The Name of a Flower

Catching fireflies on an August evening after running through the sprinklers. This comes to mind as I try to recall the name of a flower. Color flows, as I see the flower with that bumble bee mom always liked. Covered in pollen, staying clear of the sprinkler drops, it held me captivated there, watching it select another flower. My sister and brother's laughter didn't seem to bother him.  

Mom whispered in my ear as she toweled me off. “He's your friend,” she whispered, tickling my ear with her breath. He gives us plums and the green apples that had spoiled my dinner.  Not so spoiled that I passed on a piece of upside down plum cake though... 

With clean dry t-shirts on, Mom sliced a piece of cake and drug Francis and I over to Mrs. Linster. It was my first time being invited into Mrs. Linster's living room. Mom sat down at the piano and led Francis and I in a very rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. Sportie joined in, his barking had us all laughing. We talked and played with Sportie. I apologized for some of the questions I had... If Mrs. Linster is one hundred, she might have known Wild Bill Hickok. 

Leaving, Sportie continues his barking as we cross the street back over to our house. I can still see Dad doing his crosswords and Pat and Mike at the dining room table putting a puzzle together as we pass under the streetlight. Cathy is already in bed.

Painting is slow with these visits I make. The banging of the screen door doesn't bring the name of the flower to me nor does Dad's asking for another piece of cake.  Time to clean off my palette and wash my brushes. How is it there is green paint in my ear? 

Inspirations & Paint Trip Outings

Sitting in open-air bleachers watching a pick-up basketball game somewhere in Tennessee while enjoying a slice of homemade apple pie. This is how I do a painting trip. My paints are in the van, so it counts as a painting trip... I stared at the trees and rocks for a while at Daniel Boone's park, again, keeping the paints fresh in the van. As soon as I finish my pie I’ll take up my pencil and sketch someone just to give credit to the outing. Other sketch options were a nice little cafe where the pie was, or a quart of sauerkraut (to keep regular), which also looked good.

Too many hamburger places pulling at me... These small town restaurants and cafes are my source for inspiration. There is something about the word itself, "cake", that is art to me. Other inspiring art is Gene Kelly in An American in Paris. Maybe I can't dance but I am a fairly good painter. Dancing in the rain for me? A dry library is more my style. The life of Edward Hopper is my splashing in the street - I’ve seen that scene a hundred times. Jordan is my Leslie Caron.

Why do I leave the studio for these painting trips? With the pie gone, the kid standing under the basketball goal is first for my pencil. Later, with seven kids safe in my book, I walk back to try that chocolate cake.         

A Diet Coke and chips for dinner in a less than a four-star motel. Paint brushes make useful chopsticks for eating sauerkraut from a blue canning jar while watching "Shane". Jack Palance was great, another actor that, just watching him come on screen, was inspiring. These little inspirations made me want to do my best with what I did. Painting Jordan nursing Josphine is my “Dancing in the Rain.” A painting of an old fallen oak tree is Jack Palance dying in a cloud of gunsmoke in that old saloon/dry goods store. 

Turning the lights off, I think I’ll go back to Daniel Boone's park and take my paints out of the van.