June Tune Soon (Jitters)

 

Dear June,

Your song is this song, Please Be Still.  It will take some effort- please apply yourself.

storied trees

 

Trees 1, watercolor on paper, 2002, Mats Gustafson.

Dear Reader,

I am back at my job; yes, I know, I don't know whether it is a funeral or cause for celebration either, but I am there in any event.  Thinking about light and paper, as I do at my job, I am also thinking of what makes a good watercolor painting.  You can make them a lot of ways, but some of the best ingredients might include:

attention

delicacy

love for the subject

Mats Gustafson has some paintings of trees and rocks that come to mind as good examples.  If you really want to nerd out on, or dive deep into Mats G., (taking care to ignore the fatuous title) watch this film.

On the topic of trees, I have been saving this old oak for you, The Shelton Oak.  And, these, The Trees of Mystery, and this, The Trees of Mystery, singing your song of the day.

becomes crimson

 

Untitled, Mary Vaux Walcott, 1872, in the collection of the Smithsonian.

Dear Turning,

Oh!  This is a treat!  Deep fried leaves!  Can you deny the fabulousness of a planet with inhabitants who would invent such a thing!?  I remain, impressed, and on-world, as ever!  May your Autumn be packed with treats!

painted pastilles

 

blue hats

 

Dear October,

If your memory serves you well, this is your song of the day, and you are a lucky month, because I have more versions for you!  Try this one.  

Or this.  

This one, and that one.  

Also this one.  

Plus this one.

This one, too!

And this!  

Another one!  

One from TV! 

Another!  

One from June!  

No vocals!  

Lastly!

leaves & flowers

 

Brown eyes.

 

 

watercolor by Jean Weiner

Dear Song Singers,

Join me!  This is a fine song for singing.  Once again, and a final time.  (Eye painting tutorial is optional).

I can't give it away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Patience,

 

I have re-assembled some journal pages on some large water color sheets that were my grandmother's.  The paper is quite lovely in itself, with wave-warped edges and a pale gold glow of foxing from storage.  A few years ago, I cut some of the sheets into cards that I mailed out; hopefully I sent one to you.  I took a sheet and painted a field of lupine and owl's clover in the center of it in vibrant watercolors.  The last six were made into images like you see on the left in the photo above.  Little cuts and scraps of words, pasted down and into water color pools and puddles.  I suppose it was a bit like constructing a fake streambed in a suburban yard, or maybe a Japanese rock garden.

 

My plan now for these six large paper pieces is going to be harder to complete:  I'd like them framed up impeccably, with linen and museum board and lots of space.  Then they must be hung in the office of psychiatrist in Memphis, Tennessee, where patients will ponder them while they question their own relevance, and it will quietly dawn on them:  Oh, yes, of course, I just need to re-order my life- it's all in the placement and emphasis.

 

I don't know any psychiatrists in Memphis, so that's an issue right there.  Ten years ago I painted a very large canvas with bubbling lilac and taupe ovals- the painting really simmered with happiness.  I knew it should be hung in the Zuni Café, because I had been there and felt it.  I wrote to the restaurant and told them I would give them the painting free of charge, because I was convinced of it's belonging there.  They did not reply at all.  Did they dislike the painting, or mistrust my motivations?  A reverence for the restaurant, it seems, was not enough.  What then, is enough?