Annie & Fred

I was talking with Boris Johnson this morning. Never realized he and I have the same philosophy when it comes to art. Listening to him as I brushed my teeth, I saw his point of view on my present painting. Walking back to my bedroom I thought about his ideas. Pulling on clean trousers and socks I continued to think over his ideas. Only when I ran a comb through my hair did my own ideas become clear. Boris faded in the mirror as his blond hair became my white hair and it took on that orderly look that is mine.

Of course Boris wasn't there sharing ideas on art with me, it was simply me organizing my thoughts for my day. I do look like the British prime minister in the morning though. It isn't a bad look, just not my look. Dressed, lunch packed, I check to see if I need my winter coat. Why is the newspaper always in the street or in my neighbor's yard?

Annie and Fred are posing for me today. Annie is drop dead gorgeous, she brings the construction going on next door to a halt. Fred, her loyal friend, is quite laid back. He gets right to work, and hits the model's stand as soon as he's in the door. Not always in the right pose, but a little prodding gets him there. Two Milk Bones and Fred is set for the day. While Fred dreams of squirrels and rabbits, Annie doses off and I set to work getting just the right blue to her jeans and burnt sierra to her favorite belt. Besides being a great model, she is a damn fine drywaller. Brush work needs correcting and those jeans need a bit more Annie in them. It isn't just a figure in my painting, it's Annie and Fred in my painting. You know how you can recognize a friend from the back? Well that is how it is with me and my painting. Models start off as strangers but along the way they become friends. I may have to buy a blue, special, for Annie's jeans and it may take several tries to get her hair color right. When I finished the painting I've said "Meet Annie and Fred ".

Ann, the Artist

6 degrees and it is still dark out there. Warming up in my studio with hot cocoa and a large painting of my friend Ann's garden. A complete summer painting, by that I mean I'm putting in June flowers and late August flowers and all those that bloom in between. Ann, being the Gardener she was, is looking down at me and just shaking her head.

Ann was a watercolorist, taught watercolors, and was the most knowledgeable watercolorist I knew. Ann could tell you what colors were permanent and what results you would get using the different papers out there. But it was her gardening where I saw the real artist inside Ann, and that impressed me the most.

Walking into Ann's back yard was like walking into a master's painting . It was not the biggest garden, it was more of a little jem. You know those little paintings we all do that turn out better than our planned masterpieces? I was so overwhelmed that I actually had to do a small figure of one of the other artists there painting. I took in the different ponds and the little stream connecting them. Ann explained what each plant did, besides being beautiful. Some created hiding places for her fish when a Heron was in the area; other plants provided resting places for her frogs. Butterflies, honeybees, and scary bumblebees were all welcome. Dark blue wine bottles resting on metal sticks added color and more interest. Crazy looking bird houses added a bit of whimsy for her grandchildren. There in that garden Ann was a true master artist.

It was there, painting in her garden, that I became aware of other forms of art. I thought of my mother's small garden and how mom painted with flowers. I look at the unfinished corner of my painting and wonder what Ann might put there. Mom would say a rose and “Get rid of that frog, he'll eat my butterflies.”

A sip of cocoa and some more remembering before lifting the brush to canvas. Robert Henry's, “The Art Spirit,” explains it. I just go with it, and let the overthinking of art fade away. Too much green, again.