finger painting

While we humans sleep. . .

bearingwitness

acrylic inks, gesso, collage on w/c paper, 10 X 11″

The cats are out tonight, bearing witness to the way the moonlight silvers the flowers. They have no need to paint or write poetry or make music. The frogs, crickets, owls and coyotes are music enough. The silence is enough.

And so they sit in unison until the moon drops aways and the morning star gives hints of coming dawn.

“Soon She’ll come out to get the paper and feed us.”

This is sort of a true story. We have two cats, both of whom adopted us for our plentiful outdoor servings of food and water fountain. Phil, the yellow cat came first and he most certainly also longed for the neck scratches and belly rubs. Sylvester came much later, attracted by Phil, but never let us touch him. They can often be seen side by side in stillness as I rush about my day. They seem to have mastered contentment, except when I open the door to get the morning paper and am greeted with the urgency of their empty bellies!

fingerpainting

This was the beginning of the painting – a thoroughly enjoyable finger painting (grown-up style). I could have left it like this, but maybe I wanted more content, or maybe I wanted to get out some collage papers. While playing with this one I thought of all the ways to ease and blend the wet paint/ink onto the paper with fingers and palm and scratchers, playing with serendipity and design. A great lesson to open the next Artful Muse series!

January 21 the Artful Muse workshop is starting up with another 6-class Monday afternoon series in my studio in Sebastopol, California. Registration is open now and I hope you can join us! Beginners and experienced painters are welcome. For more information and registration visit my website.

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Puzzled

puzzle

finger painting with acrylic, gesso, collage on gesso texture (decalcomanie) on w/c paper, 10 X 11″

I am a puzzle with scattered pieces. On days when I cast my pieces up, I hope they won’t descend too quickly and pray for the weightlessness to last, that liberation of owning no shape, no name, no story.

 

My fear is that one day my pieces might find their way into some interlocking finished puzzle picture and trap me there where I no longer fit. . .