All Turned to Grayish White

Shades of gray and white snake down the windshield as rain pounds the metal roof of my van. I am hoping for a break in the weather to continue my painting streak of capturing the barns of northern Missouri. Two-a-day I'd been averaging before this thunderstorm rolled up on me. Couldn't let a little rain stop me so I opened the back doors of my van and painted the scene through the open doors. This unexpected challenge fired me up. The dirt road stretching out from beneath my feet had more color in it than I realized. The tapping from the rain hitting my van changed to music as i began to paint that dirt road I had traveled earlier in the day.

My eyes were seeing the beauty of that road and it's possibilities for my canvas. The weathered fence took on more character and the multiple shades of gold appeared in the Autumn corn still standing. In the distance, the red barn I had passed on, now looked more interesting through the veil of falling rain. Tire tracks filling with water reflected the dark storm clouds, adding to the interest I was suddenly finding. A lone figure rushed from the barn to the back of large farm house. Wash was hanging on a line stretching from the house to the light pole near what appeared to be a chicken coup. I was seeing more as I painted.

A wave of heavy rain completely wiped out the scene beyond the farm house. All turned a grayish white. I pulled back into the van as the rain wave hit it. Near deafening sound from the rain brought on a feeling of being small for an instant. I reached for the palette and painted out the trees in the distance I had added to my painting. My heart was racing to capture this storm that, at first, had dampened my spirits just an hour before. Thick paint was leaving my brush as my hand took on the feelings of the scene rushing through my brain. My body was responding to what I was seeing, skipping the process of analyzing it through the artist in me. The downer of the rain had turn to a high. 

Words Become White Sound

So many times we listen to others with our ears only. Words become white sound - meaningless white sound. During the creative process of drawing or painting the music artists listen to becomes white sound. But at other times words carry deeper meanings and artists become in-tune with their inner self. Things that lay hidden for years come to the surface and we blend new ideas with old understandings arriving at moments of totality. These moment are like soap bubbles being carried away by our own breath. Their clarity is there for a moment. Some linger to be captured in a brush stroke while other bust and fall to the floor lost for ever. Artists have to be open to such moments to create real art. They need to saver these moments and build on each to develop more till they can tap into themselves and draw on such moments when needed.

I can store such moments internally. Unlocking them with the aid of the muses I call on to create my art. Jordan is such a muse and even though I have only met Adrienne in person once, she is still a muse. All thanks to my clear understanding of Jordan, who has told me so much about her friendship with Adrienne. I picture Adrienne as a poet, and often simply text her to feed my creative bank - often when working on a still-life.

My friend Ronnie has the same affect on me. With Ronnie, all I need to see is one of her postings on Facebook, a tool I often use. There are many such people I know who I draw from to place me in the place I need to be for creating. Like I've said before, the art is a by-product of such states of being.

A photo Adrienne sent me of her and Jordan together will fuel my creative engine for months. I will send simple text messages to Adrienne and pull up videos of Jordan's Josephine to press on with challenging paintings.  Few people have this affect on me so I cherish these friends who do. 

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