As promised. Watercolor #1 is of kelp wrack. I think I'm going to have to iron it. I know I'm going to have to learn how to frame it.
A couple more "Schnellmist" watercolors. As soon as school is out, I'm going to do a big fat watercolor project where I spend some time on each piece. I couldn't possibly do it before then, because I can't sit in a chair for that long both at work and at home. Maybe it's time to make a stand-up desk.
This morning I went around the property, getting my shoes and trousers soaked with dew as I slogged through the knee-high grass. I took pictures of every apple tree, plus a close-up of its blossoms. If I remember, I'll do this in fall, too, when the apples are ripe. Who knows, maybe someday I'll have a useable record of what's on my land!
I took one of the pictures and made a quick watercolor for Mom. In the future, I might (might!) make more careful botanical drawings, with a blossom and an apple on a branch. Don't hold your breath.
Since Mom's dementia has gotten more severe, I've made it a point to write her three times a week so she feels connected. I'm working on simplifying the text without losing content–she may have trouble with complexity but she's not stupid.
Mom was a committed artist in her day and still identifies as one. The two things that will wake her up are music and art. I can't do long-distance music, since she can't figure out the iPod I gave her, but I can send her art, which I do.
I replaced the broken printer with an Epson Stylus Photo RX595, very high end for me. But used. Alas, it didn't come with cables. So as I await the proper cables, I'm sending Mom little "Schnellmist" - her word for quick sketches. "Quick," as in "about an hour to make."
It was the middle of the night so I thought it was a dream, but when I went to print out a letter I'd written to Mom, it turned out not to have been a dream. The cats, it seems, had a violent disagreement (or perhaps it was fun?) on top of the printer. Result: ten sheets of paper, toast. One printer, also toast. There are a few little plastic pieces that don't seem to go anywhere, and the paper feeder is detached and no longer snicks into place.
Well, people used to write letters by hand, didn't they? The trouble is, Mom has dementia and doesn't do well with my handwriting. I like to send her photos because as an artist, she is always interested, while text sometimes bypasses her consciousness altogether. There was only an hour until I had to go to the Post Office, though. I'm not a very sudden artist.
Calligraphy! I'd calligraph something for her. Okay. I have some calligraphy projects that she did back in her heyday, and they are all rather dark German poems. Best not to revive them. Rumi, though. He's got the flavor of what Mom used to like, but he's upbeat as well.