Leaves Swept Away By The West Wind

Scrapping the frost from the car windows, that first touch of winter awakens the dormant artist that sleeps. Copper red and venetian colored branches of the plum tree scratch my cheek as I squeeze by to finish the windshield. Like the long fingers of a model catching the sun in my studio, there comes an awareness of the beauty that stirs around me. Walking round to the front, I see my neighbors houses draped in the November sun. With leaves swept away by the West wind, there is a sense of a clean palette. Bending to pick up the morning paper, I'm frozen for a minute by the different colors in the grains of sand and stones making up the cement.

We settle in to our world and our ways, missing the tiny things around us. The veins in a model's hands disappear along with wonderful colors we first see with that initial lift of our brush to capture their beauty when they pose. The clean winter sun freshens our minds. The cobalt sky and peach colored house on the corner will be with me as I see the model. The smile of the young man passing on the street enriches the light on the snow that is only there in the painting on my easel.

For me it is the things that are not in each painting that inspire me, seeing a child splash in a rain puddle or turning to listen to the chimes of church bells. This morning it was the sun washing away the chill of a November morning.

Dead Artists Draw Larger Crowds

Driving cross town on a cold rainy night to an art exhibition wondering what I will see. Red taillights and yellow headlights are highlighted in every raindrop racing down my windshield. Turning onto a quieter street lined with old elm trees and grand old homes, images of people wrapped in afghans and family quilts stir in my head. The house second from the corner of Garfield and Commonwealth has a large watercolor hanging across from their sofa. I always slow here to take a look, even though I cannot really see any detail of this painting. Only the wide mat tells me it's medium. Lamps and art work are my interest while driving through this part of town at night. The shapes of lampshades fascinate me.

Pulling into the university's parking lot, I see people rushing to get in out of the rain. Quite a crowd for an art exhibit. Dead artists seem to draw larger crowds. This particular artist taught at the university, her paintings were there on loan from local collectors. People are hanging up wet coats on wood hangers and getting glasses of wine (in actual glasses) to view the artwork. A touch of class to honor the artist and her works. If she were still alive it would be plastic cups and paper plates. A few people are looking at the art, most are reacquainting themselves with neighbors and club members they normally avoid.

Squeezing by people, I make my way from one work to another. At the exhibition before this one only the artist was here. Paper cups and apple cider for that artist. Being an artist has its ups and downs.