No more unfinished symphonies

I didn't think I was going to find a resolution for this painting. I'm not crazy about the composition -- I'd intended to incorporate much of the environment around him but ended up going with a more abstract treatment instead. But I do love the colors. I glazed the shirt with a warm yellow to help integrate it with the other colors a bit more.

It's been an unpredictable progression....





Cropping can change everything. I think I'm going to experiment with framing this painting (cropping it) a few different ways. I like this view ............




"No More Unfinished Symphonies", 12"x16" ink and watercolor on paper $250

Pin It

Another step closer

Hmmm, think I'm almost there -- as I planned, I darkened the area behind her head and back, desaturated the bright yellow highlight on her face, taking out some of the yellow, darkened more of the verticals to the left of her face, more work on her face and arm....not sure what else I will do.

Knowing how to paint also entails knowing when to stop. I'm stopping. Shara No. 2 is complete.

Shara No. 2
Ink and watercolor on paper
Print available here.

Pin It

A work in progress

As you've proably noticed, I've been taking a break from the smaller daily paintings and focusing on larger pieces. One reader suggested I take the time with these pieces to post some images of them in stages. I was spoiled by the immediacy of the 4"x6" portraits, as I was always able to finish them in a single sitting.

But there is so much more surface area on the larger sheets -- I have to stop, let portions dry, take a step back. I think it will be beneficial to me, as well as any interested viewer, to see how a painting changes, how we have to take advantage of "happy accidents" which are the calling card of watercolor, and see that where we end up may never have been where we thought we were going when we begin.

So -- here goes.

This is the preliminary line drawing, using india ink on watercolor paper. I was very happy with the expression and almost left it as is. But I was too tempted to liven her up with color.

My first effort was a disaster. I'd used my usual palette of bright, saturated colors but it just wasn't working. Wish I'd taken a pic. I was so disappointed that I ran the entire sheet of paper under the faucet and let it soak in the tub. When most of the color drained from the paper, I took it out let it dry and began again.

There were very pale, pastel colored washes over the surface of the paper, the remains of my first attempt, but I just began painting again, and chose an entirely different, more muted, earthy palette. The next stage, still unfinished, is below.

She still needs more work on the face/cheekbones and also her arm. I love the colors in the wall behind her, but I think it needs to be pushed further into the darks.

Watercolor always dries a few shades lighter than when you put it down -- the wet paint always seems dark and saturated, so it's often best just to let it dry periodically and take a break. Once fully dry, the painting presents an entirely different course of action. To be continued.............

Pin It

Getting back to the hammock

So I was telling you about the decision to bunk in a cabin rather than sleep alfresco in a hammock aboard the Dejard Vieira. And what a mistake it was. Woulda coulda shoulda. Have you ever had those opportunities of a lifetime that you squander? Not to realize your mistake until it's too late?

That is how I feel about sailing down the Amazon.

This litttle girl was among the experienced locals who knew how "to flex." Have hammock, will travel.

As I said, I suppose it was just as well we chose to book a boat ride only for the few days it took to sail from Manaus to Santarem, rather than the much longer journey from Manaus to the port city of Belem at the Atlantic Ocean. Upon arrival, we hunkered down in Santarem for a few days before hitching a ride back to Manaus on a small aircraft that gave us a breathtaking view of the jungle from above. So all was not lost.

The sights, sounds and, as always, the people we met on that trip, as well as all of the other precious travel gems that fell in our laps while in the Amazon, were a gift. We did utimatley have a chance to sleep in a hammock deep in the jungle for days on end, under the watchful gaze of a portrait of the British Royal Family, no less

And did I tell you we fished for and ate our catch of piranha, shared table scraps with a tapir, and swam in Amazon tributaries we later found out were home to crocodiles? Or were they alligators? Or caimans? Aaahhh, I never can remember the difference.

And I expect if one had taken a bite out of me, it wouldn't much matter what it was called, eh?

Pin It

Before we lost track of Poochie -

We took her to the sea.

Poochie was cast out by her mudda an' fadda and sent to live with Miss Una out inna country. Montego Bay was no place for a 5-year-old whose mother had no time fi she. The ghettos of Mobay were ruff enuff and one more unwanted likkle girl was bound to find a better life out in the rural yards of the parish of Westmoreland than the streets of the city.

Seen?

Poochie was soon under the stern watch of Miss Una out in the wide open hinterlands of Savanna La Mar, some 20 miles west of Negril, along the south coast of Jamaica. Miss Una was the aunty of a cousin of Poochie's mudda or half-sista of a cousin of an aunty or a half-sista of her cousin or, well, it doesn't really matter.

Miss Una took Poochie in without a second thought. Even tho' Miss Una was finally finished raising her own pickney.

Miss Una and her youngest daughter, Felecia, shared a bed in her two-room house. One more likkle girl squeezed in under the covers didn't put anybody out. So Poochie stayed. And stayed. And stayed.

Miss Una is my mother-in-law. And my two little daughters, her grandaughters, loved Poochie. Poochie was as foreign and as mysterious as a jackfruit, a soursop, a plate of ackee. And she was a girl who knew how to climb a ginnep tree in a flash and deliver a bunch of ripe juicy fruit, fearlessly shoo away the loose grazing goats and knew which little shop on the lane had the coldest boxed drinks. Poochie could run up an' dung pon da gravel barefoot, while my girls didn't dare take off their sandals for fear of piercing their soft city-girl feet.

And when we visited Jamaica, we'd always take Poochie and a handful of other pickney to the sea. We'd buy her one fresh bath suit and take her to the ocean for a swim, followed by platefuls of jerk chicken and endless bottles of Pepsi or Kola Champagne. The exotic seaside was a place she saw once a year, when friends or family fram farrin would load up a car with all the little yard pickney an' tek dem a beach.

But one year Poochie was no longer in the yard with Miss Una. Something bad had happened to Poochie.

As if enuff bad tings had not happened to Poochie already.

A lonely, old coot of a man on the lane had taken to asking for Poochie's help to collect limes way out inna bush, several mornings a week. Poochie was permitted to go as her share of limes would contribute to the family funds.

Unitl it became clear that very few limes, if any, were being collected.

Long hot hours of walks way out inna bush often resulted in just an empty bucket. And a Poochie who grew despondent, angry and withdrawn.

Poochie was barely 12 when she was sent back to Montego Bay. After all, no one could send the Old Coot off the lane. So the little girl, who had already been cast out once for her own good, was returned-to-sender for the same reason.

We don't know what has become of Poochie....

Before We Lost Track of Poochie
Ink and watercolor on paper

Purchase a print of this painting here.

Pin It

Chud, Chud, stop tawk an' siddung Chud

This is Chad.

Tho' to hear the older children call him, it sounds like "Chud". Stop talking and SIT DOWN, Chad.

He is full of beans, as are most little 7-year old boys. He is Shara's little brother -- likkle brudda. Last year's school report said that Chad was "very intelligent, with great potential for high achievement, but he must not miss so many days of school......" Chad is full of questions and answers and funny faces and uncanny observations.

But he cannot always afford lunch money.

Or books.

Or school fees.

Or a pair of shoes and a uniform.

So Chad misses too many days of his public school.

It seems I unconsciously chose a rather "high-key" color palette for this painting of Chad. Almost-electric colors -- perhaps that is because Chad is FULL of ENERGY. He doesn't stop moving nor mugging nor chatting. Not a shy nor sad little boy --- or as they say in patois, one BRIGHT likkle bwoy.

But I caught him in a moment where all of that seemed to hang in the balance.

Chad could end up squandering all of those brilliant qualities because the system requires shoes over curiosity, a uniform over enthusiasm and lunch money over a hunger for knowledge......

"Chud, Chud, Stop Tawk an' Siddung, Chud"
Ink and watercolor on paper. 
Purchase a print of this painting  here.

Pin It