So, yesterday, first time for a long time, I slogged through snowdrifts to the art studio–just to see what was going on in there after months of being snowed in. There was no damage to speak of–the spiders and the mice hadn’t taken over the place. There was a small amount of leakage right around the door–and I can only imagine there will be more as the snowdrifts melt: I mean, I had to STEP DOWN about 3 feet to get in the door! (DIG myself in.) But I did get in. I decided not to stay. I sort of wanted to paint. Before I can paint in that place again, it needs to be cleaned up: nothing fares well when it sits for months without occupancy.
So I collected a watercolor block, some pan paints, and a container of brushes and slogged my way back to the house–where I learned what it’s like to try to paint around Harry. Interesting. He had his nose in everything–licking the paint pans and the paper, and really thinking his best vantage point was right in my lap, on top of the paper.
Eventually he came to understand that fine art is meant to be a visual experience, and viewed from a polite distance.
Calling it fine art, though, is another thing altogether. Just the same, I’m posting the results here because it’s sort of a life lesson: sometimes the parts are better than the whole. And the message, of course, is to just keep doing something; keep what’s worth keeping and don’t worry if everything isn’t perfect.
This is watercolor and ink. Inspiration was a photograph on file: I take a lot of pictures of fence lines.
M L S Baisch