|The White Orchard, Vincent Van Gogh|
Painted in April, in Arles, in 1888, Van Gogh's Spring will have to suffice this year. But his orchard series, beautiful as it is, is hardly as good as walking into the backwoods and picking a bouquet of the glorious daffodils in full bloom out there. From what I can see from my window, there's a full fledged river flowing between our little lake and the little pond on the next acreage. I will have to take a look for myself. I always told Ellis the lake would come up to the ridge that runs along our back. I may have been psychic? It would be fun to paddle between the two.
My health is progressing I think? I'm coloring. The first IPad drawing you saw. I hadn't used the right size nib. The second is my attempt to paint the guy. There's only so much accuracy you can get with a finger, however, this venture did start me saving my color values. As crude as this is, I do think my fussing will assist my move to little canvases for my morning workouts.
Lately, I've been thinking about the water soluble oil paint set I have downstairs. I bought them, but never used them. They might be much more compatible with plein air than oily oils--less junk and no worries about fluids for thinning or clean up.
The weather is lovely. I hate being stuck inside feeling like an invalid. Yes. I am feeling sorry for myself.