Hello again.  I've been AWOL for a while.  I'm here to ask a favour.  Just as you know to remind me never to paint either another violin or a harbour scene with ships, would you please add "Never paint another ancient tree with gnarly roots and a partial reflection."  Yes, I do admit to a weakness for exposed roots and their reflections.  I waited three years for a second crack at this cursed image, which I had glanced once before;  it necessitated perfect weather on the right river and a quick dropping of the paddle to take the shot.  Had to merge two, as it turned out, because Jon sterns robustly, but finally I had a working look at "The Ancients" #2.  .

Getting the shot turned out to be the easy part.  One of the challenges of landscape is maintaining the balance between overview and detail.  The gorgeous roots that drew me are now driving me crazy.  Unlike Ginger Rogers, who was praised not only for dancing with Fred Astaire but doing it backwards and in high heels, I am having trouble even finding the beat.  To put it bluntly, the grisaille has been grisly.  It's like being lost in a maze.  Now add a gazillion maple leaves (sugar maple, to be exact) and l'm inventing reasons to avoid my easel.  

On the plus side, the drawers in this house have never been better organized.
  
Just last week the final piece of new furniture was dry enough to move inside.  Nothing like a small house to turn you into a cheap date when it comes to storage;  beholding these empty drawers gave me frissons of delight.  Filling them was even better.  Now, to reward myself for ten minutes on sorting out roots and leaves, I simply open a drawer and feast my poor crossed eyes.  For the first time I have all of the paints - oil, acrylic and watercolour - and all of the brushes within reach (except for my favourite brushes, which are currently residing in The Land of the Missing.  Oh well.  At least I now know where they aren't.)  Even my gloves have their own drawer.  Life doesn't get much better.

So pity me not, dear friends.  It may be Christmas before I paint myself out of here, but I have my gloves to keep me warm.

Because I have been rifling through cupboards looking for objets to set up in a still life tableau, I am finding some old treasures.  Years ago (remember the missing flatware?) I stopped using the Wedgewood that my mother helped me select at Birks.  My taste ran then to ornate, but Mom was a mid-century teak collector who prized simplicity of line above all.  She convinced me to choose the pattern "California;" which is perfectly white with a gold band.  Her winning argument was the insight that all food looks terrific against white.  I was struck by her point and chose the pattern she recommended.

As a break from painting yesterday, I carefully washed the California and the beautiful old Limoges which were also white and gold, though with scalloped edges and tiny fleurs de lys, which my dear Aunt Hazel had given me.  The porcelain Limoges is far more delicate than the English bone china, something my aunt realized when she as a newly-wed had received it as a gift from her rather challenging mother-in-law, who had shipped it from south-west U.S. in a crate without any padding.  Aunt Hazel's gift to me was comprised of the few miraculous survivors of that hellish trip.  I treasure them and rather admire their will to live.

Of course, Mother was absolutely right.  Everything except beige food looks great on those plates.  In general, white enhances the juiciness of other colours and I used it shamelessly as a background in my watercolours.  In fact, until I took up oils, I didn't even own any white paint because the trick in watercolour is always to reserve the white of the paper, an intention more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

Oil is the diametric opposite and pure white as a super highlight is the very last addition to a painting. Generally, however, the best way to judge the colour you are mixing is to place it on a mid-tone background.  For years I have toned new canvases in Indian red or raw umber but it never occurred to me to use a mid-tone palette as well.  Elizabeth Robbins had an elegantly simple solution:  an old watercolour frame, fitted with cardboard backing under the glass.  Heading for my go-to second-hand store, I bought one immediately.  If the paint dries on me, a few swipes with a razer scraper clears the $1 palette admirably. Thanks, Elizabeth!

I often wonder how I would manage without the presence of the wise women in my life.

Finally, some work started.  This beautiful creature (male?  female?  under-carriage unavailable) was photographed in France recently by my talented cousin, Shelley Keele Harynuk.  I fell in love with it as much because of the creamy palette of not only the horse but of the background.  That prompted me to paint it on an unstained wooden panel and to leave the surrounding wood grain exposed.  I drew it first in chalk, then painted a red oxide mid-tone on the horse, and, finally, finished the white section of the value underpainting.  Tomorrow I hope to add the dark values.  Then I will decide how far to go.

Deciding how far to go turns out to be crucial, and not only to teenagers.  When learning the technique from Kathy Marlene Bailey, all of us struggled with infatuations.  Right now, I am besotted with the combination of red oxide and white.  Tomorrow I shall have changed my mind and fallen for a full value underpainting.  And the three days after that, no doubt I shall want to walk away when the three primary glazes are finished.  Some of us decide to stop there and occasionally I do.  Let's find out.  In the meantime I have a good digital of Stage One, which I can bemoan IF I GO TOO FAR.

I frittered my life (and chores) away again today dabbling with paint.  Exploring this image is however proving a happy experience.

My painting mood often mirrors that of the moment when I took the reference shot.  As Toad would say, "There's nothing better than messing around in boats!"  I would add only the caveat of "in good weather."  This particular day was idyllic.  There was lots of water in the river, a situation which dramatically lowers the likelihood of dealing with rocks.  While we  own five canoes and a kayak  (a situation I would never had predicted, but there you have it), they are all getting a bit long in the tooth so water volume matters.  The second ingredient is good weather and this particular day fit the bill.  I think we were paddling Durham to Hanover here;  certainly we were on The Saugeen.  I remember putting my paddle down frequently to take dozens of shots from the bow while Jon amiably aimed us toward the deepest channel. The river had a dream-like quality.  We floated above a high-key semi-abstract painting.

Now as I work on the painting, the depths of the river are slowly revealing themselves to me below that glowing surface.  I can see that Jon is guiding us towards the deeper water against the left bank. I can see the current picking up but no back ferrying will be needed on this calm August waterway.  The huge walnut trees are casting huge deep shadows but sunshine sneaks through often enough to dapple the banks with memories of spring greens.  There are signs of autumn here and there.

It's a complicated scene and I primed this large canvas several months ago in preparation for tackling it on a large canvas.  Taking the first stroke didn't happen until last weekend.  Winston Churchill was a Sunday painter who stood one day paralyzed before the pure white sheet of watercolour paper ;  his painting companion apparently reached over and made a swipe with his own loaded brush, announcing "The enemy is vanquished!"  

So have I stood all summer in front of my own empty canvas.  And then suddenly, the time was right.  I have gradually learned to accept this invitation to the dance more gracefully;  it was Hamlet  who taught me.  I have always believed that the play is not so much about indecision but rather, the process of becoming ready.  At the end of Act IV when he explains to Horatio that "Readiness is all,"  Hamlet signals his sense of clarity,  and the play's action hurls itself towards the final tragedy.  

Now while I do hope that is not quite what is happening to my canvas, I do agree with Shakespeare that it may be necessary to wait until the time is right.  Most importantly,  only you know when that moment has arrived but when it does, the command to begin is unmistakeable.  

Deciding on the next painting is like giving birth to an elephant.  It's Jon's birthday next month and he constantly complains that, while I have hundreds of pictures of him, he has almost none of me.  He says this quite wistfully, picturing me dead and him without a photo.  Okay, okay.  So I trolled through photos and came across this one, which Jon actually took!  I like it partly because I'm smiling at (and for) him but also because the sunglasses are reflecting a wonderful black and white abstract pattern times two. Moreover, I am happy to see a close resemblance to my mother at the same age.  Finally, it's truly me, as the hat is on crooked, as usual.

Having made the commitment,  I finally got down to work on a canvas yesterday.  Getting started is pretty much all work and no play,  even assuming that I have settled on the subject matter.  Choosing the proportions has to be first.  I decided on 1:2 and fooled around with where the portrait would sit on the 12 x 24 vertical.  Done.   Then the canvas had to  be primed;  for me this task must be accomplished on my hands and knees on the basement floor, which is beginning to look like a Pollock canvas.  Inevitably I can't find:  the paint; an old knife to manoeuvre it; the matte medium; a rag;  a large piece of cardboard to catch most of the drip; and so it goes.  The actual priming takes only about five minutes.  

Then the tedious part actually moves up a notch as I laboriously transfer the key proportions onto the canvas;  again, inevitably, I get one major thing out of place;  I can see the problem immediately, an act quite separate from correcting it.   Portraiture is particularly unforgiving if you get the drawing wrong.  Unless you are Picasso, of course.

These tasks I performed yesterday.  Today, finally:  showtime!  Today was dedicated to the value study.  It looks pretty rough, but at least the ship has been launched.  Whether it will float or sink remains to be seen.  Stay tuned.  Tomorrow I will do the first layer of the colour foundation.  I'll post each layer on my website for those of you who are bears for punishment.