Dreaming of Rain

"Dreaming of Rain," 8 x 10 watercolor, 140 lb. paper

I dream of rain these days.

Unrelenting heat, and it's not even August yet. Much is still green, but if this "dome: doesn't dissipate (geen wanting to use that word), brown will be the dominate color across the Great Plains.

Can't do much about it, other than pay an air conditioning bill. 

Or, paint some of my dreams, in "water"color, of course, live giving fluid in a hot, arid land.

Today's small effort.

Desert Drama

"Desert Drama," 5 x 7 acrylic study on canvas panel

The drama of far distances and spacious skies of the arid Southwest overwhelms the senses with an infinity of colors and light--and the sense of size. 

To me, rain storms are among the most dramatic, both as a contrast to the arid land and air, and because they dominate the wide open spaces, clouds always changing, always moving, and rain falling transparently across the landscapes.

The Navajo consider torrential rain from thunderstorms male rains and slow moving clouds and gentle rains and mist  female.

I'm captivated by those rains, their shapes and colors. Today's painting, a study for a larger piece, is another of my desert series, also an unintended work in complementary colors.

The moods of rain

"Rainy Day<' 5 x 7 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico rough press 

Today I heard Willie Nelson's plaintive voice singing "Blue eyes crying the the rain."

Rain brings many moods, and memories of as many songs to me. And the Bible is full of references to life-giving rain.

As the skies clouded up again today, with more rain promised, several of them ran though my head, some romantic,  some nostalgic, a few happy, and many more sad.

When you grow up in the arid southwest, you always notice rain, and look forward to the building clouds and rain of the early fall monsoon season. Those too bring memories and moods.

Much of the country has had too much or too little rain this year. Here in Oklahoma, on the eastern Great Plains, I'm thankful for the cooler temperatures, and abundant rainfall...and the multiple memories.

Today's little watercolor, out of response to those memories and moods.

After the rain

"After the Rain," 8 x 10 watercolor, 140 lb Fabriano Artistico rough press paper

When it rains on the Great Plains, you can see it coming, hear and feel it when it hits, and smell it as the clouds recede across the far horizons, leaving the landscape soaked.

The storms usually build in the afternoon and evenings, when the atmosphere and light and color is most dramatic.

On the plains in Oklahoma and Texas and elsewhere, except when the weather turns violent, rain is always welcome. Clouds on the horizon bring hope and action to a sometimes monotonous landscape. 

Today's watercolor comes from a memory of those times, and a study in complementary colors.

Thoughts like falling rain

Rainy Day Thoughts, 5 1/2 by 7 1/2 watercolor, 300 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

Rain. It's supposed to rain today, and though it won't be a warm spring rain, it's still welcome.
In the West and Great Plains, rain always is welcome, though at other times of the year you can't count on it being gentle. It will be chilly today, but gentle, a hint of spring perhaps.
The promise of rain brings happy thoughts, freshening the odor of life, of love.
I especially enjoy watching rain descending in a transparent curtain, softening the horizons. That's a metaphor for sure. Perhaps from a cabin window, with a fire, a book, warm soup, a cat dozing nearby.
"Pluviophile--(n), a lover of rain, someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days"

Daily #WorldWatercolorGroup January challenge, "Happy things."

The Voice of the Rain

5 1/2" by 9"

A steady, gentle spring rain and cool weather today brings thoughts of Whitman's words and a watercolor--
The Voice of Rain
"And who art thou? said I to the    soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed, and
yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin,
and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering,
Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns.)"

Spring approaches

Spring closes in--5 1/2 by 9 watercolor, 140# d'Arches

Everyone I know is ready for spring...and despite snowfall last night, and more cold forecasts for the weekend, today brings promise of sunshine and spring showers, on fallow fields and minds. Equinox is close. Thus today's painting...hope for color and renewal on the plains of Oklahoma.

Nature's patterns

It rained last night, a lot. A morning walk shows lots of runoff, and the intricate patterns of nature, in the sand, or in a glistening tree stump. Then there are the infinite patterns of falling water.

After the rain...A day to watch clouds

It's a day to watch clouds. We woke to steady rain, and then intermittent rain. By noon, the skies dried up and the ragged clouds began moving south. Soon the mugginess was pushed out by a cool front, and patches of clear sky and sunshine. Then a north breeze began marching more clouds in steady processions across the skies, like armadas of invading ships. Infinite shapes  and colors and contrasts. Quite a show. The sights and sounds of summer.

Must be spring, in Oklahoma

Thunder, lightning, downpour, rainbow, strong south wind, lots of clouds, sun is out, cold front coming...
Must be Oklahoma

Pueblo country rain--watercolor

10 by 11, 300 pound Artistico paper

East Texas

Swamps and steeples.

Pines and pickups.

Barbecue, beer, bayous and Baptists.

Holiness and honky-tonks.

Wildflowers and wandering roads.

In East Texas, springtime feels like it just rained, or is about to.

There's no horizon, and the humid skies are usually Confederate gray as the warm Gulf air sticks  to you.

More than the air sticks to you.

 Driving in East Texas is like going back into the womb almost. It's warm, and wet, and ... green.

This is one of the places families are born, and grow, and spread out like runners from the ivy growing up the trunks of the hardwoods, across miles and years.

You realize that when you go back for the funeral of an aunt, your mother's youngest sister and her friend.

You realize that as you sit around in lawn chairs visiting with cousins you hadn't seen for years.

The memories of earlier years come flooding back, drenching you like the soft Texas rain which begins as a mist and then just seems to saturate every green plant before moving on elsewhere. And without horizons you can't see the rain coming or going, but it leaves pools of standing water and wet pavement and water-dappled leaves to mark its passing, like the memories.

Memories of playing as a child with cousins, or aunts and uncles doing magic tricks, or playing the guitar, or playing 42. Memories of walking to a nearby Mom and Pop store to buy 5-cent Cokes and 3-cent candy bars. Memories of going to grandma's house where she made cornbread in old cast iron forms. Memories of teen-agers going to the corner drug store to escape the heat. Memories of sitting on a porch with a summer girlfriend, watching the rain come down and the moments sweep by.

Memories of aunts and uncles and parents long gone.

"I feel like I'm going back in time when I come here," I tell two of my cousins mourning the death of their mother.

One cousin replies: "In this town time stands still."

My  cousin who works in a nursing home says in her soft East Texas drawl, "I work with time every day."

(Written while driving north from Silsbee a few years ago, watching, wondering, wandering)