Lucinda Williams - Blaze Foley

For as long as I have been a Lucinda Williams fan, I have loved this song. I must admit - until recently, I thought the song was about Townes Van Zandt. I briefly even considered that it might be about Gram Parsons, but I think Lucinda must have been only about eight years old when Gram died.

Anyway, this song is about Blaze Foley.

"Blaze Foley"     Watercolor on paper.     March, 2011.

Adena Oddment

Watercolor on paper.     2 1/2" x 3 1/2".     March, 2011.

Goldenrod

     If I recall correctly, I took the photo I used for this on Phillips Road, in rural Granville, Ohio.

Goldenrod     Watercolor on paper     March, 2011

Sangre del Toro

     I really do not intend to do a series of American authors, it's just that Faulkner reminded me of Hemingway.

"Sangre del Toro"     Watercolor on paper, March, 2011

I think I should practice painting hair.

Faulkner in Ochre

     I have tentatively named this picture "William Faulkner," but I am also considering "Light in August," from one of his novels, and I think one of the greatest novels in all American Literature, or in all literature of any origin, for that matter. But I think I might rather save that title for another picture. Any suggestions?
  

     The color is much more vibrant than what my scanner has captured. The painting is from a photograph that I liberated from the Internet. I would prefer not to crib from other people's work, but Faulkner's dead, so my own photo of him is probably out of the question.

Those Damned Swiss

            I have a temper. I have a pretty good idea where it came from, but these things seem to distill as the generations advance. My temper can be nasty, and it is usually accompanied by some creative language that any sailor would be proud to possess. (I’m sure not all sailors use bad language; it is, however called “salty” for a reason.) But, my daughter’s temper is absolutely Vesuvian compared to mine, which is vehement compared to my father’s, which as I recall, was almost non-existent. My daughter and I typically get angry at situations, not people, such as things that don’t work the way they’re supposed to. And we don’t hold a grudge.

            I say that my father had no temper. I suppose no one is totally without a temper. I have heard him say “Horsefeathers!” on a number of occasions, usually having to do with his thumb and a hammer. He once threw my uncle - not his brother - through a window. My mother once smashed a cigar in the face of the same uncle – not her brother, either. (You had to know this uncle.) My brother had a problem with thumbs and hammers also, but, that’s to be expected as he was left-handed. His choice of vocabulary did not include “horsefeathers.”

            Now we come to the source of my temper (and my daughter’s). My mother’s temper was sometimes monumental. She claimed to have gotten it from “those damned Swiss,” as she referred to fully half of her heritage. But, I don’t know if that’s accurate, as I will explain.

            My non-Swiss grandfather did not have much of a temper. In fact, I have a clear memory of him scraping burnt toast, without a word, rather than toasting more bread. I don’t remember him scraping the toast just once; it seems like it was every time, like a breakfast ritual. But then, this was a man who made his dogs a cooked breakfast every day. He said the eggs made their coats shiny.

            My grandmother had a splendid temper. I can just barely remember her; I was small when she died, but I remember she had some impressive outbursts. Don’t get me wrong, she was kind, loving and generous, and looked more like a grandma than anyone I have ever seen. But she was one of “those damned Swiss.”

            There is a favorite family story about my great-grandfather, Rudolf Regetz. The family was at the breakfast table for pancakes and maple syrup, which was on a Lazy Susan with other condiments. When my great-grandfather tasted that he had accidentally used vinegar instead of syrup, he said not a word, but gently turned the Lazy Susan, took the syrup, poured it over the vinegar-soaked pancakes, and ate his breakfast. Oddly enough, this was my toast-scraping grandfather’s father-in-law, not his father. Apparently, in some of “those damned Swiss,” the temper trait is recessive.

Cold Weather Birding

I don’t go birding in inclement weather anymore. What I do now is use these cold, rainy days to recall those times when I had no fear (or good sense?) – and warmer, dryer outer-wear. The rewards can be great. On days just like today, forty-five degrees with side-ways rain, I have seen birds I have seldom seen on more temperate days, including common loons, horned grebes and white-winged scoters.

Ice Shelf and Grebe

The last time I saw a horned grebe, I was at Hoover Reservoir, and there was an ice-shelf that extended out about one hundred yards from the shore. The biting wind dragged beautiful, shallow, curving drifts of snow and granular ice across the surface of the shelf. Beyond the shelf of ice, the lake shook itself to keep from freezing. Even with ten-power binoculars, the grebe was at the very tip of my ability to identify it.

Negative Space

     After preparing a drawing, I like to paint the negative space - the background. In this picture of a female cardinal, I liked what I had, so I quit without filling the entire frame. At other times, I have felt obligated to fill the entire space, and subsequently, have ruined some pictures.

Female Cardinal, Watercolor on paper, March 1, 2011

     I decided to quit while I was ahead, because watercolor is not a game of perfect.