I often paint or sketch things that are setting on my dining table, which is a warm maple wood. The window behind the table has venetian blinds of the same warm hue, and the strong vertical and horizontal lines have always intimidated me before this. I decided to try just a suggestion of those influences today, and I think it almost worked. What worked even better was the process of making the piece, losing myself in the colors and shapes, taking my mind off the challenges that await this next week: getting my mother into memory care, waiting while my son begins his epilepsy diagnostic sessions at UC San Diego Epilepsy Research. So many milestones to absorb at once. But like making sense of how to capture the ruffly flower petals and veined leaves, we’ll be taking it one step at a time, one line at a time, one day at a time.
Somehow Mother’s Day always makes me think of that elusive vision of breakfast in bed, which has never quite panned out according to the Hallmark Card fantasy. You know, the one where smiling children deliver champagne, bacon, chocolates, flowers… to a well-rested Mom in a nice velour bathrobe… My husband’s twisted sense of humor led him to help the kids provide cold coffee and green jello in bed one Mother’s Day… as the Queen might say, “We were not amused.”
My solution this year was to go to The Patissier French Bakery this morning and buy my own breakfast a day early. A buttery omelette filled with tender potatoes, topped with tomatoes, and a croissant on the side. I ate half, and saved half and brought it home, so although I will not try to eat it in bed (always messy, especially with a cat lurking around the edges), I will be sure to have my menu of choice tomorrow morning — and the coffee will be hot!
But even so, this year Mother’s Day feels quite strange for me. My own mother has slipped away quite suddenly as Alzheimer’s has made its presence known. Our relationship has for years been not easy, so I don’t really have a rosy haze of memories to mourn. But it was difficult last weekend, looking into her freezer and realizing that I was seeing the last jar of Strawberry Freezer Jam she will ever make. I brought it home and made a painting of it. Funny how food, a simple glass jar of fruit and sugar, can come to symbolize something as complex as a human being, something as multi-faceted as the relationship between a parent and child.
I am a mother, and a daughter. I have a daughter, and many near-daughters. I have a goddaughter. I am also a Wicked Stepmother, and a step-grandmother, and a Mother-in-Law. Even with all those matriarchal titles, the kids are all scattered this year. So after my breakfast, I will drive to the “Skilled Nursing Facility” and visit my own mother, wondering what to try to talk with her about. Maybe we’ll talk about jam. Or more likely, she’ll just sleep.
Posted 4/5/2017 by Kerry McFall
After two straight days of struggling through robotic telephone “response” systems, for literally HOURS, I got supremely frustrated. It’s very clear that our healthcare insurance and auto insurance industries are broken. So I did the only thing any rational adult would do: picked some forget-me-nots, jammed them into a little vase, made a cup of tea, and drew bunnies binkying:
The resulting sketchbook page will not hold a place in art history, but once I stopped fuming and cursing I enjoyed the process. The verb Binky is a new one, very fun – like the Irish verb “fooster,” it comes with its own giggle. I learned it from a bunny enthusiast who brought her rabbits to our park across the street on Sunday. Some unusual motion patterns caught my eye, and lo and behold, there were bunnies frolicking with great abandon! The humans had quite a time capturing the rapturous rabbits when it was time for them to go home, but we enjoyed the performance. Like baby goats gamboling – life at its woohooiest!
Posted April 1, 2017 by Kerry McFall
There’s something almost magical about fresh eggs, delivered to your doorstep by a dear friend. Her hens are happy and healthy, and pampered, of course, which is how I felt yesterday morning at breakfast time. But the true magic is in the Green Egg, which towers over the other little caramel-colored or soft pink eggs, filling its cardboard cup to overflowing. It was almost a perfect sphere, not the usual elliptical egg shape, and when I cracked it on the edge of my black skillet, it split almost exactly in half. I gently slid its contents into the center of the sizzling puddle of butter, and the yolk stood up round and proud and orange in the center of the quickly-thickening egg white. Store bought eggs don’t do that – their yolks flatten themselves, lemony yellow, pale and tired. “Over medium”, it was delicious. A crisp slice of sour dough toast, coffee brewed by my husband (who has finally learned to make a pot of coffee after 30+ years of marriage!), a glass of V8 juice – doesn’t get much better!
Diversity. New life. Strength. This collection of sizes and shapes and colors reminds me of how important immigrants are. How important diversity is. How important different viewpoints are. Building walls on borders is simply insane counterproductive. As I was writing this, I began to think maybe I’m taking my analogy too far, but, read this definition from Google:
- “an analogy between the workings of nature and those of human societies”
a thing that is comparable to something else in significant respects.“works of art were seen as an analogy for works of nature”
Posted March 27, 2017 by Kerry McFall
My Mom was recently diagnosed with “Alzheimer’s pathology”. That means her Rich Pageant is heading into a fog bank. It’s complicated, this haze that comes and goes. She is stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it, falling back on the mythology of her generation, that “I survived the Depression and WWII and I can survive anything” brand of immortality.
As part of recent developments, my sweet sister-in-law and brother sent me this bouquet. Sketching and painting have become an integral part of my days, an exercise in finding the good and praising it. So I took this opportunity to include words describing the emotions that wash over us all. The words are hazy to match the feelings. The little strips of flowers are like that funky paper tape (Washi?) you see in crafts stores, not there for any particular purpose, not really holding anything together, but kind of like a bandaid that might make a kid feel a little bit better about the latest booboo.
And the pageant still marches on, slowing a little on this curve…
Posted by Kerry McFall, March 18, 2017
All drawing is really life drawing, right? Landscapes are geography and biography and every kind of life. Cityscapes are filled with the architecture that has resulted from someone’s life. Funny how the nude human body is what most artists think of, though, when someone uses the term “life drawing”.
I’ve been doing some life drawing, or as I prefer to call it figure drawing, at our local Arts Center‘s Open Studio evenings. It’s daunting, but I’m determined to keep at it. Human flesh tones seem unforgiving. Human shapes require accurate representation, at least if you’re going to satisfy the Resident Critic at my house. There is no formal instruction, just a bit of informal critiquing among a handful of folks. The models so far have been very cooperative, even fascinating, posing in a not-very-warm basement, bringing their own props, costumes, and sound tracks. One even brought her very own live turkey!
I’m not very confident about posting nudes online, so I choose the ones that are mostly covered. I suppose that’s a holdover from my mother’s prudish condemnation of anyone older than 6 months appearing anywhere anytime in their “birthday suit”. I confess that I still feel just a bit naughty when I’m in a room with naked people. Or it could just be a creeping suspicion that some mysterious censor somewhere is going to see my drawing of a nude and ban me forever from the Internet. We’ll see, won’t we?
Posted March 15, 2017 by Kerry McFall
My Sunday stroll took me to the Covered Bridge Path on the OSU campus. It was the first mostly-sunny day in an eternity, and the community was out in force, mostly biking and running. Even with the sun shining, everything was still saturated, and the violets I discovered peeking out of the old oak leaves at the edge of the asphalt were pretty soggy. The true miracle of violets, however, is that no matter how drippy, they still send up their sweetly scented promise of spring. Maybe we won’t all be washed away after all!
Every sketch or painting provides lessons to learn. For this one I was fiddling with contrast, trying to push the values so the sunny bits would really pop out of the dark, wet background.
I started with just watercolors, blocking in some pale grass color and bright purples, then added black ink lines and a lot of green. After that, I fussed and bothered over every little detail, using a white Signo Uni-ball pigment paint pen, lifting color with a damp brush, adding textured emphasis with the side of a colored pencil… until finally I decided that I needed A) stronger paper, and B) to stop fussing and bothering!
When I convert my jpg photos to gif format for web viewing, PhotoShop always provides a little palette created from the painting in a corner of the preview pane. Being a quilter, I find these irresistible. Wouldn’t it be fun to make a tiny quilt for every painting… ? to hang alongside? Maybe someday, when life is slower… HA! Dream on.
Posted March 7, 2017 by Kerry McFall
This is almost the worst weather Oregon has to offer. It’s not just that it’s cold and wet and gray and miserable, the real issue is that it’s been like this for an eternity. Since February 1st. Seriously. Oh, sure, there are a few soggy crocus here and there, but it’s too ugly and windy and wet to even go for a walk to see what’s sprouted lately.
When we returned from San Diego, I dug out the old suet cage and popped in a block of whatever Schmidt’s Garden Center had to offer last time I was there. It didn’t get much attention for a month or so, but given the non-stop gross weather, it’s been a real hot spot this week! When this fellow showed up a few days ago (Audubon’s warbler, aka yellow-rumped warbler according to Google), I was thrilled: color outside the dining room window! Warm, golden – COLOR! Then, lo and behold, a pair of bluebirds. More COLOR, cheeky, sleek, and fairly exotic for this intown neighborhood! Then some sassy juncos started a bit of a turf war with the warblers this morning, and it was hysterical to watch the strutting and bullying and yes, twittering… almost as much fun as watching an SNL skit about Trump… but I digress.
I begin to understand why people enjoy bird watching. But just when you’ve found something relaxing and blood-pressure-lowering, some flea-bitten random cat slinks through the back yard and you come unglued, yelling and pounding on the window… Ah, Spring!
I sketched with the Corvallis Sketchers last weekend at Beekman Place Antiques, and choosing what to sketch was a real challenge!
I hadn’t been in an antique store for quite a while, and it was kind of a shocker to realize that most of this stuff was what I grew up with! Antiques used to be really old… but this was all so familiar. So I looked up the definition of antique, which seems pretty clearly agreed upon that the object must be 100 years old at least. Whew… I decided that a whole bunch of this was vintage, not antique, and that made me feel better. One definition of vintage I found is “properly defined as something of high quality that demonstrates styles of the past.” Okay, I can live with feeling familiar with so many vintage items!
And there was so much of everything! Small, large, rusty, shiny, every nook and cranny was filled with fascinating things. It took me a long time to decide where to sketch in the rambling building, and even then I had to work really hard to focus on just a few central pieces. These weren’t the most beautiful, or the most valuable, but the doll looking at the price tag caught my eye, so here it is! True confessions: I did work on it a little more at home, filling in the background and doing some highlights, and you’ll see from the photo below that I took a few liberties with what to put in and what to leave out. As I so often do! But then, that’s what makes it art, right?
Will definitely be going back, as the crew there at Beekman were so welcoming and pleasant.
Posted February 12, 2017 by Kerry McFall
There is a fabulous old sailing ship moored on Harbor Drive in San Diego. I spent a long time sketching the rigging and sails and tackle and I don’t-know-what-all, trying to unravel where this or that rope connected, until I came up with a reasonable facsimile and decided enough was enough. Such complexity! I tried to imagine what travel would have been like on that ship, sliding into the bay after tossing at sea for days. But making the drawing served the purpose of calming my jangled nerves as we wrapped up our visit and prepared to come home. That was January.
Traveling by train week before last gave me another opportunity to calm down. There were no television screens reminding me of how tenuous the world has become, no wifi (except the occasional 1-minute blip) so no emails, no text messages, no calls. I could see rabbit tracks in the snow for a few hours as the Coast Starlight climbed up and around Shasta and past Odell Lake. So many invisible rabbits! Or maybe just a few very busy rabbits leaving all those tracks… I thought about drawing, but even at train speeds, the scenery went by too fast. So began February.
I was glad to be home, even though I missed the sunny mornings of southern Cal. But duty called, and I had to get my mother to a medical appointment, so I drove to Eugene. I got her there, I got her back home, and I headed back to Corvallis. Highway 99W seemed far less threatening than the tangle of San Diego freeways … until that one moment when I sensed that the car to my left was turning the hell right. And I was between that car leaning into me at 40+ mph and a traffic island with a huge cement base of a monster metal pole. Reality does odd things at those moments. BAM. She hit my door and front fender. I bounced off the curb of the island, then goosed the gas pedal to speed up and cranked the wheel just enough to avoid the pole, held tight to keep from veering into the flooded ditch, braked, and eventually stopped. Ppssshhhhh. Flat tire? Hydraulic something-or-other? Ugh. Deep breath.
So that’s over with, and I’m okay. She’s okay, too, but I’m betting her insurance rates are going to go way up ! Life can change in a matter of seconds. Just when you think things are complex, you blink, and it’s even more complex. I’m trying to remember to savor those sweet moments when it seems, however briefly, simple. Pet the cat. Count the rabbit tracks. Hold hands.