I was sitting in my outdoor studio, feeling somewhat melancholic for the passing of an idyllic summer, with my son-in-law still here, and my dying dog still alert and all the hopes of a new household being fitted up for charm, sustainability, and warmth. At the same time, I'm in the moment, relishing what is here and now. Ambiguities like that are often best expressed through the painting process for me. I can't say that this painting shows my mental state, but it is just right for who I was yesterday and the day before, in that leafy, mosquito-ridden atelier.
These songbirds occasionally come by, looking like tropical gumdrops. They eat the glittering red dragonflies that enjoy our garden sprinkler.
I wondered about making this drum. The rawhide has been folded up for years and the crease shows. However, after making it and allowing it to dry, the sound was great. So, fine. I'll paint it and if people don't like the crease, they don't have to buy it.
I am trying to stick to my resolution of going to bed before midnight, but sometimes finishing a project that's going well takes precedence. 12:25 isn't that bad, right?
These tropical looking beauties sit in the tops of fir trees and sing like crazy.
We have suet feeders hanging around our property, including from my house eaves. The local butcher gives me fat trimmings, I render them down to a liquid in the solar oven, and then pour the result over birdseed. Downy woodpeckers especially adore these feeders, slamming against them as they land and making my house sound as though dinosaurs are attacking. In the right season, they also drum against the metal chimney. Ah, the peace and quiet of a rural life!