Art Camp

Luckily I hadn’t signed up for a workshop at this weekend because the baby needed attention.  Friday night was spent on the transparent yellow layer, which had obligingly dried by Saturday morning.  Pouring rain is a tradition at Geneva Park, even in the tail-end of a drought, so Brenda, Debra and I hunkered down in a well-lit room and beavered away while it poured.  Yet again, I was the slowest painter by a long shot.  In the time it took me to wade into the final glazes, both had finished two good paintings.  As usual, I was wearing most of my paint.

There is very little that is more fun than painting with other artists.  We share secrets, dispense and receive advice, and kvetch to our hearts’ content, all under the guise of being productive.  We laughed a lot.  Of course, we did this while standing at our easels;  by the time the dinner bell rang at 5:30 we looked like the remnants of a siege — limping, flat-footed, and smeared.  But happy in an exhausted kind of way.

The painting still has a way to go.  It’s been walking a thin line between intricate and too busy and will need broad finishing strokes to unify the composition.  Sometimes it’s a good idea to stop for a few days and ignore it for a few days.  At such times, I avoid staring because I am past being able to see this kid dispassionately.  Sideways or upside-down views are the best for spotting major flaws.  

Don’t try this at home with real babies.