Faced with the choice of either cutting it all off so that it didn’t glom onto my neck or letting it grow into a ponytail, I chose freedom. It’s a new and cooler world out there if you don’t count the target a ponytail represents to a husband. Jon likes ponytails and now I know why. I doubt that one could stop a horse that way, but it sure works when Jon wants my attention or has to stop me from stepping into the path of an insane un-belled bike peddler on the walking trail.
There are also consequences for my art. It used to be that Jewell would show up here and there, a long brindled hair embedded in a large oil painting. Now my own DNA flutters here and there. Such souvenirs are best caught and removed before the painting dries but life’s busy and I don’t always find them in time. Look at it this way: if you own such an “inclusion” (which are actually prized in amber, don’t you know) you have my permission to clone me, as long as I get curly hair the next time
While I am happily in the “just wash and tie up” mode, others totally embrace hair. This gal whom I have never met, sat in front of us at a December wedding. A horizontal shaft of light set her hair aglow and there I was, without a camera. Our friend, David, had his and obligingly took the shot. Because what I love about hair (anybody else’s, that is) is painting it. I build the underpainting as usual but the fun is in the finish, which is built by dragging riggers - long, thin brushes - dipped in a variety of tones. All sorts of colours can be mixed because hair is not monotone. “Rapunzel” is full of transparent yellows and burnt siennas, with touches of blue, layered on a pale base. “The Private Joke” is mainly sienna/blue mixed in the shadows but separated in the hair’s highlights. Jon has that “I’m about to tug your ponytail” look, doesn’t he?