Happy Happy Halloween

Today was one of those days that didn't go at all as I had imagined. This was The Plan, more or less:

• go to lab for blood tests for physical next week (my half century check-up!)
• workout
• talk to friend Janet (in Canada) while carving pumpkin
• talk to Peter (on business trip in Switzerland)
• sit down and draw for two hours
• grocery shop
• prepare for Trick-or-treat-ers
• enjoy evening with Henry and any visiting goblins

But then this is what actually happened:
It started out fine. I went to the lab. Went to the gym. Talked to Janet. Got half way through carving pumpkin. Then picked up a phone message from my doctor who called while I was talking to Janet (Will someone please show me how to do Call Waiting?) Doc's message says, "Hi Holly. Gee we got some test results from your labwork this morning that are really not good . . . " It went downhill from there. "I need you to go directly to the emergency room . . . " What?! Excuse me?! Something about platelette count nearing a dangerous level. I went all weak at the knees. I put down the carving knife -- very carefully. I called my doctor.

Indeed, my platelette count was 13,000, according to the lab test. It should be at least 150,000. He described three very serious things that could be wrong with me, but also said it is possible that the test results are false. Still, GET TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM. Ok! I'll go!

When one is suddenly confronted with one's own mortality smack in the middle of an ordinary day and for no apparent reason whatsoever, one enters a sort of state of shock. I actually feel fit as a fiddle but suddenly I'm contemplating every cough or sniffle or bump or scrape -- is it a sign? Does low platelette count feel like anything? And what do I take to the hospital? If the test is accurate they're going to admit me. I pack my computer. I grab my book. I pack a peanutbutter sandwich. I take Ginger on a quick walk. Oh this is surreal, walking my dog while who knows what is or is not floating around in my bloodstream.

Quick phone calls and emails to various family members. Now everyone is upset, momentarily. I get to the emergency room, and wait in line behind the fifteen-year-old girl in labor. They check me in stat but I feel pretty silly occupying a bed when I really feel like sitting in a chair. The nurses and doctor are puzzled, too. They can't find anything wrong with me. Not one thing. And so I wait to get another blood test. Nervous? Not nervous? I try to remain calm and distract myself by reading my book. My sweet husband calls and sends reassuring texts from Switzerland. The poor man next to me is deaf and dumb and is having a very bad reaction to a flu vaccine (don't even get me started on this one!). The poor man across the way is in a lot of pain for some reason, but not cooperating with the nurses. I sit quietly in my little bed and wait.

Finally the doctor returns with the blessed news that I am really really fine. My count is 243,000. Perfect. Air escapes from my lungs in a huge, relaxed wave. The world stops spinning and all I want to do is to get out of there and go home and hug my family. I sign papers, change out of that stupid gown, escape to the parking garage, and head home. I stop by the university so I can hug Katie. I hug Henry when I get home. I hug Ginger. I hug the phone when Peter calls. Life is good.

I can finish carving the pumpkin after all. I can enjoy the Trick-or-treaters. Henry's friends come over for dinner and thank goodness there's plenty of spaghetti to go around. We talk. We laugh. It is all so normal it makes the afternoon seem like a bad dream with a happy ending. The boys spontaneously decide to start a music blog, and ask me to quickly draw artwork for the logo, the thumbs-up fist bump, above. Well that seems appropriate!

It isn't the pretty fall leaf I was planning to draw. It wasn't the day I was planning to have. But thank the good Lord I get to have another ordinary day tomorrow. I'll draw my pretty leaf then.

Quercus alba 'Autumn'

Now that I've finished my oak leaf painting, it is time for the administrivia . . . How and where shall I sign it?  Should I inscribe it with the latin name?  When I frame it, should it be matted in the usual way, or should I mount it on top of the mat board, to show the deckled edge of the paper?  So many little decisions to make!  And to further complicate matters, this painting is the last of three in a series, as I mentioned way back at the beginning.  I already completed 'Autumn' and 'Winter' several years ago.  So I think I'm going to frame them all together, in one big wide frame.  I think this will be effective, but it has ramifications as to how I sign each one.  (It might be tedious to see Quercus alba three times in a row, or not?) It is times like this when it would be helpful to have a teacher looking over my shoulder!  So while I'm noodling over all the many possibilities, I'll show you how 'Autumn' turned out:

Finished?

So this is the most difficult decision one has to face when making a painting.  Is it done yet?  I suppose it is easier to know when you have finished a botanical illustration compared to, say, an abstract painting.  But still, how do you know you have nailed it?  Ann Marie Evans, whose 5-step process I follow when making a painting, says there is technically speaking a 6th step, which she calls "Messing About," in her very Brittish accent.  I really try hard not to mess about too much.  I find I get myself into a muddy mess if I fool with a painting for too long. 

The goal is to paint until you have captured the essence of your subject, as faithfully as you can, and stop yourself just moments before it becomes 'overworked'.  The only way to learn this moment is through trial and error, I have found.  When I'm at the end of a painting, I start to get obsessed with perfection.  I can't "see" the whole because I am too far down in the details.  This is when I know it is time to stop.  I put down my brushes.  I take a big step back and see if I am ready to say it is done.  I let the paper dry.  Then, the next day, I sign it.  I have a little deal with myself that once I sign a painting, I don't mess with it anymore.  That's it.

So today, I put down the brushes on my Quercus alba.  I think it is done.  What do you think?  The only thing remaining to do is clean up the few smudges and dripped paint on my white background.  I'll show you that next time.  Until then, enjoy!

Old Man Tree

Taking a break from my white oak, I thought I'd share a pen and ink sketch I made recently of one of my favorite trees on the planet, Old Man Tree.  This tree is growing on an island in Georgian Bay, Ontario, where our dearest friends have a cottage.  We have been visiting their island for ten years now, and every time we go I thrill to the sight of this tree, standing tall and proud on a rocky promontory overlooking the water.  It is gnarled and bent from years of assault from the wind and weather. No telling how old this tree is, for the harsh climate stunts the growth of everything that dares to try and survive on the rocks with minimal soil and no protection. 

I love the stark beauty of this environment.  I love the massive slabs of dramatically striped granite, which could tell the full story of the Canadian Shield, if only I understood the language of geography.  I love the moss and lichen, eking out their existence on the rocks and adding to the drama with their vibrant color.  I love the sound of the water slapping the shore.  And I love Old Man Tree, the quiet sentinel, reminding me to slow down, breathe deeply, and against all adversity, feel safely rooted to the Earth.

Here's a photo to give you a sense of the drama that is Georgian Bay, and a slightly different angle of Old Man Tree, which really shows his lean . . . Enjoy!



How to sharpen the edges

Now I'm going to let you in on a little secret of the trade.  Take a look at this leaf I'm pointing to with the pencil:

I need to make the edge of the leaf look as sharp and clear as I possibly can, so the image will jump off the page.  Can you see a faint dark green line which follows the edges around the bottom of the leaf and ends right where I put my pencil?  I take one of my smallest brushes, a size 00, and paint a really fine line using Chromium Oxide Green.  This pigment is a grayish green, and is one of the most opaque watercolor pigments (really cloudy, in other words).  It will hide a multitude of painting transgressions.  Right after I paint the edge, I try to blend the 'leaf' side of the line in with the adjacent green color.  But the outside edge I leave alone.

Now sit back and view this leaf from more of a distance.  Can you tell a difference in bottom half of the leaf, which I have worked on, and the top half (above the pencil) which I still have yet to do?  Isn't that cool?  And from even more of a distance, as you would normally view the painting, it really is effective.  I don't have the steadiest hand in the world, so my edges tend not to be naturally sharp and crisp.  (Does this say something about my personality?)  So when a teacher of mine shared this secret, it transformed my paintings. 

Oh and yes, I will soon put some legs on my ladybug!

Slowly making progress . . .

I have the start of a busy school year to blame for my lack of blog posts lately.  I am a mom, after all :)  Getting back to business, I am working now on refining all of the details of the painting.  I'm deep into Stage 5, trying to make everything look crisp and clean.  Let me see if I can show you what I mean.  Scroll down to the bottom of my last posting and take a look at those acorns.  See if you can tell what I've done since then:

It is difficult to zoom in close and keep the details with this software, but can you see that with some transparent washes of brown, I've given the acorn fruit more shape? And by going in with dark reddish brown I've made the grooves in the acorn tops more distinct.  The effect is to make them "pop" off the page, and seem very lifelike.

By the way, do you have any idea just how many acorns one white oak tree can produce?  And what happens to all those acorns anyway?  Do the squirrels get every last one?  A study was done not long ago of one mature tree, which produced a whopping 15,000 acorns in one season.  That's enough seeds to start an entire forrest!  But of that number, 83% were eaten by squirrels and other animals; 6% were attacked by insects, weevils and larvae; and nearly all the rest were naturally imperfect.  Less than 1% of that initial number actually sprouted, and of those few survivors, half died as sprouts.  Imagine the energy expended to produce that paltry result!  And yet think of all of the Life that tree sustains and supports in the process: the birds and beasties and bugs and life we can't even see with the naked eye.  The next time you see a sappling, congratulate it for beating the odds!

I'll leave you with a quote, in Latin no less, which sums up my admiration for this mighty tree:
De minimus maxima.
No translation needed.

Quercus alba - stage five

It is true, folks, the devil is in the details.  You can look at my painting now and say, "Wow, pretty good!"  But I'm not after "pretty good."  I want you to look at my painting and say, "Man, that's beautiful!!"  There's only one way to get from 'pretty good' to 'beautiful', and that is the Details.  I've come this far . . . why stop now?  This stage is actually really fun.  I get to pull out more Nifty Studio Tools which I've shown below. 

The first thing is, I need to be able to look very closely and critically at all the edges and make sure they are crisp and clean as a whistle.  To do this, I need my trusty magnifiers.  When I've got these on, I pray nobody comes to the door and I forget to take them off.  They are frightful!  But effective.

Next, to add all the fine details like the puckers on the acorn hats and the legs on my ladybug, I need tee-weeny brushes.  I have size 000 and 0000 to do the job.  It is these details that delight a veiwer when he or she is standing with their nose to the painting and really scrutinizing it.  I always like to give them some nice reward for their careful attention to the details; and my miniscule brushes to the trick.

Finally, I have to deal with the mistakes.  I'll talk more about this later, but thankfully there is a way to have a 'do over' in botanical painting.  It involves the razor blade and a burnisher, and I'll show you how that works shortly.  And now, if you'll excuse me, back to my painting!