Frolickvb1: to make merry 2: to play about happily
When I hear the word frolic I think of very young children on the playground, kittens swatting a ball of yarn, and birds at the feeder. To me, frolicking involves some sort of action. I am pretty sure it’s been a while since I last frolicked.
Anyway, a few weeks ago our part of the country had its three day winter complete with a freeze, street closings, and power outages. Sort of like a hurricane, but colder. Once again, we were confined to the house, and even though we had Netflix and HGTV, our greatest source of entertainment was watching the birds frolic at the feeder.
Seeing the birds interact with each other made me think…there were different species of birds sharing the same space without a problem. Some kicked seed to the ground so the other birds (and probably a few squirrels) could get to it more easily. The pairs of cardinals took care of each other. All had plenty to eat. The day may have been cold, but I doubt the birds felt it. By being what they are–birds–they played happily with no cares.
It’s October, the one month of the year when wearing orange with black is acceptable. The sky is usually a brilliant cobalt blue and the cadmium yellow flowers in the pastures and along the highway are in bloom (as those with allergies know only too well!). This month is one of change, from warm summer days to cooler mornings and a little breeze. It’s also one of the best months for painting outdoors.
Autumn is the best time of the year to visit the Gulf coast…the tourists are gone, it’s not so hot, and the beaches are just beautiful. I had the opportunity to attend Plein Air South in Apalachicola, Florida earlier this month. It was the first event held in that area in months, and even though it was smaller than the previous PAS events, it was great. There were new faculty members and events, new participants and locations to paint, not to mention more painting time. Everyone was just glad to be out painting, even if we were socially distancing and wearing masks.
One thing I have to say about painting outdoors: it’s always there. No matter the situation, no matter one’s ability, plein air painting is always open. I am not sure what I would have done had I not been able to paint outdoors during the stay-at-home orders earlier this year. I could have learned a new language, organized my closet, or binge-watched Netflix. Instead, I showed up at the canvas, painted my yard, and tried doing still life compositions outdoors. I looked forward to painting on the beach at Apalachicola and felt prepared because I kept up with my practice. Some of my paintings are actually keepers!
But back to October. This crazy year, the leaves are actually turning yellow in October rather than late November and December as they usually do here in South Louisiana. I am excited about painting autumn colors and hope to see orange foliage in the Corbet green trees behind all those cadmium yellow flowers in the pasture under the cobalt blue sky. And of course, I will be wearing orange and black while I paint. Because it’s October.
After sixty days of what seemed to some as house arrest (stay at home order) people are finally emerging from the relative safety of their homes. During the last two months I learned how to manage Zoom, found that my twenty-five year old bread machine still works, and let my bangs grow out. There were a lot of things I did not do: learn a new language, binge watch Netflix, and clean out closets.
Spring in SoLa usually begins in late February, and there is a two or three month window of time when it’s actually comfortable painting outdoors. So when I complained about not being able to go anywhere to paint outside because of the stay at home order, my husband said, “Just go. No one will be around you.” And I did. And some of my friends joined me. And we distanced ourselves from each other, had a good time, and made a couple of paintings.
I particularly enjoyed the challenges presented by Baton Rouge Plein Air. Each week we were challenged to try something different, such as paint the same composition twice using different processes, or to make value studies and then add color. I guess these exercises appealed to me because there was not a lot of pressure to complete something frame-worthy in two and a half hours. My attention span is fairly short.
Besides going to the grocery store, Costco, and CVS, I went to my studio several days a week and worked on larger paintings. Staying close to home for two months was not a terrible experience for me. In fact, the last two months were not too different than my normal routine. With the exception of Zoom meetings.
March 9, 2020: January and February are typically mild months in South Louisiana. The weather is comfortable enough to paint outdoors, but this year was different. If it was not raining, the wind was gusting. The skies were gloomy. My resolution this year was to paint outdoors at least once per week, but I failed. Failing is the easiest thing to do.
I spent more time in the studio painting portraits of pets, enlarging plein air studies, and working from photos. I find it challenging to paint from photographs, but since I have a bit of outdoor painting experience, it’s become easier and the paintings look better.
At least I think they do. I have also taken on a few students. Teaching is good for me because I have to think more carefully about my approach to painting. There can be no failed paintings in class!
As spring takes hold in SoLA, the lure of the outdoors is difficult to resist. The beautiful azaleas and Japanese magnolias have already faded, but soon there will be plenty of daylilies and hibiscus to paint. And lots of GREEN.
And then it will be summer, when painting outdoors in the heat and humidity makes one wish for the months of January and February, and painting in the studio is the only way to go.
March 31, 2020: Talk about this year being different!
Following the order to stay home to slow the Coronavirus spread means less outdoor painting and more home studio time. At least I can stay in the air conditioned house and don’t have to pack my gear!
The love a dog has for his/her human is second only to that of a mother for her child. Even though I don’t consider myself a dog person, I know this is true. Growing up, we had several dogs and cats, but we were not really a pet family. One of my sisters loved horses and dogs, and since we could house a dog more easily than a horse, we had dogs. My sister also likes cats but is highly allergic to them, which is sad, because her name is Cat. But I digress.
Dogs are loyal friends who think their owners are the Best Person Ever. “Be the person your dog thinks you are” is a great mantra. When a dog passes, a part of the owner’s heart is lost as well. I came to better understand this as several of my friends’ dogs crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I felt their sadness as well.
The first painting I ever did of a dog was part of a family portrait. Unfortunately, the person who commissioned the portrait thought the dog looked better than her children. I still have that painting. One day the children in the painting will look like her sons. Anyway, I found painting pets to be extremely satisfying, especially when the picture filled a space in the owner’s heart.
I commented to my husband that it seemed odd people would commission a portrait when there were probably hundreds of photos of their pet on their phone. He said (wisely) that having a painting was a memorial. A memorial to love second only to that of a mother for her child.
I did not know I was a cat person. Or a crazy cat lady.
One summer morning nearly fourteen years ago I returned from my daily walk to find a Siamese kitten in my garage. I did not know how much I needed a kitten. I resisted for weeks but when it was time to give her away, I just could not let her go. Her name is Curio because she investigated everything. Curio reigns as the princess of the house. My role is now that of lady in waiting.
Our cat family grew when we found a tiny Tuxedo kitten dodging morning traffic on a busy highway. My husband was going out of town and I had a meeting to attend that morning, so I dropped him at our veterinarian’s office with a promise that I would return later to get him. I did not know much about introducing a new cat to the family; Roberto (because he is so elegant) and Curio did not get along but soon learned to tolerate each other.
One frigid morning I saw a tiny kitten eating bread crumbs thrown for the birds. We could not bear to watch this, so of course we began feeding him. I guess this is where “crazy” happens. Topaz is a tabby with golden eyes and a great personality. Curio and Roberto ignored Topaz until he began taking over their treats and sleeping areas. He is now the largest of the three and most vocal.
Cats often show up at our house. Sorry, we are full.
I did not know how intelligent cats are. They work their way into your heart and never leave. They know exactly what they are doing.
If Curio had not wandered into my world, if Roberto did not love the camera, and if Topaz did not have that sweet expression, I would have never painted a cat. My feline family is the subject of many paintings that became Christmas cards. When my friends and I are painting in different neighborhoods, the cats find me; I often include a small cat in my landscapes.
Yes, I have become the crazy cat lady who also paints them.
My friend, Marylyn, and I are working through Larry Moore’s Fishing for Elephants Insights and Exercises to Inspire Authentic Creativity. We heard him speak and demonstrate at Plein Air South in May, 2019 and thought if we read and discussed it together, we would get more from it. I have begun quite a few self-help books without completing them (sound familiar?), so this would hold me accountable. At least it would provide opportunities to have lunch once a week and talk about it.
So after painting and having our chicken salad (the quintessential Southern Ladies’ lunch ), we were discussing Chapter Five, Resistance, when we both mentioned how “Do It Now!” truly resonated with us. Both Marylyn and I spent years not making art because Life was happening (raising a family, working a job); we both realized making art was our priority and we need to Do It Now or it may not get done.
I recently wrote about using your good things because life is short. Time is short and there is none to be wasted. Whatever your passion, don’t wait. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. DIN!
My sisters and I were compiling a list of the comments our mother repeated to us during the years. I remember Mother stating many times, “Life is not fair,” but that did not make the cut. Some bits of wisdom which did make it are as follows:
Stand up straight
Make the best of what you have
Ask people their names and use them
Always notice something nice about people
Wear your pretty things
Wear your pretty things. I remember Mother also saying:
Use your good things
For people of a certain age, that may mean using the silverware, china, and crystal received as wedding gifts. I try to do that, even though it must be washed by hand.
For a long time, I tried to save money on art materials and equipment. After painting for a while, I eventually splurged on a plein air easel, began using professional grade paints, and discover how much easier it is to paint on a quality substrate. But I was slacking on my brushes.
A year ago, I had an opportunity to purchase Rosemary brushes at a convention. Everyone in my studio had them and talked about how great they were. So I bought some. Took them home. Put them in a nice container and looked at them, thinking I would save them for a “good” painting.
What was I thinking?
How was I to know when the “good” painting was about to happen?
What if they were lost during a plein air event?
It took six months to get the courage to use them, and that was only because a workshop instructor used them almost exclusively. Hey, if I want to make great paintings too, shouldn’t I use the same brushes? So I dipped those Rosemarys in paint, put them to canvas, and was hugely surprised at what a joy they were to use and how much easier it was to paint with them. Why had I waited so long?
My painting, Faith, portrays Fr. Pat Mascarella seated at St. Joseph’s Cathedral with his service dog, Pace. I used a photo taken by a friend attending a service in the cathedral. A collector purchased the original at an exhibit at Louisiana’s Old State Capitol and contacted me to see if I would have prints available (yes!) because a family member was interested in purchasing several.
After a few weeks of missed connections, I was finally able to deliver the prints and meet Pace. He is a large dog who had completed ten years of service and was about to retire when he was adopted by a member of Fr. Pat’s family. Pace allowed me to pet him even though I am sure he could smell my three cats.
Later in the day, my friend who took the picture I used stopped by my studio. I told her about meeting the service dog, and she told me about attending the anointing of the sick service with a friend who had been ill. Fr. Pat came in, sat in the front pew, and in the aisle was Pace, so calm and peaceful. She thought it was a great photo opportunity.
What a coincidence these two meetings took place on the same day. Making this painting was an emotional experience; it was hard to hold back the tears when painting Pace. I was worried he did not understand where his companion was. After meeting Pace, I felt that he knew exactly where Fr. Pat was, in heaven.
Inspire:To fill with the urge to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.
Louisiana,You Inspire Me was the theme of Associated Women in the Arts’ Spring Exhibition at Louisiana’s Old State Capitol. While many things about my adopted state motivate me to paint, I had difficulty pinpointing what truly inspires me. I only saw Fr. Mascarella once when he said Mass at the church I attended. This retired priest, who was blind, often substituted in different parishes throughout the diocese. Considering the logistics of his traveling anywhere, I was impressed that he got around as much as he did. The faith he had in his service dog, Pace, was in a word, inspiring.
I joined a group of artists sketching at St. Joseph’s Cathedral in downtown Baton Rouge several days after Fr. Mascarella passed away. Sitting at the rear of the church (because that’s where I always sit) my perspective included stained glass windows between the arches. It was pretty dark but the watercolor sketch was all right.
Several days later, my husband came home with a photo his friend, Paula, took of Fr. Mascarella with Pace, sitting in the area of the cathedral I had drawn the weekend before. I knew then that would be my painting. He persevered when he could have easily given up, continued to serve his community in retirement, and even took art classes at LSU though he could could not see. Thank you, Fr. Mascarella, for being an inspiration not only to me, but hundreds of others.