Ospreys and Killdeers setting up house

I am a big fan of the bird. I think
they know this. That must be why
the Osprey at school always announces
her return by flying as close to me as
possible -- not in a threatening way,
but in a "Hi Barbara -- see- how- beautiful- I- am -way." Yep. The Ospreys are back at King, and
there are babies in the huge nest made
out of large twigs sitting on top of one
of the very tall light standards in the
parking lot. These birds are awe-inspiring.

http://pelotes.jea.com/AnimalFact/Birds/osprey.htm
I parked my car almost as far away from school
as I could so I'd get a walk in, because
I was in class most of the day. Tonight
walking by the remaining snow banks
I noticed a Killdeer frantically trying to
get my attention about 10 feet from the car.
I remember a Sunday school
picnic when I was a little girl,
where the picnic committee had
to place a wooden box
over a Killdeer nest right in the middle of
the field. Killdeers remind me of the people who
buy houses right beside the airport, and then
complain of the noise. Hello! They are always
at the wrong place at the wrong time, poor birds.

I have a massive amount of marking to do, so
talk to you tomorrow.

I'm putting in a picture of the flower shops
yesterday. Today it was so warm that I stood
outside in the sun without a coat to call Steven on
a break.

Have an airborne day

Oh boy the pansies are back!

Hi,

Today was a great day for signs of spring. Steven likes to buy me
flowers every weekend as part of his Valentine's gift. The trip to
the flower store for locally grown roses (yellow this week) takes me by a window with what seems like
the ideal portrait chair (covet, covet). Today in front of that window
there were tulips getting ready to come up. It's still mighty cold,
but the bike is out of the snow bank (abandoned), and children are
walking along in T-shirts and shorts. Not me. It's spring, but with
a crisp chill in the air. We bought pansies and stuck them in our
huge planters out front. They look a bit lost, but I love them
I picked some. Yes! And brought them in to put in a little jug.
Expect a Pansie painting soon, when the marking is done.

Have a creatively flowering day!

Justa justa walking

Some days are almost too complicated to describe. I set off
on a walk to meet my sister part way down St. Clair. Right
away I realized that I've been shut in the house too much in
the last week. Everything looked like a 3 D movie. The
world was singing, completely high on itself. Robins flew
right over my face bragging about being birds, having wings,
being the birds everyone equates with spring.

Even a dilapidated house with a sign under the screen door
condemning it, looked hopeful. Then there were the upsetting
facts - nice old brick low-rise apartments being torn down
for condos, which will no doubt block the sun that sparkled
on everything, making every wish seem possible.

Later after coffee, I walked through Forest Hill with my sister,
and I must have been looking up as we talked because I noticed
such amazing chimneys. The massive mansions wear chimneys
in sculptural designs, not the simple blocks made of brick
favoured on my street.

The painting is one a I did several years ago of Miriam Kaufman's
parents. It has a cheery, spring feeling, so it works today. This is
one of the few portrait paintings I've done exclusively from photos,
without ever meeting the couple. I looked at at least 25 photos, and
had tea with Miriam more than once talking about her parents. So
the conversation took place, just not with the "sitters". I was
trying to capture the love these two felt for each other. I think that
comes through. And they both really liked the painting, which made
me feel lucky.

The rest of the day's been devoted to marking. I say take
your inspiration where you can get it.

Reading to vision

I'm thinking of the line from
Chaucer "Whanne that April
with his shoures sote
The droughte of March hath
perced to the rote. "
Canterbury Tales. Prologue. Line 1.
It's a wet day, and April is
feeding the garden's roots.
I wrote a long blog already today and lost it through some computer glitch. Or my own mistake. So where was I before I was
so rudely deleted? I was talking about a little evening course I developed called Writing to Vision. When I presented it to artists, and asked them to write on a theme, I was
absolutely flabbergasted at the results.
People fluent in the visual world, slipped easily into writing and were equally eloquent in words.

Of course I confessed that I write a journal entry every day,and now a blog too. (Okay
some days I don't get to the handwritten copy.
But I think the activity that powers my
painting and maybe my life, aside from
all the hours spent laughing with my friends,
is reading. I am reading an excellent book --
City of Rains by Nirmal Dass.
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/City-of-Rains-Nirmal-Dass/
9781894345620-4754-Review.html
People who are
addicted to reading, read a lot of tragically
disappointing novels. We don't mean to -- but
we have to have something to read to be happy,
and until we buy a better book, or borrow one,
we keep slogging through lifeless prose. Lately,
deus gratia, I've had three good novels in a row.

This novel has everything. The language is poetic
and vividly descriptive. Set in India and France
it serves up a timely escape from the endless grey
and snow of a Canadian winter. The author is
so gifted in his ability to create place, and move
between languages, that it's a treat to read on
a number of levels. Sadly it's out of print, and
was published by Thistledown Press in 2003.
I think we should all call Chapters/Indigo and
request the book. I'll let you know if it continues
to be wonderful, but I think it will.

So this is my answer. If you can't paint, or write, or
vacuum the living room, and wash the kitchen floor,
get a great book and disappear for a few hours.
Settle down in a comfortable spot with a hot drink,
and maybe a duvet, and read. The cats will come and
join you. The dog will harrumph and lie down at your
feet. Outside the squirrels will take the opportunity
to shred and steal whatever you've left on the
back porch for a minute while you read. The house will
look like a tip, you'll be behind on all of your work,
but after you've read for a good long bit, you'll be
ready to paint, draw, write, sleep, tidy, mark,
design, all of it.

The painting is The Red Tie, done in 2003.
But the young man looks like he needs a good book.

Have a reading day.

Shopping along towards spring

Today was one of those
spring days you imagine
when you think of spring
fever. In English I sent my
restless students out to take
notes describing the landscape.
Back inside they wrote short
essays that captured the day perfectly.
The temperature hovered around zero,
but every student was dreaming about summer.

When I think of summer, this painting comes
to mind. The woman in the picture is the
quintessential summer person -- a gardener
who grows delicious cherry tomatoes,
a person who loves to be outdoors, and
a wonderful hostess.

My brother wants me to talk more
about painting -- to discuss how I do it,
and why I paint the way I do. When I'm painting portraits I respond
to the subject. The painting comes together after I've spent weeks
talking, painting and getting to know the person. This is true even with
old friends. The conversation guides me, even when the sitter has
to be quiet. I make hundreds of decisions in every session,
but that I am barely conscious of what I'm doing until we take
a break. In this case the sitter wanted to be pictured relaxing
in the sun in Greece. She was in fact in her own living
room, in a favourite chair. Everything from the colours I chose to
the style of the work developed unconsciously and consciously
from our delightful conversations.

But back to shopping. I was talking to a friend tonight who can't
wait to go out and get new drapes. For women involved in demanding
work, shopping is the ideal break. We may not even buy anything,
but whether we stroll through a mall, or a market, the variety of
goods, the colours, even the music appeals to us. We feel briefly
released from our responsibilities and then frequently empty
handed, we go back to work renewed.

During this past winter shopping was more of a chore than a pleasure.
The mall parking lots had mountains of snow blocking many
spots. Drivers were edgy and aggressive. The whole process was
fraught. It's late, I have to go. No shopping today.

My advice to those who paint is just this -- do it. I meet so many
painters who say that they no longer have time. Make the time.
Make a place, start small and keep on going. There I hope I made
my brother happy.

Goodnight

Have a magnanimous day tomorrow.

Working the spring thing

Pink light was bouncing off the tall apartment
buildings near my local Loblaws store tonight
when Steven and I went out to pick up some
groceries for dinner. It's the busiest time
of the year at school, and yet spring insists
on slamming itself into your senses. She's like
the fascinating guest who arrives very late at a
party. In she swirls in her fabulous clothes,
breathless with excitement and wonderful
stories -- but you are exhausted, and can barely
keep your eyes open, though you desperately
want to hang on her every word.

So far she's sending flights of excited birds
up into brilliant light in the late afternoon.
She's greening grass that was under seven
feet of snow two weeks ago, and sending rapids of
gushing water all over the province, causing some
serious floods.

I saw a hawk circling on my way to school,
and one just waiting to swoop on my way home.
I am dazzled at the changes, but tired tonight,
and crawling off to bed.

The picture is of a little painting called
The Jolly Fruit Bowl.

Tomorrow have the happiest day yet this year .

Lunch in the swaying towers

It feels more like March than April today.
I went downtown to meet a friend of
mine from my old PipeLine days for lunch.
We both worked in the oil and gas sector,
and she still works in energy. Sometimes
it knocks me out how friends of mine
remain the same. She looks like the
fresh faced girl who first walked into my
office when it was swaying high up in
the winds of Commerce Court. In a wind like
this the doors used to open and shut by
themselves all along the hallway. The elevator
would scrape ominously against the side of
the elevator shaft, making an unholy sound of
metal on concrete.

There is a wind warning, which seems appropriate
for April 1. When I was a child my mother had
one excellent prank that she pulled on us year
after year. She used to change the time on all
the clocks in the house, and wake us up an hour
early for school, then shout "April Fools!" into
our sleepy faces. Thinking about that now I can't
help laughing, and imagining my mother as a
young woman, with four children to get off to
school, dying for some fun. Most of the time
our lives were fairly serious. The house followed
a set routine, and we all did whatever we were
expected to do. But every now and then there
would be a mood of extra fun and gaiety.

Most of the parents I know now are not so
earnest about the job. They know how to have
fun with their kids, and the atmosphere is much
more relaxed. Still I think my love of celebration
comes from my mother, and her determination
to see that we had some special times.

I'll have to take a better photo of this
painting. It was on a high wall at our
show, and this is the best image we could
get there. But hey. It's called Friends Waiting.

Have a gusty day.