I sorted through all my tubes of green. I have bits of Sap and Hooker’s Green left, and a goodly amount of Chromium — a new tube of what they now call Terre Verte, and an almost unused Permanent Green Light because it is somewhat obnoxiously POP.
Then I have, on the other palette, the sky blue palette, two lovely limes that remained fresh from another time. Tyme, an alter said, a faery alter, methinks.
So I did something I used to do all the time, which was to pour Acrylic Glaze Liquid all over the dollops. This thins the hell out of them, and makes them last longtime.
See in the lower right corner if you will, how I’m using the layers of green to create layers of leaves. It’s dark in the foto so I’m not sure you get the effect in the light … hmmm … but it’s rather nice. Me likey. Kind of watercolor.
Then I have gone in to the sketched patches and painted most of those, the non-light areas, where white Light shall go, with the nicest and most appropriate lime mix. In a balanced, step back from the canvas sort of way, until they were all filled in.
I also finished all the branches, first.
Before that, I did the hard hard work of finishing the edges of two paintings and one edge of another. Gah. I mean, gah. I need to note that I do that by hand or something when I do the reception talk next Sunday. Or not. But gah. You guys … I mean I take pride in doing it by hand and doing it the “right” way. I shouldn’t complain.
Chipper and I on the long walkies — wonderful and quiet for a Sunday morning … hardly any traffic. I wore a pale pink beach dress with a hand painted locket, not by me mind you, and a bracelet I made long ago of old shell buttons and sea glass. I felt quite nostalgic and breezy and in place, in situ.
Surreal feels at home, although I was missing a row of front porches somewhere and ladies and men waving from them, the smell of bacon and eggs and biscuits and maybe a ham being baked … in the air? more ruffles being worn, more linen, by others? I wasn’t quite street enough for the street I was in, but I didn’t quite care …
I fit where I am.
Now I’m all in comfy gray tee and sweats. Yah. Me likey dat, too.
We delivered the fifteen Tropical Landscapes most safely to the treasure house that is Maplewood Park Place this morning. I am most excited and honored. The paintings are most secure. I’m beginning to prepare for my talk. (but I will not? mention the edging? oh, who knows)
More walking of Chipper upon coming home, then clipping of fresh herbs from the garden a) for the chicken dinner marinade overnight (golden oregano, variegated and purple sage, creeping and regular rosemary) and b) a scent bonanza I’m working on for some unknown lovely purpose … ginger mint, regular mint, lemon balm and eucalyptus, all of which I put a fresh batch out to dry on the flat rack by the sliding glass door, and the dried portions of which I separated the twigs from leaves into a glass bowl and lovingly squoze into amazing smelling mix. Mmmmmm. Emailed friend to see what she thinks we should do with it.
Emailed another poet friend to see which poet he thinks I should read and have decided upon … possibly … if not Gabriela Mistral? and/or Galway Kinnel and James Wright … who apparently are part of the Deep Image (DI) school of poetry.
Told him of a most interesting movie Jason and I viewed recently on Netflix called Anonymous. Shocking tale proposes that the Earl of Oxford in fact penned all of Shakespeare’s plays and Benjamin Johnson was the go-between. Makes dear Shakespeare, mind you, look like an absolUte ass. Shocking, I tell you, and well done. Historically accurate? Someone PLEASE tell me! I must know. Will we ever know? Someone great with the pen wrote them. But who?
Speaking of the pen, or the word magnet if you will, for this is how I literally “wrote” this poem, I have written a new poema entitled Deco.
And thusly have I over the past six months verily worn out the words in the standard magnet set. I now intend to get another set of words from Politics and Prose, when and if, and write some more. Whatever it takes, right?
Still making great progress with the back — only two percocet and one skelaxin today. The long walk no longer pulls me, although the edging of the paintings is strenuous on my back, shoulders and knees. My stupid stupid blood clot refuses to heal. I hate it with a passion!
Today I’ve been in and out of painful awareness of my own Father and memories and have instead tried to be grateful for other people’s good fathers. I’ve avoided Facebook for the most part for this reason, because it’s just been too hard to see. I’ve been staying active like the dickens to avoid resting and having to cope with the flashbacks and images of him that keep coming.
And with that, I must rest me. I have thusly earned the day. I have to cope with what comes now.