While I was with my family over Christmas I took my two younger sisters out to a pottery painting place. I figured we could make fun memories and beautiful things to remind us of each other and the time we had together.
My sister the artist painted this. I am in awe of her skill. She has been diligently practicing and getting better and better. By the way, this was painted free-hand from a picture.
My sister the knitter, like me, does not enjoy coffee. So she painted a tea mug instead (the inside is brown, so I think it looks very hot-chocolatey).
Hello, friends! I just wanted to let you know that I have updated my “Art” page. I would be honoured if you would go check it out. You can click on this link or on the button at the top of the page. These are some of my older paintings from back when I painted more often. I need to go back to painting more.
In most cities in the U.S. “downtown” refers to the bad part of town, the part you don’t venture into after dark if you can at all help it. I am blessed to live in a city where downtown is a cultural center. The River waterfalls gently, and a park has been carved out around it. Small shops and restaurants abound. I love downtown. I go whenever I can. Yesterday I found myself walking downtown, only to be pleasantly surprised to see that this month local artists are opening their studios to the public. I love art of all sorts, whether it be a well-written book, an exquisitely performed sonata, or a marvelous painting. I could not pass this opportunity by not only to view art, but to talk with its creators! May I just remark as an aside that artists are often tagged as a bit bizarre, and while some may warrant this, most are simply lovely people.
The first studio I entered showcased the works of two artists – a husband/wife team. Only here disaster had struck. The husband had died earlier this year. The art was beautiful, and I really enjoyed talking with the Widow. She told me the stories of the paintings. I continued on to her studio-mate’s area. The three of us started talking about art, and somehow I ended up telling them my dreams of being an opera singer. Well, of course, they asked me to sing, and I obliged. Compliments ensued, but then something transpired that doesn’t usually happen for me: the Widow ducked into her studio and came back with a gift. She gave me a print of a painting of a girl. She is standing in a room, hiding behind a checkered blanket. “She reminds me of you,” the Widow said, “when she comes out from behind the blanket.”
I am honoured by the Widow’s gift. I, too, have experienced loss. I hope that I brought her some joy in her world that has turned upside-down. I pray for her to be comforted.
As I’ve said before, I love performing. Tomorrow evening my choir is presenting a recital of largely sacred works. I am so excited to have this opportunity to perform as a group with fellow musicians. That is something I miss a lot in my solo work. Musicians are some of the awesomest people on earth in my humble (but slightly biased) opinion. I love how a person or group of people can take some words and some dots on a page and transform them into a beautiful work of art. And then when it’s done, we can do it again and it will be completely new and different every single time. Music is like the visual arts in many ways, but this is one of their differences. Whereas a painting or sculpture can be finished and hung on a wall or placed in a museum as a memorial to the artist forever, music is created again and again, and a duplicate portrayal can never exist. Maybe that’s what I love about music. I can run out of landscapes to paint, but music will never be the same.