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A close-up of watercolors tortured in the name of art.  More anguished work in my gallery of CURIOUS PAINTINGS.

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OLD & IN THE WAY: no, not me, the flowers! Wrinkles are a good thing, especially in flowers.
 
Wrinkles mean you worry a lot. Or someone left you out in the sun and didn’t water you enough. The former has me worrying a lot; about the tide not returning, sun not coming up, about the Pats’ chances in the Super Bowl, no snow, Pats’s chances, too much tide and about what’s for lunch. As for the latter, as a painter, I’ve got a subject matter with character (more than can be said for myself. I’ve got “cranky,” but you can’t paint cranky.) that demands a somewhat focussed rendering, usually with painfully tiny watercolor brushes, sizes #3 – 7 (which begs the question: how come as the brush gets smaller, requiring fewer camel hairs, it gets more expensive? What, the camel trying to drive up demand?) and a massively big bottle of ibuprofen.  
 
Combine that with a sense of patience that often times leaves your (poor, long suffering) wife suspecting you’ve passed away at your desk because you haven’t twitched a muscle in 4-5 hours, and you’re ready to render wrinkled flowers! 
 
To learn more about aging gracelessly, visit my gallery of CURIOUS PAINTINGS

BARKING UP the WRONG MUSHROOM. Here it is, the middle of Spring already, almost Summer, and I’m sending artwork of Autumnal decline. How perverse.

While I’m not claiming to have found this seashell in the woods (that would’ve been SOME high tide,) with its surface mottled with moss greens and browns, I thought it would fit well with the other forresty stuff I’d collected last Fall. COLD OLD & ROUND because it was DAMN COLD, I’m OLD and the shells are ROUND. Or I’m ROUND, not sure. 
 
More nonsense at my website of CURIOUS PAINTINGS.   

Despite my earlier bleatings about tramping through local hills and dale to collect nature samples for my CURIOUS PAINTINGS series, I stumbled across BIG RED, BIG LEAF, above, after having completed a bank transaction in downtown Ipswich. No getting lost in the forest or running my boat aground in the river, I managed to simultaneously complete 2 tasks at once, itself a HUGE rarity, by conducting bank business AND finding something new to paint. If I’d gotten a parking ticket, it would’ve been 3 things simultaneously but they don’t issue tickets in downtown Ipswich.      

At the very least, BIG RED, BIG LEAF provided me the chance to throw a lot of red paint around the studio; you’d be surprised at how little red is used in nature, excepting Autumn. More paint, red and otherwise, at http://www.briancody.com.

 
Perhaps it’s the arrogance of middle age, but I didn’t think I could get lost anymore. I don’t mean lost on the interstate and stopping at the next gas station to get directions, but Hansel & Gretel lost where you start wondering what it’ll be like to sleep under a pile of leaves. And whether your death by wolves will be quick and what do those little red berries taste like? Never mind if your kids will even notice, much less care, if you’re missing.
 
But enough of this therapist’s couch stuff. We tried walking a new, recently opened Trustee’s Reservation trail and got lost. Which provided me plenty of time to collect foresty-stuff, an AUTUMN ASSORTMENT as it were, for either future painting or that evening’s dinner.
 
More survivalist’s art at my CURIOUS PAINTINGS site.

Posted via email from briancody’s posterous

So my idea was to go for a late Autumn walk in the local labyrinth called Appleton Farms, in Ipswich, MA. Anecdotal history has the farm in the Appleton family since Colonial times, recently bequeathed with the passing of the last Appleton family member to the Trustees of the Reservations, which in turn opens the large tract of land, including the largest open meadow in New England, to the general public for much tramping about.
 
So my wife and I walk, or rather she walks with an enthusiasm matched inversely by my hiking incompetence, through the orange and brown Appleton highways and byways. And by hike’s end, I find myself hauling a collection of colorful dead leaves, pieces of moss, assorted stumps and whatever mushrooms couldn’t outrun me.
 
Moral of the story, such a story as it is? Always bring a bag, never know what you’re going to find that might make a good CURIOUS PAINTING. Or a bad one. Leaves, logs, seashells, seaweed, broken glass, you name it, it’s out there waiting to make a name for itself.

 

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