attention as it turns figures into simple silhouettes surrounded by blinding whites.
I have done many sketches of Jake's patrons, Pastor Bob writing his sermon, teens cramming for that test, a mom cutting a bagel up for her little girl. Jakes’ has become my studio with its people and interior with its morning light. A near abstract of black and white, with hints of color sprinkled throughout the scene, it has sparked my imagination many times. All in the group have eyes on the fallen trees, as I paint the scene of patrons in the eastern light, inside my head again. The tattooed man loses his tattoos as he becomes one of the silhouettes in the painting forming in my head. “Are you listening?” George asks. I nod that I am as I continue the painting going on in my head. We are introduced to Al's new wife as they join the group and I set my imagination aside. A dozen new questions are directed at the new couple. Soon it is time for work and we head for our studios and waiting easels. I see George taking in a long look at the trees on the island.
In the studio my painting on the easel will be put aside for an hour or two as I work out, not the abstract scene gripping my mind, but a mother-child painting. Out of the blue, a mother and child are there, clear as can be. Several on the spot studies stare at me wondering why I am putting them aside, as I rough in two figures on yet another fresh canvas. Miss. Marple is solving "A Murder is Announced,” from my computer - my form of music. It helps to clear my head. Old sketches of the people at Jake’s help in my struggle to clear the scene I painted this morning in my head. Soon, my studio is a mess with on-the-spot landscapes and old sketches of people. Miss. Marple has solved her murder and I have freed my mind of Jake’s. Putting my little oil of a mom and her redheaded little girl aside. I am ready to work on my landscape.
