That's the title of my newest painting. My teacher used the word "awesome" when he described my lack of talent. Scott said, "You even put the little black dots inside the petals of the flower." Scott, also known as the Beau of Cowbell, is the art critic for the Willow Grove Times (which has just popped into existence in this blog).
"I like to cram things into the picture," I said to my teacher Chris. I can't stand quietness. I particularly like patterns. Matisse is one of my favorite artists. When he could no longer paint due to old age, he made cut-outs of shapes. When you enter my bedroom -- and I hope you will -- you'll have to wait in line, tho -- you'll see a print by Matisse I bought at Ze Barnes.
Dyou think I'll ever learn to put photos on my blog the way Bill Hess does?
Here's a classic exchange that took place at our Thurs nite painting class at Abington High School.
RZ: I wanna make a table to put the pitcher on. (I'd managed to make something that was recognizable as a pitcher with some orange flowers sticking out of it that were passing fair as flowers.)
CH: Okay, what color do you instinctively think would go well with your burnt umber background and the green pitcher?
RZ: Actually, Chris, nothing is coming to me.
CH: I see blue.
RZ: Oh, you're right. I'll make it blue. Powder blue. But I want it checkered. (I looked up expectantly at him like a child at his parent.)
CH: I like that. I like it a lot.
Well, first you gotta mix your blue paint. Everything is complicated. Very sensual experience squeezing out the acrylic paint from its tube. I checked w/Chris to see if when I mix the paint, I can 'scrub' it back n forth. I told him my elem. school art teacher was Viola Wike. What I did not tell him was that she said, DON'T FRIGGING SCRUB WITH YOUR BRUSH.
One time, (I was always the teacher's pet cuz I was smart and adorable), I gave the right answer - the word 'technique' - and she picked me up off the ground and hugged me in front of the whole class.
I was mortified.
Now, I'd gotten a fairly decent painting so far and all I was trying to do was not ruin the thing. Every time I set brush to canvas something goes wrong.
Once the teacher came over to me thother nite and said, Ruth, that orange color is muddy. It's not too late to wipe it off.
I'm still not sure what a muddy color is but we bring wet rags to class so I mopped it off.
The final painting never comes out the way you think. Scott, the art critic of the Times, said he really liked the little yellow circles I made all over the pitcher.
I laffed remembering the difficulty I had making em. Chris didn't want me to fill em in, so they look like Cheerios, but don't think about it.
Okay, time to get ready for my breadmaking class this afternoon at Abington Libe. I hope I remember to show up.