a reminder...Red roses too...

"Red Roses Too," 8 x 10 watercolor, 140 lb Fabriano Artistico cold press 

It's a grim world out there, just as grim as in 1968 in the midst of the Vietnam War when thousands were suffering and dying, daily. This year, we're in  daily wars with a deadly pandemic, and with just as deadly and more violent racism and bigotry

Yet in 1968 Louis Armstrong could sing and play  "Red Roses Too," trying to bring some brightness and comfort to the world. There was still a wonderful world.

Yes, we need color and comfort, and red roses. There can still be a wonderful world.

"I see trees of green, red roses, too,
I see them bloom, for me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

"I see skies of blue, and clouds of white,..."

Thus today's watercolor, inspired by those lyrics.

Story of art rescued with chalk--Title?

Watercolor and chalk, 6 x 8, Title?

Sometimes watercolor just doesn't work for me. I have a large collection of almost paintings in the closet, and I pull them out ever once in a while and try painting something else on the reverse.
If that effort doesn't quite work to my satisfaction either,  I may toss it in the waste basket.
More than once my wife Susan sees one like that, pulls it out, and asks if she could have it. Then she takes my Dad's old art chalks, and begins playing with it. 
One such effort hangs on our bedroom wall, of Sacre Coeur in Paris from a photo I took there 15 years ago. The watercolor was pretty good but she took chalk to it, and really improved it. It is literally our painting.
Thus it is with this small 6 x 9 effort that was entirely too dark in watercolor. She recently rescued it and improved it.   I'm framing it for her birthday Saturday.
Title?

Where the wind comes sweepin' down the plains

"Oklahoma Normal," 8 x 10 watercolor, 300 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

Today was one of those iconic days  in Oklahoma, immortalized in the state song.
Yesterday was almost summer, muggy, hot, barely a breathe of breeze.
But not today when a cool front swept across the state, with winds and gusts close to 50 miles per hour in central portions, hurricane strength in the panhandle, and about 30 mph in the southeast.
In the angst of pandemic where people are wondering about a "new normal," out here on the Great Plains, quickly changing weather and strong winds are "the normal," all the time.
Inspiration? Wind-whipped clouds, foliage and grasses. Sure. Oklahoma. Today's watercolor.

Summer Shadows on the Great Plains

"Cloud Shadows on the Great Plains," 14 x 20, 300 lb d'Arches cold press paper

When you live on the Great Plains in the summer, the heat and humidity build clouds of all shapes and sizes.
When you can see a long way out there, across the rolling rural landscapes, the clouds  ever-changing shadows dance across the fields and hills in a windy, moving symphony of shapes and color.
Today's watercolor, the largest I've painted in a long while, is a larger version inspired by by the previous one, "Room to Breathe." That became sort of a "study" or warm-up by the intimidation I feel when working on large paintings.
Given the pandemic and the racial crisis we're trying to survive, 
I  thought of  T.S. Eliot's lines from "The Wasteland" that capture some of the truth we're living in now. 

            “Between the idea
        And the reality
        Between the motion
        And the act
        Falls the Shadow”

It's interesting to me how often I think of poetry and literature when I'm painting, and our national mood seems to be a metaphoric wasteland. 
To offset that, I wanted to try to capture the peace, beauty and vastness of the Great Plains. To me they're also a metaphor for our freedoms and future. I hope this painting approaches it. Can't wait to get it framed.
The colors on this photo are not exact, because it's taken outside and reflects some of the blue of the sky, but it's close. My signature is under the big fence post, which the camera lost the detail on.

Room to breathe, on the Great Plains

"Room to Breathe," 11 x 14 watercolor, 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico extra white cold press paper

It's been a difficult week to even breathe in America.
The racist homicide of the Minneapolis man, who couldn't breathe, followed by national and global protests, followed by  senseless violence and vitriol and crime, added to the almost crushing weight of the biologic virus on me, and many.
The anger I feel for the victims of racism and violence, some of whom I know, is compounded by my deepening angst for my country and its future.
As a retired white man in a suburban neighborhood, I can't add anything to the conversation that would be meaningful or significant.
So disturbing has this week been I've not been able to even consider painting. When the pandemic struck, I tried to paint every day, and bring bright color into the world as an antidote. But this virus of cruelty and injustice stalled after my initial reaction and painting a week ago, "Justice." 
Finally, after viewing a program on the Great Plains, I was able to pick up the paintbrushes today and attempt capturing their vastness, their skies.
Why does a painting happen? It's personal, and I realized as I painted in the midst of all this week's ugliness how I needed room, the room of those wide open spaces.
Perhaps it isn't a time for cheerful colors, but definitely a time for much needed peace.
As I searched for a title, nothing seemed to quite fit. Then it did.