France: An Artist's Dream

 

Once again, I've been slow at posting...winter makes me feel like I'm just swimming in molasses. Preferably warm molasses, not cold. The more I want to get something done, the longer it takes! 

Today's promise of snow on the wind led me to pull up a few pictures of last fall's trip to France, which my friend Donna made possible. It was everything and more than I could have dreamed! 

I'd live there in a heartbeat. The way the French live, eat, drink, and enjoy the day...ahhhhh. 

 Since returning home, although France did its best to keep me, and I agreed, I have painted the memory of looking out over Provence toward Italy; worked steadily on a memoir of the trip and all that happened to and fro, the nightmare travel mishaps with the deliciousness sandwiched in between! Definitely sticking a few travel tips in there as I type away. 

Summer Window

 You can call me a lazy blogger these days...it's been since winter that I last wrote a post here. Times of Corona, perhaps. Or perhaps it's times of floating out there on a ship at sea, watching for dry land, yet hoping the ship just keeps going to an island named Garden of Eden. No crazy news, just peaceful breeze, gentle days, a pile of good books....art, music, food.

I've been painting, gardening, reading, cooking....which is nothing new around here: just lots more of it. The stay at home months haven't been that bad, other than the knowledge the world will not be the same: art and galleries, like many other things, have taken a beating. So does an artist quit making art? Of course not. We just pick up the brush, the pen, the guitar, the tools of our labor and deal. We go on. As with a garden, art is hope.

I painted "Summer Window" with the thoughts of looking in (or out) the window of thought: to floating lush images, abstracted in the mystery of Nature. You'll see where I set up the old wood easel outside in the courtyard area I created all spring. Why, I even dug out a small fish pond! Plus a frog pond in the front yard area. And planted, pruned, planted, dug, planted, dug. Putting in a garden IS art. As long as I do something creative, I can get by. Everything changes, but that doesn't.

This morning, I packed the car with paintings, and drove down the mountain to Tryon Painters & Sculptors in their beautiful gallery: which has re-opened with safe social-distancing and cleaning. There was Grace and Kam, ready to help me: and behind our face masks, we all were smiling to see one another again. The show will open early August and run til September. It felt good to load paintings, haul, and know art goes on. Yes it does!

Changes Along The Road of Life

It's been a while since my last blog post--let's face it, maybe the months of heaving, schlepping and cleaning took a toll. Well, to be honest, it has! Selling a long-time home is NOT easy, especially if you have to divest yourself of many belongings in order to fit into another smaller spot. It's akin to stuffing a watermelon in a bag meant for a grape, perhaps!

Getting rid of 'stuff' is not a bad thing. Just overwhelming. Symbolic of life, these sortings and siftings. I've let go many things. The house has been relisted, and I'm hopeful someone who loves old houses with a past will find it. Surely not everyone wants new, shiny, perfect? It's worse than a dating site if you ask me. These days I'd rather scroll through the animal rescue sites. Mercy, I miss my River Dog. Driving last month to Florida in the coastal rain, I found my own self raining, thinking about him in the passenger seat on past trips.

There's something comforting about a warm furry snout pointed toward the lone highways ahead. Yes, I need another dog. One of these days. Right now, I continue to work on adjusting to life in new digs--sort of a period of limbo and change this year. Losing River was the toughest thing; and two best friends died. I'd loved them both as long as I'd loved the old house, which has been a friend too. Things change, we face loss. In that, we keep on going, finding our way on different paths.

Finding space to create has been tough, but I rolled-pushed-shoved a balking  cart of oil paints and supplies out to the front porch this week on a sunny day. Let me tell you, it's work...there's a bit more involved than just rolling a cumbersome balky cart. Set up French easel. You do NOT want to see a right-brained artist setting up a French easel with 20000000 parts and screws. Then...rags and paper towels. Hunting more paint from packed boxes. Well, here's one of the paintings from that afternoon (above). I'm trying. I'm trying.

Florida fed my spirit. Just getting away for a while helps.
After walking the beach, searching for shells and a few answers, I got up one dark morning before dawn, skipped morning coffee and headed out to the sea. Waiting on the sand was a damp dollar bill. Then brilliant red, scarlet, and every shade of glorious you could ever imagine sweeping up over the ocean. Maybe there were a few answers in that solitary walk. Thank you, thank you, universe.

 It was hard to leave sunshine in Fernandina Beach, driving back to rain and chill. I returned with resolve to keep painting, to be kinder, to do better on making ends meet. I changed hair color. Looked at more rescue sites. And a dating site. The rescue site seemed a safer bet.