Well. I started to just put some images of what I’ve done recently on a web page, to share but found myself writing and rambling, maybe ranting a bit about these moments in time . . . for my own edification when someday I may look back and remember this time. I’m not someone who journals or keeps a diary though from time to time I’ve been motivated to write down transient thoughts . . . so feel free to ignore the writing, just wanted to share the paintings . . .

[click on images to enlarge]

20 mars 2020

It is March in the year 2020 and the world is dealing with the novel Covid-19 Coronavirus pandemic. That is its name, NOT the China Virus. The disease is spreading and sure to get worse before it gets better, many places — cities and states, countries — are shutting down, sheltering in place, working from home and the economy is falling. One wonders what will the world, what will America look like in a month, in two, in six, in a year. While the virus takes no notice of politics one can’t help but notice that if the President and his sycophants hadn’t scoffed and made jokes and characterized it as a hoax perpetrated by those they view as their political rivals — if the infrastructure of learned people in place to deal with such a circumstance hadn’t been systematically and deliberately diminished and defunded — if the news media hadn’t been branded as enemy — then we would be by far better able to handle this crisis. The virus takes no notice of politics but sadly politics determines what notice is taken of the virus.

We are mostly staying in. Jim is no longer doing any of the shopping. I go out to the grocery store, sometimes Jim drives but stays in the car. I take walks, we take walks . . . I paint, sometimes out — en plein air — sometimes in. And continually, I am drawn back to the computer to check the news. And sometimes, though I try to put it out of mind, for only time is needed, I check my accounts. There is an overall hold-your-breath, wait-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop feeling. “There was still that strange, false calm between when the worst became inevitable and when it arrived.” And I wish I could have a conversation with my grandmother, 37 and a nurse in 1918 . . . what did she think and do and feel . . .

Beauty. Truth. Goodness. These things interest me. Will beauty save the world? . . . “‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty’ — that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know . . .”. (Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn).

Just tell the truth, good, bad, or indifferent . . . just tell the truth . . . my silent thought plea to the government.

So. I’ve made a concerted effort to paint, to study, to stay in contact with people I know . . .

I was delighted to have brought home some daffodil stems, jonquils I think, the ones with the orange middles — along with some Sumo Oranges . . . I read a quote by Hemingway in reference to his bankruptcy, something like “it was gradual until it was sudden”. That is how it is all feeling. It is all gradually and then suddenly becoming different. Only a day or so ago I went out, instead of Jim, but still in some ways unthinkingly . . . now I think “why?” . . . The daffodils, the daffodils were bursting into bloom one by one almost before my eyes though I never managed to actually catch one in the act.. Just suddenly the stem was in full, spectacular bloom. Such happiness. I wanted them to last and last and last even as I knew they must fade. They and the bright deliciousness of the Sumo Oranges I suspect will always be a part of my memories of this time.

Harbingers, 2020 | watercolor on 90# TH Saunders | 10 x 12.5
I wasn’t initially pleased with this painting, seemed little more than a collection of items though I tried to make them cohesive and I thought the colors dull but it grows on me and I will leave it as is . . .

Study, Daffodils in Green Glass | watercolor on 90# Waterford Hot Pressed | 15 x 11
Under the heading of “I at least put brush to paper “. . .

Path | watercolor on 90# TH Saunders | 11 x 9
While feeling a resistance within myself at first, probably a “not going out is the new normal, I’d best get used to it” kinda thing I did after all go to the park for some plein air painting. Jim drove me over and dropped me off and then came back for my stuff so that I could get in a walk, walking home. And Harriet and Bernice and I all distanced ourselves, as did others who ventured out to the park. There is a branch on the left I think needs to be extended, we’ll see . . .

Pathway | handprinted watercolor monotype on Nishinouchi | 16 x 15
As usual the monotype looks nothing like the plate I painted, it is always so interesting to see what the print “sees” in the plate I painted . . . what is revealed . . . I restated the plate in places and reprinted and added paint here and there . . . colors are luminous even as muted, I’m always thinking “oh no, it is so too light:” and then as time passes it seems to take on a whole new visage for me to contemplate and wonder about and come to terms with . . .

I turned to the book “Composing Pictures” to expand my understandings . . . a rather dry read but full of information relating to composition . . . and several pages in, what struck me was this: “some pictures < . . . > though motivated by forms and events in nature, are not pictures of the forms or events, but are comments about them. They are abstract.” That was a bit resonant to me, the idea of painting not the thing but painting comments about the thing . . .

I ordered some art supplies . . . sketchbooks and printmaking plates and paper and brushes . . . something I’d been planning, actions almost soothing in their normal-ness.

I remind myself — I have ideas for paintings, paintings I want to do — so I should get going on them — after I bring some order to my studio so my surface areas are more accessible. Or maybe not, maybe just dive in and straighten as needed.

Next week I shall journey out again to paint again . . . next week, a time that seems as far away as yesterday.

April 28, 2020