Oh my sweetums, today I wandered in the garden. It was beautiful! Gorgeous! Came pretty close to being spectacular! The plants are poppin’. The temperature was perfect. And there were bunnies EVERYWHERE. Easter Jackrabbits en masse, reminding me again why it’s not a good idea to plant a vegetable garden.
Ever the multi-tasker, I had the phone with me and chatted with the kids while I was outside. Remember the days when phones were tethered to the wall, when you ALWAYS knew where it was? And when it wasn’t a camera?
Well, since I had my phone-which-is-a-camera with me, I not only noticed how the sun did magic things in the garden, I was able to snap a few shots.
And since I’m a painter I decided to throw them into a painting app and art them up a bit. Here they are:
Nothing says SPRING to me like a Dogwood in bloom. Nothing.
Except maybe Lilacs. I loves me my Lilacs.
This is my exhale spot, one of my favorite places in the garden.
Technical Info: All photos were taken on an iPhone 5C and digitally altered with Aquarella.
What’s your favorite photo app? I’m always open to playing with something new. Tell us about it in the comments below.
Faded leaves. Bleached grass. Frost on the meadow this morning.
I took the long way down to feed the ponies. Long way means heading to the left instead of the right. Means looping down around the meadow before circling back again.
Because there’s something about the light, the sun-with-no-warmth quality of a November morning, that demands photographs.
Demands to chronicle the understated glory of frost rimed leaves.
And deer trampled grass. Andrew Wyeth grass.
Ice in the horse trough, crackled and crystalized along the edges.
Hiding mysteries underneath.
And in between.
Reminders of children now grown.
And ancient horses. Muddy. Waiting for breakfast.
And Jasmine, the sourse of many ‘mom’s hairy ass jokes’ waiting for her kiss. Mmmmmph!
Six PM. One hundred degrees. I’m in the hay shed, wrestling with a forty pound sack of beet pulp, trying to find the secret to the magic string, the one that’s supposed to open the bag easy-peasy.
No dice. I end up going after that sucker with a pair of scissors, one stich at a time. Because if I just cut the bag, like I’m tempted to do, the woven plastic unravels, comes undone and I end up serving shredded beet pulp with a side of shredded plastic to the ponies. Which wouldn’t be good. So I clip each and every stitch. It’s a slow process. I’m stinky, sweaty and impatient. I tell myself it’s not so bad, things could be worse.
And they could. I could be at the county fair. With children. Hot, tired, li’l darlin’s cranked out on sugar, demanding more. More, more, more, more, MORE. Of everything! NOW! Eventually their whines becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the cacophony inside my head which includes (but is not limited to) country music played at a volume guaranteed to homogenize your brains and a couple of Sumo wrestlers tossing each other around somewhere between my right temple and the left.
All in 100 degree heat. That’s 37.7777777 degrees to those of you who measure these things in celsius. When the thermometer goes that high, it’s legal to kill. Well, it seems like it should be. Anyone you want. Especially if you’re at the fair.
Mwha-ha-ha-ha. And that’s when I know, without a doubt…and without trying to inject any theology in here, there IS a God…because my kids are all grown up and I don’t have to take them to the fair any more.
Sweet Diety, thank you!
Now before you think I wear my cranky pants during fair week, the biggest social event of the county, let me assure you I have nothing against going… on my own terms. Which means it has to be cool. Or at least not hot. I go by myself. Bring my camera. And I wander around like a crazy lady talking to myself and eating caramel popcorn and funnel cake while taking lots and lots of photographs. I run into friends and we chat but I don’t feel obligated to look at the goats with them. Or the chickens. Or the man selling Vitamix blenders. No, no, no…I just do what I want.
Here’s a few photos from years past.
So there you have it. Rides, games, Food. Anti-gravity kids losing retainers. And the craziness builds up and up and morphs into holy crap! Demon cartoon birds guaranteed to haunt your dreams…if you’re lucky enough to pop the balloon.
And now, because this post wouldn’t be complete without them, let’s SUUUUUUU-MO!!!
I’m sorry. So sorry. Please accept my aplooooooogy….
Sunday night/Monday morning. You know what that means….TaTa…It’s time for Show & Tell. Time for construction photos of The New. The Amaaaaaazing. The Soon To Be Finished STUDIO GRANDE II!
Except, umm…not today. (Hit it, Brenda!) The weather was fine. Mr. Spouse made progress. All the outside walls are up now. I can (and did) walk around inside and actually get a feel for the size. For how I want to arrange things. Got a lot to think about, you know. Work space. Storage. A comfy corner to sit and think. Did lots of brainstorming about that with Mr. Spouse and then I left him to his carpentry while I went down to the soon-to-be-decommissioned Studio Grande to paint.
I painted away the afternoon. Painted away the daylight. Painted away the chance to get a photo or three. So no construction pics until tomorrow.
And no art pics either. Because what I painted sucked. Bummer. Forgot to check my ego at the door. Stupid ego started talkin’ when I was working. No no no no no!
Tomorrow, tomorrow I PROMISE pretty pictures. Of the studio-in-progress. Of paintings. Pinky swear.
Meanwhile, because I KNOW you want a visual, here’s one of Precious Man Dog. Enjoy!
Inspiration strikes everywhere. Anytime. That’s why I always try to carry my camera around. Because you KNOW the one time I leave it home I miss the PERFECT shot.
Unfortunately that happens more often than I care to admit. But I’m getting better.
I live in a picturesque old gold mining town. Lots of interesting textures and buildings to photograph. But as I said up above, inspiration can come any time, anywhere. Including the sidewalk in front of a strip mall.
I look at this stuff and get so excited. Makes me want to run down to the studio and paint. The paintings will likely look nothing like the photos because that’s not what this is about. They’re for inspiration…. Color. Texture. Design. Proportion. Or all of the above. Layers and layers of oils and wax building up to the final piece.
Mystery. Depth.
That’s what makes it so exciting. That’s what makes it worth stopping traffic on the sidewalk while I whip out my camera and take pictures of the cracks.
