CYL People in The Flesh

Work in Progress: Banana Cream Pie, 30: x 10", acrylic

We followed a UPS truck moving slowly down our street. He was looking for an address. I was hoping it was mine and all the paint I ordered last weekend would be on my doorstep in moments. But he stopped short of my house. Yellow Cadmium Light would not be on my palette during my afternoon session. Shite. 

So I carried on without it incorporating Naples Yellow in the dots and dabs and then moving on to analyze the colors of chocolate under the fluorescent light of a display case. Cool.

 I still haven't gone to Michael's to get a canvas for JD--I still haven't heard a word from the art association I joined in order to take the gestural portraiture workshop, which begins on August 13th. Half of me wants it to be a go; the less confident other half wants it to be canceled--well actually, three quarters wants it to be a go and only a quarter wants it to be cancelled. I'd like to size the place up with regards to its value in my life. You all are great, but some talented people in the flesh, who share my interest would be a big plus.

Detail of a work in progress. There's a lot of crimson in chocolate.

Potato Chip Junkie

Work in progress: Banana Cream Pie, Acrylics; middle portion of  30 x 10" stretched canvas.

My lower level, my favorite place to be. The watercolor station is
on the bar (left).  Oil and Acrylic studio down the hall., past the bath.
Exercise area with mirrored wall beyond the couch. I designed
the space, Ellis built it. We had a great business partnership. I miss it.

On the weekend following my physical where I learned my bad cholesterol is on the rise, I chose to paint banana cream pie. Typical me, do what you shouldn't. I haven't touched this painting in a week or more. As you know, I needed some Cadmium Yellow Light, but I kept putting it off. I finally put in my paint order yesterday.I figured bite the bullet, put up the money; all my acrylics were low. Too tired to do watercolor, after I had divided a couple of large wc sheets, I chose a session with acrylics to wile away an afternoon.

 Opening my acrylic palette, I discovered much to my delight that the paint mixes were still as moist and workable as I had left them over a week ago,(Masterson disposable paper palette with a dampened sponge pad liner in an airtight box, excellent), so I figured go ahead, jump in, add CYL when it comes. The more I worked, the more I felt myself loosening up.  

After a lifetime preference, I do feel comfortable with acrylics. I do enjoy painting pastries. Oddly enough, I don't like to eat them. I'm a potato chip junkie--was a potato chip junkie. That report put me back on the elliptical trainer and  sunrise swimming  this weekend. Love that lake--with no wind squalls and no people.

Mirror Lake

All To Myself Alone

Stilettos

Stilettos

No more stilettos.  Pumas are my current style. A fortune in shoes from another life filled with Saturday nights out, mini dresses, obnoxious earrings and hair extensions.  Laid back is smarter, but quite honestly, the clothes get boring.

 Happy weekend everybody. Good painting!

The Liebster Award

The most original Liebster award I found was by DRHGUY, I  don't know
the gentleman , but  this was clever.

Erin revisited: some lightening her, some
darkening there, some cropping

While my computer took it's time starting up, I took Erin down to the scene of the crime and made a few adjustments. Watercolor just bepuddles me. But I have found that you can lift the paint quite easily and tenderly and make some changes. So I did and made my way back to my usual 2 c's in the morning: computer and coffee. I wanted to figure out how to display the kind award Konstantina gave me. I figured on the side bar where I had see it on other blogs. I was also curious as to how it originated.

On Google, I found I wasn't the only award winner. Many winners of the award had researched its origins: in Germany, around 2009 - 2010. Liebster translates to sweetheart, darling, dearest one. I got the impression from what I read the someone in the cooking category may have been the originator and it took off from there. Originally, it was for blogs with less than 3000 followers and somehow got adjusted almost  immediately to those blogs with under 200 followers.
There are several plaques one can choose to display . I thought
DRHGUY's was the most original, yet too centered in the Chicago area
for the world wide net. Here are the others my recipients can choose from, (there are more on Google, feel free or not):

My top choices-- Roger, Jean, John, Sharon and Kathryn-- give me consistent support during my floundering about to find wherever the hell I fit in the fine art world. I didn't do them justice yesterday.

 Roger Akesson has his own unique, very strong style and is consistent; I'd like to achieve his total focus.
His work is reliable. Mine is not.

 Jean Spitzer's nudes are outstanding; the mood of her works, her palette is imaginative and she's making waves with iPad art I think are formidable.

 John Simlet is brilliant. His articulate architectural drawings are enviable and he IS a real sweetheart to boot, always supportive.

Sharon Wright does wonderful paintings, full of love. She's so skilled, very generous with her procedures, and way too humble, but that's what makes her such a darling.


 Kathryn Ragan is a skilled, meticulous, sharing watercolorist,traits this impatient gal will never have. In her busy life, she always finds time to move ahead with her art. Her dedication is amazing.

 I don't think I gave my top blogbuddies enough accolades being partially still under the influence of remnant anesthetics. I screwed up their links. I didn't pay them enough homage. I hope they will forgive me for such a shoddy award presentation.  I did correct that post as soon as Roger tipped me off.

 Then this morning, I'm thinking of all the blogs I follow. I follow  them because they energize me, they nourish me, they astound me in some unique way. I wouldn't follow them otherwise. They are all my followers and my followers are all very dear to me--particularly when they leave comments, for it may look like I know what I'm doing, but I'm still finding my way. They help me clarify my path and for that I'm very grateful. Whoever launched this award originally requiring recipients have less than 3000 followers was slightly over ambitious do you think? Two hundred and one and out of the race would be fine with me. It took me forever to reach a hundred. There's some really good company on the other side of that fence not to be ignored for they are sweethearts too--Celeste Bergin and Dan Kent and, and ,and...my list goes on. But they are all there for you to see. So I made a new heading for my favorite blogs list Liebster Blogs All. I don't mean to take away from my five top choices, I just don't want to neglect the others who have been so helpful and so dear to my development over the  three years I've been blogging. They are all award winners especially Christine Peterson, who was my very first follower and gave me such a thrill that morning when I saw there was a stranger, someone not related to me, someone I didn't sign up myself on my roster.

As for what I told you about my self that I had kept personal, well that's for another day. But it was all true. I was never one to breast my cards. 

And The Liebster Blog Award Goes To...

Watercolor Study of Erin; I see a budding Lolita in her expression. 

At the crack of dawn I was off to get an endoscopy of my upper digestive tract; an hour and a half later, I got home. My esophagus was the best 71 year old esophagus, the doctor had ever seen. I should have been a gastroenterologist. All the chairs in the waiting room were filled. All the beds in the clinic were filled. He was knocking EG whatevers out of the ball park. Now, I'm just a bit hung over from the fabulous drugs. I asked the anesthesiologist to ask me about my ring while I was out, but he thought I was joking. And I wasn't out long enough to find out myself. Damn. Now I'm restricted to laying around all day, not making any serious decisions or driving heavy machinery (just when the back forty needs mowing)

What else does one do when restricted? I surf the net. I checked in here first and lo and behold  find Konstantina awarded me the Liebster blog award! Just in time to lift my spirits. She's a sweetheart.

This award doesn't come without responsibilities however. I have to pay my admiration forward to five other blogs with less than 200 followers that I consider fantastic and very worthy and they have to do the same, but not if they don't feel like it. I feel like it.

 It would be my pleasure to honor: 1) Art By Roger 2) Gatepost Pictures; 3) Jean's Paintings; 4) Sharon Wright Artist; 5) Kathryn Ragan. Congratulations blog buddies. You all do inspirational work and  are always encouraging.

 And now the sticky part of accepting this award: I have to tell you five personal things that you don't know.  This is a tough one; I'm a pretty open book... okay: 1) I've never put gas in my car; 2) I don't read newspapers; 3) I play Sudoku first thing in the morning on the commode; 4) I repaint my front door Chinese red, after the painter for the condo association paints it somebody else's horrible idea of mauve; and 5) I don't drive an American car because their windows aren't big enough and my peripheral vision is limited.

ADDENDUM: Sorry guys, I got all the links wrong, not just Roger's.  I must still have been under the influence of the anesthetic or putting the links in in HTML mode wasn't a good way to do it? (that's how I did).

Who Needs Monk?

These are the last of the Angst Heads. Number two from yesterday still ranks high, but I love all of them. They took me through a very difficult loss, much more devastating than losing a bauble. They actually helped me come out on my feet and ready to forge ahead. (Pun? You bet). Having art at your figure tips is a blessing.

Between your comments and my replys and an experiment I conducted this morning that made me burst into tears, the ring incident is over. I'm a person who believes in the three day sulk. After that, life as usual. My three days--actually close to a week, I may have broken my own rule--are up. My sinuses are cleared. My head is on straight. My mind is relatively satisfied I've come up with a plausible explanation. I will confirm it this Friday.

When the box was lifted, during cleaning, it was lifted by its lid and the weight of what was in it made the contents spill, scatter and tip the contents of the dish at the same time. That's what happened this morning. The spread of the scatter depended upon how fast the box was lifted. I wish I had been called to help put the stuff away. I was not. It was cleaned up as best as remembered. That accounts for why there were a couple of strange rings in the dish. That accounts for why nothing else was missing. The rate of scatter could have sent the ring flying into the waste basket below, a lucky drop off the face of the earth for some metal detecting enthusiast in the next millennium. Hopefully it's a homeless guy and not some rich dude looking to be entertained in his retirement.

TOMORROW I'LL BE BACK TO STRAWBERRY FIELDS

Three Faces of Loss

I did a series of these faces when we were facing the loss of our business in 1986. They are dated, but I didn't bother to arrange them in order. There's a few more.

I didn't paint yesterday. I was feeling distraught about my ring. I did pray to the good Saints suggested by Rita, of Rita Vaselli Watercolors, and Konstantina, of  Konstantina Polychroniou, but so far they're still looking along with the Big Guy and no ring has magically reappeared. I'm just sick about it--not as sick as I was when the business went under and I did these Rapidograph drawings --but sick and violated even though the loss is my fault. I keep the two rings I wear whenever we go out in a little porcelain dish on my dresser, right there out in the open. It's my house, I shouldn't have to lock stuff up. When I went to wear it Friday night, it was gone and in its place was a costume jewelry ring I never wear because it's too tight. That's the clue that someone was messing with the jewelry. It could have been my grandchildren playing treasure hunt, (I did that, so did my older son and his friend). It could have been my cleaning lady. It could have been hidden and forgotten about or lost in the trash. Whatever it could have been, it's gone and I'm beating myself up over it.

It's not insured.  Ellis and I long ago decided that insuring jewelry was throwing money away. It cost to appraise it. It cost yearly premiums to carry the floater and when you do lose an insured item, you do not get anywhere near what it cost to replace it, because they depreciate the item.  Besides, this ring was irreplaceable. It was an heirloom. It belonged to, who gave it to, who gave it to a trusting, sloppy fool like me. So I'm in a state of sulk. These drawings say just how I feel , (particularly the top one, which was the last one drawn just as the business closed its doors),as I walk from room to room cleaning drawers, moving furniture, going through pant pockets and jackets and even the rag bin and washer and dryer and vacuum  bags.  It's nowhere. And the worst thing is, I don't remember the last time I wore it. I've been painting a lot. I do not paint bedecked in jewels.  One line from the song That Lovin' Feeling keeps going through my head:
It's gone, gone, gone woa, woe, woe. I think I'm heartsick. I know I'm really pissed off at myself.

Coming Up For Air...

Cityscape Paris, watercolor , 7 1/2" x 7 1/2"

with another portrait relief piece. Christopher took a lot out of me, portraiture does. I'm too intent upon achieving a likeness a mother can recognize. So drawings like Mrs.L's Passion, Brutus, Coconut creme pie and Paris lighten me up. Eventually I'll get back to my guys and JD. Right now they face the wall.

I should be facing the wall. I lost my wedding band. I'm sick over it. I tore the house apart. I lost it here, for I seldom wear it. But it's no where to be found. On the bright side, my shoes are organized and I finally made a Goodwill bag of all those fabulous stilettos that have been sitting there since the knee became an issue. Shit. I hate loss; this kind  plagues me forever. If I had been more careful. If I had locked it up. If. You girls know.

This watercolor did take my mind off of it a bit. If it was larger it might have taken it off entirely? This watercolor would translate well onto a large canvas to join New York.

And What Do You Think Dear Brutus?

Brutus won't say. All he wants is Kibbles and Bits, long walks with lots of time to sniff, people to throw him a Frisbee every now and then, some rough and tumble rolls on the floor and  lots of belly rubs. In return he'll listen to you rant and rave your painting went well, your painting went poorly,  you didn't sell a damn thing, you sold everything and have nothing to show next week, will that woman ever give up hocking meir to chinic, (a Yiddesh phrase, roughly spelled out, my mom used when I pestered), about those wind chimes? Brutus is an expert listener. He makes people's eyes light up when he lopes into the room. He's total love on four paws.

I spent the evening with him last night. The horse went so well, I thought I give a dog a try. This is my "hello" sketch of my son's new two year old, Chesapeake Bay Terrier/Pit Bull, a lucky find at the pound for both. 

Our Struggles, Our Shame?

My Nephew at close of day, (still wet). I may go back
into this, I may not?  It's a head. It's believable.

Just after I published my post yesterday, an artist friend of mine emailed me a comment that I found pretty interesting. It made me think . Perhaps I was jeopardizing  any career I might be planning, by voicing my angst during the creative process.

 She advised me  that I shouldn't point out the bad things about my works-in-progress because nobody sees them but me. I'm guessing she thought I was denigrating my art in public and that wasn't a good idea.  She had a point, IF I WAS SELLING MY ART ON THIS BLOG.  I'm not.

 Mine is a  journalistic blog visited primarily by artists who are encouraging one another, sharing our work processes and exchanging thoughts  about making art as we visit online. (It would be a great thing if our visitors were prospective buyers. Then they would get why we charge so much for our work and sweat and expense and stop belly aching at the prices).The posts are good, the comments are even better. The comments are the meat. Here's one from Dan Kent of Dan's Canvas.  that had me in stitches this morning. I was glad I had just emptied my bladder.

Everything I do goes through a gangly adolescent stage. I tried to do a portrait in acrylics once - it had the zombie stage, the manikin stage, the alien stage, etc. It has been sitting faced against the wall for months now. And that is where it deserves to be. 

I would love for the things I do to be magnificent the first time, every time. Never happens. Deliberate or no. You are much to hard on yourself. I actually like the way you left him when you left in a huff - if it doesn't look like him, it looks like somebody, and has a great expression on the face.

"I just don't know what to make of that. It's
supposed to be a hand; it looks like a gigantic tea pot, "
Hal soaked his rag in turp and rubbed  out the offence for the
third time. "Buck up Bucky, forth time's the best." he shouted at no one.

Making art is breaking a few eggs. Making art is like kissing a few frogs. Making art is piling up rejections in the trash till you're happy with what's on the easel. The important thing with making art is: to do it on a regular basis, don't cry over spilled paint and ruined 140 lb paper, keep ruining them and be objective.Don't kill yourself looking for perfection; it doesn't exist. Don't take errors personally, each piece is a part of the growth process, but definitely be honest with what you see--what's good and what needs redoing, let others be honest too. A third eye can be very enlightening. With each piece, we're heightening our sensibilities. Making art is hard work, a daily struggle, (I do love the title of your blog Mick, The Painting Struggle), that does pay off.

What do you think? Are we jeopardizing sales of our art by honestly critiquing  it in public during the work process? By  showing that indeed, art is a daily struggle that's highly frustrating? Isn't it possible that we are encouraging young artists to welcome the failures, for  they're the stepping stones to where they would like to go ?  I've always wanted to go to my museum and see one of my works on display. I would fall on my knees  crying with joy. I'd be thrown out for making a scene. A fantasy I know, but could happen On The Traveling Road Show.

Post Script. Did you know that people we auto e-mail our blogs to don't get the comments or the side panel.
They really miss a lot--and actually don't really get blogging.

Wet Feet, Humble Pie

My nephew as I left him drying yesterday

I am getting wet feet. In four weeks, that gestural portraiture workshop I signed up for begins. I had a lot of nerve jumping ahead like that when I'm just feeling my way with oils. Yes, I did a very nice portrait of those kids. Yes, I've done a few acceptable heads, but nowhere do I have near enough heads under my belt. I need hundreds more! This Blue Beard needs to step up her collection!

 So I ran off a graduation photo of my nephewand hit the studio early with the idea of dashing one off before I went into the strawberry strudel. Easy to say, hard to do. After three hours, I got this far and walked away. I do not know how you dash off an oil painting just like that, unless it's with a palette knife or some sort of magic tool and not a portrait where some degree of likeness counts. There's a likeness in this beginning. But it sure isn't  a solid one. I sure hope that "gestural portraiture" isn't the same as "well you get the idea." Maybe they'll cancel it for lack of attendance?

My nephew as I left him in a huff ten minutes ago.
Suffice it to say,I'm not finished with him yet.
His forehead is too low, but has red in it along the
hairline. his right eye looks weird and he might have a goiter?

This morning wasn't any better. I totally messed up. I know it sounds like I'm shifting the blame, but there's something about the oils I bought that I don't like and don't recall the oils of my youth as being like this. They come out of the tubes hard. To get a usable consistency I need to add a lot of medium and absolutely must use the palette knife to work the medium in. They are not Windsor Newton's top grade, they are the less expensive second grade brand, Winton. I normally do not hold back on supplies, but I figured I could with
this respectable, old company.

Then to add to my pain, I got spots of ultramarine blue and alizarine on my knit shorts and realtively new tee shirt that also goes with a dress skirt. My own fault of course. I didn't put on my doctor's coat. I was only going to be down there for a minute. One thing lead to another and I was down there totally absorbed for an hour and a half.

Two good things happened though: the fabulous paper fiber napkins I bought at our favorite restaurant are fabulous paint wipes as I suspected
they'd be. And I devised an easy way to clean my glass palette. I scraped off the excess paint with the knife. Then sprayed it with Mineral spirits and let it sit
while I frantically mineral spirited my shorts and shirt--yes I stripped down--and washed and scrubbed them.
When I had gotten most of the spots out, down to where I could live with them if that was the best that was going to happen, I scrapped the palette again. It came clean. Long story short. Having Mineral Spirits in a spray bottle is a good idea. DO YOU SEE WHAT A NOVICE I AM!

I'm in my smock now, eating a breakfast of humble pie and "spotting my clothes" with normal stain removal stuff before washing. It looks like I did manage to save them from those two heart-stopping, staining colors,. but ye gads this is discouraging. I hate to be the worst one in a workshop. --Maybe they'll cancel it for lack of attendance?

One more thing: my nephew's graduation picture when blown up to a reasonable size to use as a reference
was the worst. It pixilated so that thousands of squares make up the image. It was a very poor choice made by a very overly confident idiot. --Maybe they'll cancel it for lack of attendance?

Mrs.L's Passion

Vicky Lauren's  passion and my first animal drawing, pencil.

Sunday Morning, Me and My Shadow
drink coffee passionately; photograph

Mrs. Ralph Lauren's passion is a beauty. The photograph, of the white looks-like-an-Arabian-stallion to me who knows nothing about horses, grabbed my attention while leafing through Bazaar, while suffering from food poisoning. Its beauty took my breath away and got my mind off my distress. I wanted to run my hand through that glorious mane, instead I pulled myself together and did a pencil sketch.

 It's no secret that the clothing designer's family is head over hooves in love with the equestrian. His off-the-rack clothes smack of horsewoman. His belts are great. His jeans and polos I love, and every now and then you can find a easy dress i the Lauren collection that slides on and can go anywhere. I do admire the man's talent and that gorgeous horse it bought his RL-chic wife, Vicky.

You'd think I'd be a horse lover. I am not. Only time I was on a horse was when my friends decided we should go riding. They rode. I trailed behind by twenty lengths with the stable boy who made the horse go every time the horse would wind down; I couldn't kick him.  I don't know whether I couldn't kick him because I was afraid of hurting the horse or that the stable boy was a real looker and our slow ride with a sudden lurch every now and then was much more interesting than catching up with the girls? Anyway, my car never needs the whip--or the stable boy.

L.W. Roth's summer passion: Michigan cherries; photograph

.

I Gotta Have It NOW!

What's coconut creme pie without cadmium yellow light? Impossible.

What's a weekend without a glitch? Unusual.

 I really let my acrylics dwindle down as I stocked and explored oils the last months. I'm close to being all out of the essentials. I was forced to turn out the lights and end the session. I could have turned my attentions to the chocolate cake and the strawberry strudel, but I really wanted a piece of pie. Cadmium Yellow Light is the connector, the color that will run through these three sections. I gotta have it now!  

Coconut Creme Pie

Serving up Coconut Creme Pie, Strawberry Strudel and Chocolate Mousse Cake on the easel

A carefree day at last. I got off to a good start for the weekend. I started panel two of the trip-tyke I had started last year. These are such fun. No heavy thinking, no serious measuring of points, just color and and imagining the texture of chocolate and whipped cream and toasted coconut and wondering how am I going to pull this off? The answer was "It's Pie. Enjoy"

This is the panel that I finished first. I call it Chocolate Mice. Ellis hates it. "They're disgusting he said."
I adore it, because the idea is disgusting and that's why I took the photograph and what makes the painting fun. --And the mice themselves were delicious. They're filled with chocolate creme. There's nothing disgusting about chocolate creme. He's so straight.

The trip-tyke is going to be great. Here's my reference photograph:

I took this photograph at a Greek Bakery,  in Greek Town, in downtown Detroit
The trays weren't displayed as I have them here. This is a composite of
three photographs put together   as I see the trip-tyke hung.
Coconut Creme Pie is the lower shelf thus the change in perspective. The
top shelf looks a bit boring, but I prepped the canvas for that one, so I'm ready when I'm ready.
I'll pump it up.

I'm Ready.

I had every intention of following Jean Spitzer's advice to give JD a rest. I was going to pick up where I left off in my pastry series. The canvas has been prepped for months--maybe six? While Ellis hates my chocolate mice, I adore them. They're weird.

 After my morning coffee, I went down stairs with purpose and never got past the watercolor station set up on the bar. It was a mess. I had left brushes scattered about. The paint tubes hadn't been put back in their slots. Yesterday's garden painting was just laying there in harms way. I looked at it and thought,"You know, that corner should be lighter." And the morning was shot. Not only did I lighten the corner, but I tore off a third of the painting. That top part wasn't very good. Sloppy.

 As I was putting the altered piece away, there was a remnant piece of 140lb paper. From memory--and because I hadn't emptied the water container from yesterday and the water was relatively clean--I soaked the paper, mounted it and did a wet-on-wet sketch of JD. Who else? It came out resembling a smaller boy with an extremely homely face. I kept trying to make him better looking, but with no luck. I went for lunch while he dried. He didn't get any better looking when I came back. That's when I noticed on the reference photograph  that JD's face was really red oxide/with a tad of burnt umbra. I gave the ugly kid's face a swipe. I liked it. I made a mental note. I cleaned up and went on to the studio where I completed--or as I think of it--went as far as I could go with JD's charcoal drawing. I'm satisfied. Now I can rest and enjoy some pastries over the weekend.

JD's A Hardhead

This head was a a three hour, free hand affair. Note the cross lines as I was lining up this to that. Some I lifted, some I left. It's the closest I've come to a likeness. I haven't finished the pencil drawing yet, but I will. I must.  I need the study with the grid. This is one hardheaded kid. I don't mind telling you, (and if you don't think so,would you mind keeping that information to yourself). I don't know why I find it so difficult. It has got to be the angle the head is tilted at and the angle from which the photo was shot. I was going to do a large painting, but this week has changed my mind--knocked me down a bit. I think 18 by 24 will be just fine. And I will use a grid on that one too.

 Breaks were spent cooking of course. But today, there's no computer punched up pictures of food. This is the real Lentil Spaghetti Sauce in my dutch oven on my cooktop. It came out well, (lose at drawing, win at cooking). Ellis and I prefer lentil sauce on our spaghetti, it's low in calories and  sustainable in protein. I make it with all low sodium products; I have chronic vertigo from having lost my hearing as a toddler. As you get older, a measle damaged nerve in the ear can cause Meniere's syndrome, a charming nudgy that means your balance system is unbalanced. So mine is a low sodium household, but peppery, unbeknownst to Ellis who hates spicy.

 HERE'S THE RECIPE IF YOU'RE INTERESTED. IT'S FROM THE NEW AMERICAN HEART ASSOCIATION COOKBOOK MINUS THE RED PEPPER.

 Spray a Dutch oven with cooking spray; add a dollop of olive oil; saute 1 medium chopped onion and 1 tsp.of minced garlic two to three minutes. Stir in LS (low sodium) Vegetable broth, lentils (wash and de-stoned--I haven't found a stone yet)and one 1/4 tsp. black pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, simmer for thirty minutes.

 Add the following: one 15 oz. can diced LS tomatoes, six oz. can NS tomato paste, one tblsp. cider vinegar, 1/4 tsp. basil and 1/4 tsp oregano. Simmer, uncovered, thirty minutes. That's it. Low salt, low calories spaghetti sauce. Serve 1/2 cup (one soup ladle)over two ounces of whole wheat spaghetti pasta; It's just 322 calories with 23 mg sodium, 2 g. fat none of them saturated, 11 g. fiber, 14 g. protein--so it qualifies for vegetarian status. This recipe serves twelve. We'll have it tonight. I'll freeze the rest. If there's any leftover, I add a tiny can of LS V-8 juice and I have lentil soup for lunch.

Mixed Bag: Fair Scribbles; Good Shot of A Strange Bird

Gardens, Somewhere Else, Not Here

It was a mixed bag for me yesterday, between my digital "Pollackesque" rendering and the laundry. I managed to finish the watercolor I started Sunday.

 Once again I'm not pleased. I think it has to do with the reference photo I used. More likely it's that I paint  with watercolor like they are acrylics. I did have a brush in my hand though; and that's a step in the right direction.

 I also started another charcoal of JD. Note that he's grimacing over the experience. But once I start subtracting with my knead, he'll lighten up. During the session, I noted I prefer vine charcoal to willow. Willow is softer; Vine is harder and more controllable over all for me. Willow, however, will give you good black). I'm pretty sure I've got JD's posture. I had also hoped to gesso out the previous painting I had on the canvas I have in mind for him, but never got to it. We had a fly that was dive bombing us that had to be chased down and destroyed.

As his lifeless tiny  body lay on the living room floor, I side-stepped around  to join Ellis  on the deck for some wine and cheese while we waited for CSI to show up. To pass the time, I  bird watched.

 Sunday night, I had watched the movie, The Big Year with Steve Martin. It's about birding and quite amusing.  I think I like birding. I watch them all the time.I think I could be a birder; I like the hat. So I  also took my camera out on the deck to be ready for any bird that flew within camera shot. Lo and behold a flock of something-or-others landed on the lawn just as we settled down. There's were dozens of them. The lawn must be full of grubs--or seeds or whatever it is raven-like birds eat.  They didn't really look like ravens or crows, but what do I know; I don't have a book. If anybody out there has any idea what this bird is, please share. This  is my second official sighting. I could be having My big year? Two photos of two different birds is certainly  more than I shot last year.

It's a Bird. It's a I-haven't-got-a-clue bird in  Midwestern, North America

In The Meantime, In Between Time

Rain Forest, Digital Art 2012

Kick-off digital photograph

In the meantime, in between times are called breaks.

What do you do while paint dries or you want to relax your drawing arm, or you just don't feel like facing the challenges of portraiture 100% that day? I have fun. This weekend I fooled around with watercolor or digital photography special effects and the Paint software. You saw the results yesterday, one of which reminded me of Jackson Pollack, the non traditional, unconventional, well connected, Expressionistic artist of note. You all liked that one best of the two experimental works.

 I wasn't comparing myself to Pollack. He was a notable mover and a shaker who did things his way and had spousal connection and a great friend in the art world with the best of the best public relations. I'm just me who likes to fool around when taking a break. The results however were Pollackesque, as is the digital painting I did this morning.

Breaks clear your head, give you a fresh outlook and send you back to the studio refreshed. I'm all for them.    This morning, in between laundry loads, I took advantage of the time and worked on the second digital photograph that nobody liked. It was too blah. Unmentionable. I agreed. BUT: something about it reminded me of my rain photograph. I ran down and got it and using it, opened White Asparagus (for lack of a better title) in Paint.  I digitally "painted" into White Asparagus using the rain photograph as the kick-off. I like what I got and also got a clearer idea of why my acrylic painting of Rain Forest had been disappointing. It wasn't broken up enough I was trying too hard to follow the photograph and didn't let loose.

 Back in the studio, JD is back on the drawing board. In this drawing he has his mouth closed. I like the look in his eyes. I'm going slowly and used the grid system to get the angle of his head. That angle is important if his pose (playfully perched on that fence) is to be believable. In the painted portrait, I'm thinking of using the eyes from this photo and the smirking smile from the other.

Pollacks Sprout From Asparagus

Asparagus taken from Photoshop to Paint and doctored again.

Asparagus reversed in color in Paint

The original Asparagus Photograph doctored in Photoshop.

I was on my way to play in the water again this morning and stopped by my computer. The phone rang and I spoke to Jon for a while while diddling about. I chose Asparagus for amusement while chatting. After I hung up, the phone rang again. It was my son Steve. I played with asparagus a bit more.

I never did get to the watercolor station that has once again taken over the lower level bar and upsets Ellis so much. I won't get there this afternoon either. At last the heat wave has broken. It's a delightful 84 degrees Fahrenheitand I'm going to the lake this afternoon to chat with the neighbors who swim. Art comes from life. You have to live it to make it. --I like the black rendition best. The white one needs a bit more black don't you think? Bottom line: reference photographs can be stretched to broaden artistic possibilities. I like stretching and Jackson Pollack would have loved it!