and move into the painting when I sit by the window.

I think this painting is finished now. It had more detail before; I did a white wash over the trees because they seemed too bright on the canvas, and now I’m not sure I like the outcome. Ah, well. It’s just a little snapshot, via paintbrush, of a chunk of our wintry yard. Just to be doing this, churning through practice paintings one after another, makes me feel like the day’s been worthwhile.

I went out at noontime to the beach nearby, to continue work on the little painting I started there a few weeks ago, but the tide was too high for me to get down the path. Here’s a photo I took from the meadow up above the beach (with my shadow in the middle of it,  because the sun was so low):

But I wanted to paint, because the sun was out, and so I did a quick beginning oil sketch of the cove from where I stood in the field above. I’ll either use this as a reference point or a beginning point for a future painting.

I worked fast, stopping when my fingers got too cold to work anymore. (While I painted, I was wearing: cotton turtleneck and jeans, corduroy over-shirt, lightweight wool pullover sweater, fleece vest, heavy insulated sweatshirt, and fleece hood/face mask. It made me feel slightly muffled away from the world I was trying to depict.)

Now it’s evening and the barred owls are calling. A crescent moon hangs like an ornament in the bare branches of the alders close to the house. Tomorrow Bob comes home from the city, bearing cargo so that the two of us can make a holiday together. We’re separated from the kids by schedules and airfares, but we have friends close by. And of course cats and chickens.

But tonight is my last solitary night. I love being alone, the cozy aloneness when your mate is due back soon and all is well. The pure silence of the house, the snap of the fire in the woodstove, (and the chocolate melting in the pan on top of it). I’m so glad for this beginning of the new solar year.

I stare constantly at the trees outside, grey branches woven and netted — and finally I bring them into the house with paint, using the brief light while it’s here.

This photo was edited to put light on my painting.

Happy Solstice!

The painting is about one-quarter complete.

I think it’ll take about four painting sessions to finish the piece. It’s small, only about 5 inches by 7 inches, but it’s so cold outside that I can’t work long enough in any one session to cover very much canvas.

I’m starting to feel strongly about NOT using a camera to get between me and what I paint, even if it’s hard to work outdoors during this time of year. As much as I love my new camera, it seems crucial to recognize when not to use it. When I paint from photos, the painting doesn’t have a life of its own. It’s certainly easier to paint from a still image that doesn’t move around, working in a warm room, but I’m determined not to let myself backslide into that.

I’m about one-fifth of the way into a portrait of a nine-year-old neighbor as well. That’s a different kind of challenge: I can work indoors, but I have to interact with my subject to keep her comfortable and help her learn to sit still. I won’t post that work here, or at least not unless her parents feel fine about my doing so.

I was captivated by a photo of Billie Holiday in a book I have.   The more I stared at the black and white portrait of her, the more I felt drawn into her world.  Elizabeth Hardwick wrote of her: “… she was glittering, somber, and solitary, although of course never alone, never.   Stately, sinister, and absolutely determined.”

I wanted with my paintbrush to capture those qualities; they were all there in her face.  While I was working, I listened to her sing “They can’t take that away from me.”   I’m intrigued by her strength.  She represents a different kind of female power than the wholesome feminist sort that we try to raise our daughters to embody these days.  Living my crunchy-granola rural existence, I gaze through the window of time at this gardenia-wearing, opium-smoking creature of the night.   Vulnerable, drug-addicted, victimized by individual men as well as by a whole society, she nonetheless rose to become one of the most important jazz artists of the century.   I salute her.