Color Beneath Color and Partnership with the Muse

I spend a couple minutes looking out the window giving my brain a break from trying to put words to the topic of color beneath color. My mind usually takes in the scope of what I’m seeing, the full picture, so to speak. However, if I pull my focus down to, say, a small group of leaves hanging on a branch, I start seeing individual details. The longer I look, the more detail I see lines, shapes, shadowing, and light areas.

My eyes drop lower to the brook. This morning there are dollops of foam around each rock; marshmallow fluff, looking good enough to lick. I’m taken in. I want photos, but it’s so cold out there this morn, just barely over 20 degrees. I’m so intrigued, though.

I bundle up, take out a little bird seed and a suet feeder. I also clean the bird bath and put in fresh water. The deicer keeps the water from freezing allowing Leo-kitty and the birds access to drinking water. 

I’m at the railing taking a few photos when I feel something soft and warm brushing against my legs. Ah, Leo’s here for his morning visit. He jumps up on the bench, stretches his front paws to the bird bath and has a little drink. He’s at the door ready to come inside with me when I’m done with picture-taking and ready to return to my writing. After finishing off Pele’s breakfast, he asks to go back out. Silly kitty. 

My topic for the day is something I’ve been reading about recently and something I don’t quite get. (Just as I still struggle understanding values.) I don’t strive to be like other artists. I enjoy finding my own way, but I am curious and want to understand how others work.

I’m still not sure how to see what other artists are talking about in a contrasting color under the main color. For instance, I’ve read to put dark purple down before painting in dark greens, lighter purples with lighter shades of green. One artist said to put rust colors under lighter greens. 

I don’t get it. How do they see that? Is this something taught in art schools, a part of technical training I’m missing? 

"Into the Fog" work in progress

Nan talked again about my intuitiveness with painting. I need to trust that. After all, don’t I ask the muses for help? I can’t deny when I pick up the first pastel, my hand starts moving on its own accord putting color onto the paper. Every time I step up to the easel, something guides me during the initial working. It’s like the Muse does the session’s first part and I’m just along for the ride. Then I take over doing touch ups, fixing areas not quite right. 

It does feel like a partnership with the muses. We work together. I’m not aware of an individual muse or muses per se, just a sense of something all-encompassing kind of taking over for a bit. It’s like a wordless conversation, in a way.

Then some days, like yesterday and today, the writing muses visit.

Making my Own Path

  

Pretty color has seeped away, except the purple I see on my deck and the turquoise of the birdbath. There’s pale white-gray of sky, white of house and garage across the brook, dark green of hemlock, gray of tree trunks and rocks, and many shades of browns layered on the ground, in the brook and tucked into crevices.

Shapes, lines and contours stand out against the ground cover. The moss-covered “whale” rock is my favorite in the brook. I call it that because it reminds me of the whale once near the entrance to Salisbury Beach, Mass., and the one once at Yoken’s Restaurant in Portsmouth – except my rock is tailless.

Downed limbs lie in angles over other rocks, and the squiggly lines of exposed tree roots along the far banking get me into doing one of those “Find the___” games as my eyes keep looking to see what else I can notice.

I realize the need for conversation and discussion. For years now I’ve been OK with my solitude. I like being alone most of the time, however, lately I’ve been craving people interaction. And why so much now during these times of social distancing?

Perhaps it’s that – whatever it is within me – that has always made me not tread the exact same path as everyone else. I’ve always strived to do things my way – even in my artwork. And now, being told I have to follow certain protocols and all, I’m feeling rebellious. 

Oh, I understand. I know we have to be careful these days, but I’m so tired of having the pandemic (or plandemic, as I really believe) shoved down our throats constantly. It’s driving me crazy. I feel I want to punch the next person who mentions it.

But, again, I understand. People do need to be reminded to be careful, but how much of it is really necessary and how much of it is fearmongering to control the masses? I see multiple sides and reasonings, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be telling people what to do or not do.

So, back to my following my own paths which is kind of funny because there are certain things like games and law where I want to follow the rules to the letter. That said, there are times when bending the rules seems appropriate. What works for some, doesn’t always work well for others, but as a society, rules and guidelines are necessary.

Have I always had this rebel aspect in me? I did, only I never saw myself as a rebel because I wasn’t like other rebellious people. (Think James Dean of the ‘50s, the hippies of the ‘60s, etc. Not me.)

Here are a few things I remember as I child: Being told I had to color a horse white and I refused because I wanted my horse to have color. If I didn’t think something was fair, I wanted to change it. Back then, girls were supposed to like red for their favorite color, and boys, blue. I didn’t want to like red, so I chose blue as my favorite color. (Years later, I realized I liked yellow better … and purple.) I chose 13 for my favorite number mostly because it was supposed to be a bad luck number and I wanted to prove it wrong.

I didn’t want to play with dolls and I never cared for girl talk. I wanted to be out doing the fun stuff like the boys: climbing trees, exploring the woods, building huts, etc. (When I was an adult, I learned to love women’s gatherings.) I didn’t go ga-ga over Elvis or the Beatles because everyone else did. (I can’t see why people go crazy over any celebrity. Yes, there are many good ones, but for fans to carry on like they do … I just don’t get it. They’re just people doing a job they love and providing entertainment.)

As an adult, even though I fell under some women’s roles and such, I still found ways to carve my own path. It wasn’t always easy. I had few friends. Going against the norm didn’t invite others. There were years when I was miserable, feeling I was doing everything wrong in others’ eyes. But I couldn’t be like them, I just couldn’t. Something within me always drove me onto other paths. Yes, I made mistakes, but I also survived and did the best I could.

Today I am proud at how far I’ve come. I continue to live wholeheartedly as best I can. I have my set of rules I live by. They are not set in stone and I may stray off the path from time to time. Mostly, I push for honesty, integrity, being a good person, mindful of others, respecting others also trying to be good people. (I’ll admit I have no tolerance for those wanting a free ride through life, criminals, and those bent on destruction and hurting other people.)