From memory, from last night. (Tonight we had thunderstorms.)
May 2010 Archives
Some views remind me of favorite books from childhood. Today, this calm shore felt straight out of Arthur Ransome.
Visiting family this weekend, and enjoying water and horizon views.
...on the table, where it did not do me much good during the thunderstorm this afternoon.
As you may know, I've been a regular blogger for the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra's website for the past two seasons. It's been wonderful - they give me tickets to a concert, and I draw or paint something for their website. To close out this year, they've offered me an extra pair of tickets to give away.
Would you like to hear the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra perform Beethoven's 9th Symphony with Manfred Honeck conducting?
If you can be in Pittsburgh on Saturday, June 5th, for the 2:30 performance, leave a comment on this post. I'll draw a name from among the commenters at noon on Tuesday, June 1st, and let you know that your tickets will be waiting for you at the "will call" window.
Thanks for your continuing support and encouragement, and thanks to the Symphony for making these tickets available - I think the concert is sold out.
One of the empty hanging baskets on our back porch is no longer empty. A mourning dove has chosen it for a nest. She is there all the time, so we haven't been able to see if there are eggs.
From memory, as this is the view from a stairwell window at work, and I was too busy walking up and down the stairs to stop and paint. Not too busy to stop, look, and try to remember it, though...
Blueberries scattered across the table in an early constellation of summer.
When I first started drawing, I worried abut the ink lines that went where I didn't want them to go. Eventually I began to see them as tracks of energy, showing the process of my drawing, the process of my seeing.
I thought I had taken all of the tulips out to the compost, then found a petal on the table.
I suppose there is some irony in using ink to make a picture of an eraser.
It's the weekend, and time to recharge.
Stem extended, petals twist and fall.
One more tulip...
Now empty. But I still have a sense of the fizz from the children's drinks.
In a different combination of media: china marker resist, graphite, and gouache.
Another view.
We have plenty of things in bloom in our backyard, but I couldn't resist these tulips at the grocery store.
Trees, sky, and telephone wires, were framed by the porch roof and pillars tonight, as the sun set.
I got candied ginger on Mother's Day, and somehow it's almost gone. (Hard to resist.)
Moments after I kicked a glass of water over on the coffee table.
Cut melon on the kitchen counter. It wasn't ripe enough yet. Maybe in a few days.
A rhododendron in our yard is now in full bloom. A couple of florets were on the breakfast tray this morning, so I had a chance to look at that part of the flower head more carefully.
An early Mother's Day present from the neighborhood flower sale.
My right foot.
Home from work later than usual. Kicked off my shoes and drew them where they lay.
Crumpled paper napkin.
Small balloon appeared under the coffee table. Not sure how it got there.
Walked to school this morning through a torrential spring downpour. Warm monsoon-like rain soaked us sideways before we were off our home block, in spite of umbrella, raincoats, hat. We imagined we saw fish in the gutters, wished the street had a boat lane instead of a bike lane, and told each other about the tall tales we'd tell about this walk in years to come. When we arrived, we were able to borrow a dry jumper and socks from the lost and found for my daughter, and I squelched around the office for a while until I dried out. The sun came out half an hour after the school day began, and by late morning, all was hot, bright, and sunny. A dramatic start to the week.
I love the way the ivy on the window across the way becomes its own kind of drawing after dark.
I notice (not for the first time) that today's date as I've written it on the page sounds like the beginning of a sentence, the beginning of an idea: "I May..." I don't yet know how that sentence ends.
A new pad of post-it notes seems full of possibility.
