Challenge-Draw Your Hand

My Hand
Realistic
8.5" x 11"
pencil

If you study the work of artists through the ages, you will find that they often did self portraits, or used themselves as models when they needed to see how some part of a person looked.

Even in elementary school art, students can begin doing self portraits by looking in a mirror at home or in class. They can try to remember what they look like, or look across the table and draw each other. They can check in a mirror to make corrections in their self portraits.

You should remember what you look like because you probably spend more time looking at yourself than anyone else. But, do you look and not really see? Or remember? From brushing your teeth, to washing your face, fixing your hair or makeup, checking your clothes in a mirror, you have probably spent hours looking at yourself in a mirror during your life.

Sometimes, when people draw another person, it may look like the artist. Possibly they draw what they know, or what is within them, instead of what they actually see. We translate the strengths, the lines and shapes that we are familiar with, or feel, into our drawings, without realizing it. And, again, it is easy to put down the image that we are so familiar with , the one that we have seen in our mirrors for many years.

One thing that can be done is to draw a picture of your own hand, or your own foot. You have probably looked at those almost as much as you have at your face! Before we did portraits, I had students start with studies of their hands and their feet.

I hope that you will try this yourself! The more we practice seeing, and drawing, the more observant we become, which helps all sorts of things in our lives. So, try this challenge, and, if you come out with something interesting, scan it, or take a photo, and send it along to me. I'll make a slideshow out of them and add them to the blog. Might be a fun thing to do! I need to do a new drawing, too.

This is what you do:

1. Put a piece of paper on your work space. You can tape it down, if that will help to keep it straight.

2. Shake your "opposite hand" (the one that you don't write with!), and drop it loosely, in a relaxed position on the table in front of you, and near, but not on, the paper. You will need to keep your hand in that position until you are finished, so be sure that you are comfortable.

3. Don't trace!

4. Study your hand, then find a place to start drawing. It could be on the tip of the fingers or the thumb, at your wrist, or wherever you want to focus first.

5. Draw the outside edges first until you have drawn the outline.

6. Add details such as creases, wrinkles, and fingermails.

7. Look for the darkest areas and add shadows. Try to blend in the direction that things go such as up and over, down and around, to show form.

8. Use a tortillion or stump, or a piece of tissue to rub or smooth your shading. Some people blend with their fingers, but most people agree that this could add an oily spot from the natural oils in your skin.

In shading, some people like to use hatching or cross hatching, (diagnoal and crossed marks). To me, that is okay for a hurried sketch, but, in order to show the texture of skin, my preference is for smooth blending. I like the hatching effect for rough textures, like window screens, but not for things that are actually smooth. Unless it is used like shorthand, an indication of more work to be done later.

9. Go back and darken any areas that need to be darker.

10. To add highlights, use an eraser to remove any pencil work on that spot.

One thing to remember is to look, not only for the light source, and where the light falls or doesn't fall, but also that light appears to come forward and dark seems to recede, or go back. So, if you want something to look like it is coming forward, or closer to you, you can lighten that area. Or, if you want it to appear to go back, away from you, you can darken that area and it will appear a bit more distant.

This challenge is to do a more realistic style hand, but I have other ways to do more studies of the hand.

Not only will this work on observation of something that is very close to you-your own hand, and make you a bit more observant, but you will have a nice drawing of what your hand looks like, at this stage of your life. And a nice piece of art, as well. It's really good to do these things, and self portraits, at different stages of life. Hands are interesting, as well as faces.

You may have had older relatives who, when you were a child, would place their hands beside your's and say, "I remember when my hands were smooth like that." It would be very hard to understand that as you looked at your own smooth hand and their wrinkled, gnarled hands.

One thing I remember about my mother is her little finger as she played the organ, and then the rest of her hand. As she died, I held that little finger. It was the only warm thing left on her body.

We think of taking pictures, or having portraits of the face and the whole figure, but we don't often think of the hands of the people in our lives. We remember them working, their touch, their gestures, how they used their hands when they played, laughed, sneezed, talked, and all the things that people do in life. But we don't often think of recording those things that are so familiar in life.

At a workshop for art teachers, we were doing drawings of our hands, and I was so thrilled when they picked my drawing to go on a publication for the Regional Education Service Center! I don't think that I am that good at realism, so I was very surprised.

Anyway, when you finish, scan and send it to me at my contact address, if you would like to participate. I know that people are busy, especially at this time of year, but, perhaps, if I allow a week to do the drawing, you will be able to work it in by then.

Try to send your drawing in by next Wednesday. I'm anxious to see what you can do, and what you might like to share.

I do have more drawings, and more recent drawings of my hand, (and other things) but I happened to find this one in a stack of things I wanted to scan. I thought that teachers who might need a drawing assignment might be able to use this .

Happy drawing!

Let me know if you see something that you would be interested in purchasing. Thanks for reading and for sharing.

Blue Monday-Wash Day Today

Blue Monday
Wash Day Today
8.5" x 11"
pencil
Previously, I posted a drawing of wash day, always on Monday, when I was growing up, and I wrote about how it was at our house, and in most of the community. Monday seems to be the day for washing in many places besides our little corner of Texas.
To see that drawing, along with the one about ironing day on Tuesday, and heavy cleaning day, waxing floors and such, on Wednesday, look back in the older posts.
Today's drawing is of wash day today. I thought that might be appropriate since it is another Blue Monday, with clothes in the washing machine and more, sorted and ready to go. It's a gray day outside with warnings of the first freeze of the year tonight. I'm sure glad that I don't have to do my laundry over a wash pot and a sink with a rub board, then hang clothes on the clothes line outside, wait for them to dry, and have to carry all that inside to sort, fold, sprinkle, and get ready to iron on Tuesday.
In my picture, above, there are stacks of laundry on the floor by the utility room, sorted and ready to wash. The washer and dryer are beyond the open door, along with the central heating and air conditioning unit. A variety of products for making the clothes clean and soft line the shelf about the washing machine and dryer.
I'm sitting in the den, in a recliner, feet propped up, while I draw and watch an old movie on tv. Bitsy, my elderly Manx cat, is perched behind my head while she naps. Beyond the double doors is the dining room and living room, with the organ. My mother's painting of what we called "the big house" or "the two story house" (my great-grandfather's house), hangs over the organ. There is a fireplace on my right side. That would be nice for a warm fire tonight and tomorrow after the cold weather comes in. It won't be cold for very long, though.
I don't know if very many other people wash clothes, while they are drawing and watching old movies on tv! That's the way I do my washing, these days. I might even be painting, or in another room, working on my computer, while the machines do the heavy things. That's really amazing, if you stop to think about how things were done not so long ago, and how they are done today. I wonder what new inventions they will come up with in the future to make our lives even easier. And, of course, along those lines, what will they come up with so that everyone can have these same easier lives.
I won't need to iron tomorrow, Tuesday. I caught up with that on Saturday. Most things don't need to be ironed, these days. But, an occasional purchase by my new-to -purchasing- his- own- clothes, grandson, means a few 100 % cotton shirts that have to be ironed. I think that he will read the labels better next time he buys his own clothes.
Let me know if you see something that you are interested in purchasing, or if something appeals to you.
Thank you for reading and sharing. Be sure to check out the various things on my sidebar.
I'm having a little trouble typing this right now. Trying to hold a puppy with a tummy ache! Pluto, our Chihuaha, Dachshound, Beagle, mixed puppy, was clearly in pain last night, yelping and crying in pain, so that we couldn't sleep. A call to the vet at almost midnight, revealed a big fee for emergency calls. I thought for sure that he had chewed on something he shouldn't have found, and was having stomach pains. We gave him some bread, which might coat any foreign objects, and I remembered a vet telling me to give my dogs grease, like from bacon, butter, or Crisco, if they were ever poisoned. We were contemplating giving Pluto some Crisco, but he went to sleep, finally. My daughter took him to the vet when they opened this morning.
It turned out that the tiny dog had just eaten too much food and was a little constipapted. And that was expensive, too. So, he's taking a laxative. At least, he isn't crying out in pain like he was last night, and we know that he didn't eat something that he found. He's been chewing on the fireplace rocks, the wood for the fireplace, socks, laundry, he even pulled the fuzz off of a tennis ball we had given him to play with. We threw out his toys that weren't well made and I encourage the family to keep tiny things picked up, like Legos, paper clips, wraps off of straws and snacks, and clothes. He chewed a hole in my favorite flannel gown while I was holding him! I'm pulling him away from things he shouldn't have, like the fireplace rocks, and substituting his chew bone for them. But, I know the chewing will be going on for a while. We moved the pet food from the floor and will feed him just when he needs to be fed. The cats will have to jump up on something to get their food.
When pets, and children, get sick, usually in the middle of the night or weekends, and you don't know what is wrong, or what to do, and can't take them to the doctor or vet, it is so upsetting. Makes you wish that you were a doctor or a vet or a nurse and had some concept of what to do. Some way to get relief for that beloved person or pet.
It's a relief to know that Pluto is going to be fine and that he didn't eat something that could hurt him. Honestly, I never heard of an animal eating too much and having a tummy ache! My pets have always eaten what they needed, then left to do something else. This little one takes a few bites of food, or a little water, runs off, then is back for more.
Finally, he is running around, now that my daughter is back at home. Pluto is so attached to her, he wants to be with her constantly. He usually just wiggles and his claws scratch me, when I try to hold him. Today, while my daughter went to the store, he wanted me to hold him, while he chewed on my fingers.
Stay warm and enjoy something indoors, a warm drink, a hot meal, or soup, or, maybe even one of my favorites. I like to eat ice cream when it's cold, and while I sit by a heater, or stove!

Hear Our Prayer

Lord, Hear Our Prayer
Oh Lord, Our Needs Are Great
8" x 9"
watercolor on 300 # watercolor paper

This is another of my paintings in the expressionistic style, using a limited palette. I used only one primary color, plus one neutral, brown, in this small painting. I like the effects that I got by working on this heavy watercolor paper.
There are so many needs, so much pain, suffering, illness, fear, lonliness, abuse, neglect, violence, financial needs-the list is long among all the people of the world. My painting shows two women, dressed in blue, praying feverently for their needs to be met. They are simple, but strong, women, perhaps in need of food for their families, healing for themselves or family members, in need of a safe place to live, or better lives for their children. They look to Heaven for help on their journey through life.
Please let me know if you see some piece of art work that particularly appeals to you. And consider joining my Google group, art-by-cecelia. There are links on the sidebar, and also a box that you can fill in with your e-mail address in order to subscribe to my blog.
Thanks for reading and sharing. I've enjoyed the comments that I have received.

Dream Tree

Dream Tree
8.5" x 11"
pencil
Late Friday afternoon. Fall. There was beginning to be a hint of crispness in the warm air. There was a sense of movement as people, and their transportation, moved around, getting ready for Friday night football games. A constant hum of motors could be heard in the streets and on the nearby highway.
Everyone had left early while I remained in my room, finishing up and getting things ready for the coming Monday. I walked down the sidewalk to the back of the brick buildings. I usually didn't park my car in back of the school, but I had been told not to park in front of the school unless I was unloading, but had not been given a certain place within a reasonable walking distance. In the rush of getting my car parked in time for my class to start, I decided to park in the back of the school, behind the library and gym, where coaches and the librarian usually parked. I wasn't supposed to park here, either, and it was too far from my room. But, today, I just stopped where ever I could find a place.
I had a stack of books in my arms, my purse hanging near my elbow, and my key ready to open the locked door. I pushed the dirt with my foot in the little driveway as I reached the parking area.
School was peaceful with everyone gone. Long shadows caught my attention as something I should take note of for some future art work. I could breathe deeply, knowing that some of the stress of the week was behind me. I didn't have to go to the game, but could go home, kick off my shoes, have supper with my family, watch tv, and wait for the scores on the news. My thoughts were on turning on the radio in the car and listening to a program of old country western music, that began with the Aggie Band playing "The Aggie War Hymn". I could turn that on really loud and feel a great surge of energy and joy for the drive home.
The car was a little warm as I touched the key to the lock, then pulled the handle to open the door. I threw the books into the back seat, put one foot in the car, grabbed the steering wheel to pull myself onto the soft leather seat. I loved being in my car, and driving. I even enjoyed the commute home each day. A time I could unwind, and just enjoy being by myself.
Before I could sit down, I realized that someone was behind me. A tall figure, dressed in a dark blue suit, wearing a dark western hat, and brown square toed cowboy boots. The man pulled himself into the back seat and pushed me into the drivers seat. He pushed the door closed so I couldn't get back out.
I was stunned. Who was this? What did he want? This was a safe place. These things didn't happen. I shouldn't have stayed at school so late.
"Drive!" The deep voice commanded. "And hurry up about it!"
"Listen here," my school teacher voice took over. "You aren't supposed to be here. And don't think of trying anything. There are lots of people around with the game and all going on!"
"Get this car going and drive!" He leaned forward and yelled beside my ear.
"Besides, I don't have any money," I argued. "I'm just a poor school teacher." I added, hoping for a little sympathy and relief.
"I don't want any money or anythig else. I need you to drive this car! Now!"
He moved his hand beside my face and opened a brown leather wallet with something silver in it. My eyes wouldn't focus, but I assumed that he was trying to show me a badge.
"Okay, okay, I'm going!" I looked in the rearview mirror as I pulled away from the drive.
"Say, aren't you that guy on tv?" I was surprised that my car-jacker might actually be a star, or maybe he was really some kind of policeman.
"You look just like that man on the soap opera, who used to be in the cowboy shows! Say, you aren't Phil Carey, are you? I was trying to think where I had seen him before. But, of course, this couldn't be him. I read that the star had been ill, was not on the soap opera anymore, and, besides, he would be in New York and not Texas, and the star was in his 80's,now.
"No, I'm not whoever you think I am. Get going over to the highway! I just need your car for a little while." He was pushing against the back of the seat as if to make the car move forward faster.
"Well, you sure look like him, to me! Sound like him, too." I drove past the chicken place and turned onto the east-west highway. I kept glancing in the mirror, not to look for traffic, but to look at this man who looked just like the star in his younger days. The voice was unmistakable, I thought.
"There they are!" He leaned over the back of the seat and hung his arm over the back while pointing ahead. "Those four guys, in that white car! Stay with that car. Don't let them get away!" he demanded.
"Look, I'm just an old lady school teacher, not a professional driver! If you want to drive yourself, that would be okay with me!" That sounded kind of like I was lecturing a student, after I said it.
"No time! Get after them! Don't let them lose you!"
"Why? Why are you doing this? And why am I having to drive for you? Don't you have a car of your own?" I asked. This seemed very strange. Why wasn't this man driving his car, or a police car, if that's what he was?
"Can't let them see that I'm following them. Just keep up with them. And don't let them out of your sight!"
The white car pulled in and out of lanes as they sped through the traffic going to the big games in the area. I didn't think they realized that I was trying to follow them as I stayed behind them. I had been driving these streets for many years, ever since I got my drivers license, so I knew them well. The men in the car were laughing and their car rocked with booming music.
"Why are you following them? I asked, not really caring if they got away in the traffic. I was ready to go home and quit this game.
The man leaned back as we approached the car. He took a phone from his jacket and called someone.
The white car turned north on Highway 6 and then onto 79, the highway that led to the county seat and on into the next state. They could be going anywhere.
"Listen, mister. I've got to get home. And this is not the way I go! I haven't been over here in a long time. I always go south. " I told him. "Besides, I don't have money to be buying gas, either!"
"Just drive! And shut up!" He went back to talking on the phone as we followed the curved overpass onto the highway that led east.
"Just do what he says. Just do what he says," I told myself over and over. "Don't act scared. Don't let him know you are scared. Try to follow that car."
I wished for a Highway Patrol car to pull that white speeding car over. But, with my luck, if one came along, they would stop me and give me a ticket! I tried to keep within the speed limit, but, at the same time, keep the white car in sight.
Things had changed some since the last time I had been here. Homes and stores that had been there all my life were either gone, or were abandoned to weeds and vines. Some buildings had fallen in and were now only piles of rubble. And, a few new places had been built. I didn't recognize some of the old places because their surroundings were changed.
As we approached the little town that was the county seat, the white car turned off the highway and onto a narrow street. The men in the back seat of the car looked back and laughed. Did they know that I was following them? Did they know that the man was in my car? Could they possibly think that they could lose themselves in this little town?
I slowed down as I turned onto the street.
"Where does this go?" the man asked in his deep, husky voice.
"Well, in this town, all streets either lead to the courthouse, or you can go on to another highway that leads north and west, if I remember correctly. I haven't been here in years, so I'm really not sure. It could have changed."
I looked for the white car, but it had either pulled into a driveway and behind a house, or it was still in front of us. Then I got a glimpse of it turning onto the next street, closer to the courthouse.
"Keep on him!" the man said.
"Okay. I am. But, I have to tell you, I haven't been here in a long time." I said nervously.
"What's over that way?" The man pointed ahead of us.
" That's the courthouse. And the jail." I pointed.
The streets were a little different than I remembered. For an instant, I even wondered if this was the same town that was next to my hometown. There were empy lots where houses and stores had once been. The old wooden hotel and the white gas station that I remembered were still there. The bank had a new brick building closer to the highway, and a little cafe had opened to serve people traveling on this busy interstate highway. The town, like others in the county, was losing people and buildings.
"I can't remember this street, but I know that if I keep following it, it will end at the square and the courthouse. I've probably been on it, but where are the homes that I would recognize?" I tried to reason out where I was.
"Surely, if those are bad guys in the white car, they won't go near the jail and the courthouse, or even the middle of town. Or maybe this is the bad guy in here with me! He wouldn't want to go there, either, I would think." I tried to figure out what was happening.
The white car moved slowly along the narrow street, avoiding parked cars.
"Are you sure that you want to go this way? The courthouse is coming up soon."
"Yeah, I want to go there, alright. Those guys are going to get a surprise when they get by the courthouse. Just be ready to stop when I tell you to." He held his phone on the seat beside my head.
"You sure that you aren't that guy on tv, or kin to him?" I thought that maybe casual conversation might make him relax and less likely to hurt me.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly. I just needed a car that those guys wouldn't recognize. And I happened to see you out there without anyone around. I left my car back there on the street. That's all. As soon as we get up here, and get them, you can go on home and about your business."
"Oh." I couldn't manage to say more.
I looked at the empty lots and tried to remember the old houses and stores that had been there. A brick furniture store was empty, the sidewalk in front, cracked. Where there once were large homes of the early settlers of the county, there were only weeds, dead trees, or new trees that had grown where a home had once been.
"You can pull in here," he pointed to a curb in front of a gnarled tree within sight of the courthouse. I could see the old hotel and gas station beyond the tree, on the next street and the highway.
"No point in you having to get into this. Just sit tight here for a little while. There might be some traffic coming this way kind of fast, or something happening that you don't need to get into."
He opened the door, got out, and stood beside the car. He was really tall, probably about 6'4", and good-looking. He squinted as he looked toward the courthouse square where the white car was heading.
"Sorry that I scared you, Ma'am," he said quietly, looking over the car, not at me. "There just wasn't time to explain. You've been a big help. And I thank you."
"Well..., " I didn't know what to say. Now that I had seen him, and listened to him, I wished I was younger, and that he might show a hint of interest in me. Instead, I had used my gas, been scared half out of my mind, been delayed from my quiet evening, and taken to a town I thought I would probably never be in again in my lifetime.
"Thank you again, Ma'am. You take it easy,now. And, by the way, I've never been on tv, but, if you watch the news tonight...." He tipped his hat and walked cautiously toward the square.
I tried to watch him as he walked down the street and wondered what might be about to happen. Maybe a bunch of Highway Patrol and police cars would rush to surround the car. Shots might be fired. Someone might be shot, or even killed. Or maybe the white car would take off again, heading for the highway that headed north, and the man would have to try to find someone else to ride with. Or he might jump in a police car, as those pulled up, and off they would go on a chase. Or, maybe, if I sat there a while, he might come back and need another ride.
I looked at the gnarled tree in front of me, waiting to see what would happen.
"This tree is kind of interesting," I thought. The warm colors of the late afternoon sun enhanced the dark crack down the side. "I wonder if squirrels or other critters live in there, and why it cracked like that. One of these days, I'll have to come back over here and paint that tree. If I can find it again." I tried to make note of the tree, the street, and what was there now, so that I could find the tree again.
Local police, county, sheriff department, and Highway Patrol cars surrounded the white car as it passed the courthouse. They seemed to appear from nowhere, rushing out of side streets and allys. The man stood out among the men in various brown and gray uniforms, with his height, his blue suit and western hat. They gathered to talk on the sidewalk in front of the old courthouse. The man and some of the officers had guns in their hands.
The men were being removed from the white car when I saw my rider wave at me. I guessed that meant that it was okay for me to leave.
I would have to listen to the news on tv when I got home to see what happened. Nosey me, of course, wanted to rush over and find out what it was all about, and possibly even get something that I could write up. I always felt sure that, in these instances, someone would tell me that it was none of my business and to get out of there. I wouldn't risk it, especially since they had guns.
I looked at the tree again. "Yes sir, I guess I will have to bring my painting things and come over here and paint you, tree, if I can ever find you again. I wonder why I never noticed you before."
"Grandma, can you wake up and make me some toast?" my young grandson asked.
I sat up in bed and tried to wake up. "What a dumb dream!" I rubbed my eyes. "All that was a dream!"
I can figure out why I might have dreamed about the tv star since I had read about him no longer being on the soap opera. But, this dream was so unsetling. Why that tree, so detailed! And the place. It may not even exist. The town does. But, it all stuck with me and I had to draw it. I will paint it and have already done the drawing on watercolor paper. One of these days, I will have to go see if I can find that tree. I can't help but wonder if the star would like my story/dream!
In my drawing, I've shown the parking spot, for once the town was busy and space was needed even far from the courthouse for parking. The curb, the old sidewalk, the weed covered lots, the old hotel, the small white filling station on the highway, and, of course, the distinctive tree are all there.
I hope that you enjoyed my tale of the "Dream Tree". I will post the paintings when I have done them.
There is another tree, that I actually drove past for years, in that county, that I have photographed, drawn, painted, wondered about, and even wrote a little about. I don't have a particular interest in trees, or flowers, for that matter, but they can be fascinating.
Let me know if you see something that is of interest to you.

Life Cycle

Life Cycle
Image Size 7.75" x 8.25"
Paper Size 10.25" x 11"
Watercolors on 300# Strathmore watercolor paper

We begin our lives, curled and tiny. After our birth, we fill our space on earth, beginning with being a small child, unable to walk, but still looking up to those who have passed this way before. As we continue our growth, we look up and reach out for strength, for knowledge, for guidance, for love, for others-for all the things we need to sustain us during our journey.
We reach our full height, straining in our reach for understanding of the mysteries of life, the spirit, and the universe, for others to embrace and share in our journey, to live in joy and in peace, secure.
As the years roll by, our strength and power becomes weaker as we become shrunken in our stature and our abilities. We reach out, weakly, still searching for powers and answers, for help with the rest of our life, and others to share with. There is still hope for life, but it is elusive.
Our bodies become stiffened and we stretch out alone, open to the universe. We wrap ourselves and wait, for that thing which we still do not understand.
We curl up unto ourselves and become one with the earth. Hidden from everyone. The body and powers, the eyes that could see, the voices that once sang and talked, the skin that we lovingly cared for, turning to leather and powder, until they are no more than the earth.
Above us shines a star, beckoning still, as it has all through our cycle of life. The sun and moon still shine for the next person, the next generation, promising hope and answers, power and life.
An angel rises from the earth and moves toward the heavens. Will she stay and guide the next generation? Will she protect the remains in the earth? Or possibly carry that one to Heaven? Or will she move on, to finally know all the answers and find what she had been reaching for all during the life cycle? Will she float silently? Will she dance and sing with joy? Will she hover closely to the earth and to those who remain to go through their own life cycle?
"Life Cycle" was painted on 300# Strathmore watercolor paper, using a limited palette of blue and brown, with a touch of purple and yellow.
I wish.
I wish I had taken a picture of his hand while he was drawing or while he painted. I wish that I had thought to exchange art work with him. I wish that I had taken time to talk with him more about his art. I wish that he had been able to spend more time creating his own art work, participating in art activities, and developing as an artist. I wish that he would have been able to make a good living as an artist and spent a peaceful, yet interesting, life working with his talent, for himself, for those who come after him, for posterity to appreciate.
Above all, I wish that he could have lived longer. That he could have been as strong and healthy as he appeared to be. I wish that he could have stayed on this earth, living a good life as the artist that he could have been.
Another death. An artist gone, before he could develop his own talent. Taken at a relatively young age.
I didn't know him all that well, but he was a colleague, and replaced me when I retired. I tried to encourage him to participate more in artistic activities, from the time he became "the other art teacher", and he seemed to enjoy the things that he was able to do. But his other duties always seemed to interfere, and I was left to participate in most things, with my own students, or alone. The few pieces of art that I saw of his showed a lot of promise. But, his time was spent teaching and coaching, and working. One legacy that he did leave was a new logo for the school, which he painted in many places. (I was glad for that! I had to paint the large, fighting, complicated, eagles everywhere prior to that!)
I hope that there is some of his work, somewhere, that will live on after him, other than the logo.
During workshops and demonstrations, beginning some years ago, I became interested in watching various artists work. I took some photos as most people do, and found that I would always get a picture of the artist's hand with a brush, pencil, or whatever tool they were using. I've thought that it would be interesting to do something along the lines of "The Hand Of The Artist". I never thought to get pictures of people who I am around, and now realize that this is something I should have done.
Especially now that my colleague is gone. I do have an image in my mind of the way that he worked, though.
I am in shock that this young man is gone. That he is lost to his students, his family, and that his talent is lost to the world. I really thought that he would be alright. He seemed to be so strong and there was so much more for him to do on earth.
So many people seem to be spending all their time working, and hoping that the day will come when they will be able to stay at home and develop their talents and interests. It is a shame that people can't make it by doing the things that they love and have a talent for, like art, writing, music, caring for their homes and their children. True, some people do love business, offices, paperwork, rigid schedules, challenges, and all the things that go with many jobs. But some people are just made to go in a different direction. They go through their working lives, trying to fit themselves, a round circle, into that square hole that we hear about. It's so hard for anyone, in any of the arts, to be able to find their niche and make a living with their abilities. And, too often, by the time they are able to quit jobs or retire, ill health, disabilities, finances, or even death puts a stop to those plans.
And, so the life cycle goes.
I won't be able to go to the funeral, but I can remember, and pay tribute to him. He will be remembered by many whose lives he touched.

Take time to do what you love, to create while you can, to make memories for generations to follow, to capture and share your life and the lives of those you remember while you can still remember, to sing while you still have a voice, to dance while your feet and legs still work, to take in the sights around you while you can still see, to drink in the sounds around you, and to enjoy whatever you can, while you are still able to find joy. Reach out and up all through your journey. Leave your mark on this earth, and, hopefully, that will be a mark that will be for the good of those who follow you.
And, always, leave your space in life better than you found it.
Have a wonderful, creative, peaceful weekend. Let me know if you see something of interest to you. And don't forget to check out my sidebar. There are always new things in the links.

Wednesday-Heavy Cleaning

It was a big job, cleaning and waxing floors, but something that had to be done often to keep those hardwood floors looking good.
After finishing washing in the wash pot on Monday, and ironing on Tuesday, Wednesday was the day to do the heavy, inside cleaning, like waxing the floors.
Mama and Bertie would shove the furniture over to the side of the combined living and dining room, and put the table near the kitchen door in the living room. Sometimes they rolled the baby grand piano over, but that could be worked around.
First the floor had to be swept. A big pan of soapy water and a rag was used to wash the floor, then clean water was used in the same way to rinse the floor. Mama and Bertie crawled around on their hands and knees as they used wet rags on the floor. Then it was dried with a towel. That was accomplieshed before noon, or dinner time, when Daddy would come home from the store, expecting a big meal.
We ate with the dining table out of place. It was kind of nice to be able to look out the front door while we ate, instead of having to watch the kids who stayed at school for dinner. That made my stomach hurt, to think of having to go back there after we ate our dinner.
If we didn't have roast the previous Sunday, and if there were no left-overs to make some roast dish, Mama would make a meat pie. That, and stacks of white bread, glasses of water, and, if in season, Mama might slice a tomato, would make a filling meal. Mama might make fried pies, filled with fruit, or have Jello or vanilla or chocolate pudding for dessert. We couldn't have banana pudding because Mama used the same bowl for banana pudding that she used to cook the meat pie in. A green Pyrex bowl.
After eating, Mama would listen to her soap opera on the radio, while she washed dishes, and Daddy went back to work. If school was in session, I would go back to school or, if I was at home, I would stay in my room and try to avoid the pungent smell of the next step in the almost weekly floor routine.
Mama would get a clean rag, preferably torn from an old sheet or pillowcase, open the can of Johnson's paste wax, swipe some onto the cloth, then rub it onto a small section of the hardwood floor. She rubbed it in a circular motion, then moved on to another section, still moving about on her knees. She covered the living room and dining room floors, except where the table and front door were.
Then, she went back with a clean rag and rubbed the wax some more to polish it. When that part of the living and dining room was done, she and Bertie moved furniture back in place, then repeated the process on the section that had been covered by the dining table, then moved into the small hall to work.
The same process was done to the floors in the two small bedrooms, but not as often. Everything had to be moved out of the rooms, and, usually, that was done on a warm, sunny day when bedsprings and mattresses were moved outside to be aired or washed with the hose.
Some weeks, the ladies tried to finish their work early, have a bath and a rest so that they could dress up a little, and meet at different homes. Wednesday was Bible Study afternoon, with a group leader or the preacher meeting to study and discuss the Bible. The Baptists then had church on Wednesday night.
There was always a big spread of food, refreshments, every time there was a get-together. There had to be hot coffee, and maybe sandwiches, cold cuts, cheese, some kind of spread, relishes, chips, rolls, coffee cake, or other kinds of dessert. Jello salad was popular, or spiced peaches, or even a peach or pear half, served on a piece of lettuce with a dollop of mayonnaise on top. A pineapple slice could be served the same way.
One hot day, the lady in the two story house across the street, shooed us kids out of the house as she had a big group of ladies coming in for their afternoon get-together. There were plates with the prettiest cookies, all colorful and cut into different shapes. Her son, my sister, and I sure did want one of those beautiful cookies. We went outside and sat under a big oak tree by the drive way, longing for a cooky. When it was time for refreshments, the maid came out with a small plate of cookies for us. We hoped for a drink too, but the colorful cookies would do, for then. We could go across the street to our house for some water, later.
Phooey! We took one bite, then spit and spit. Those weren't cookies at all, but some kind of fancy little sandwiches that tasted awful. Probably cream cheese or something, but, whatever it was, it was not the sweet cooky that we expected.
We ran to my house for water! And, after that, we were very suspicious of pretty food!
You can see the different stages of my piece of art work about Wednesday cleaning on the slide show in the post below. I started with a pencil sketch showing my mother on her knees, rubbing wax onto the hardwood floor. The dining table is in the foreground with a bowl of meat pie on the table. In this painting, I did a little play with scale and perspective by having the very large green bowl of meat pie close to the viewer, and my mother appearing small against the wide floor. White sheer ruffled curtains drape from the windows and sunlight filters between the blinds and through the open windows and door.
You can see the row of Live Oak trees across the street at my great-aunt's house, and beside the dirt street beside her house. Directly across the street, as seen through the open front door, is the small house that an older couple built when we were a little older. That empty lot gave us an extra place to play before the house was built. A bit of the lawn in front of our house, can be seen through the door and the front windows.
I used splashes of bright pink on the wall paper, but decided that it was too bold and strong. Mama's wall paper was a dainty floral, with a stripe in it. So I used a little white acrylic over the pink to indicate flowers and stripes. That toned the wall paper down quite a bit.
When we cooked, we usually didn't measure. A handful of this, a pinch of that, a dash of the other. Put it in the oven, or on the stove, and cook until it looks right! As a result, we don't have a lot of family recipes written down. But things sure did come out good!
This is how I remember that Meat Pie was made.
Use one Pyrex bowl.
Crumble ground meat between the fingers and let it fall into the bowl.
Finely chop an onion and stir into the meat.
Sprinkle in a little flour to thicken the mixture as it cooks.
Stir in a little salt and pepper.
You could add a little liquid with water, if you want more juice.
(When I cooked this dish, I added a little Worchetershire Sauce, a chopped clove of garlic, and a small section of green Bell pepper, finely chopped. Another variation is to add a can of Cream of Onion, Cream of Mushroom, or Golden Mushroom soup.)
Make biscuits (I used canned biscuits or made them with Pioneer Biscuit Mix) and place on top of the meat mixture. I liked to sprinkle a little salt and pepper, and onion salt on top of the biscuits to give them more flavor.
Bake in the oven until biscuits are done. Follow the directions on the biscuit label or package for baking.
I'm not sure of the amount of ground meat to use. I'm sure that my mother never used over a pound of ground meat. I guess it would depend on the size of your bowl. When I felt generous, I have used two pounds of ground meat, but we usually had to make do with one pound or less.
You may have a similar dish that you like to make. I haven't made this in a long time, but it was something that we had often when I was growing up. Making the meat pie wasn't so hard, but having to make biscuits from scratch was something else. My dad loved it, but my mother was not so keen on all that baking and mess to clean up.
All the ladies were so excited, and my mother was no exception, when they came out with liquid wax and the applicators on a long handle. The paste wax was put away, and the women could now stand up and push the wax around on the floor. And then there were the mops that also came out, with a long handle. I wonder why their knees didn't wear out, in those days!
Let me know if you see something that is of interest to you.

Check out my Slide Show!