I opened a recent post on Sunnyside showing a painting by American artist Frederick C Frieseke called Through the Vines and it immediately reminded me of the work of New Zealander Evelyn Page (1899 – 1988). Like Frieske she was most adept at showing the human form through dappled light.
There was a retrospective of her paintings shortly after her death and I enjoyed viewing the collection.
This week I’ve been unsettled as I wait to receive my manuscript back from the editor, so I can go over my work for the last time. I have all the extra bits of writing required for sending off to publishers, even the dratted synopsis, waiting in the wings. The synopsis was scrutinised by my husband, daughter, and members of my writing group, and finally I was happy with it.
While pacing my study, I looked at the two beautiful persimmon I was given the other day languishing on my desk and knew what would help me relax. I would draw the fruit!
I sat down to begin a pencil sketch this morning, but was diverted by some cloud drawings I found in the sketch pad, so … I decided to put these together for this week’s post. Just a brief description of the mediums used, and not so much of a story this time. The top six sketches are from the Devonport area near my home, the seventh sketched on Waiheke Island, and the eighth done in Port Douglas Australia.
I usually sketch out the scene quickly, returning to fill out detail. I so love sketching clouds.
Mimesis is a word I’ll never forget, as it was written in capital letters on a whiteboard in blue, as the subject of my first ever writing class at university. I sat in the auditorium waiting for the lecturer to appear, wondering what on earth I was doing there, as I was a ‘mature’ student and didn’t have a clue what the word meant. I think after all these years I have got a handle on its meaning. It is when life is mimicked through Art and Literature. Yesterday I reversed this process, when my life happened to imitate literature – through inadvertently copying a character’s behaviour from the novel I am currently writing. The problem might be different: solo travel for my character, and swimming alone, for me, but the underpinning for both women is anxiety, and the desire to change.
If I hadn’t admired a friend’s post last week, where he posted a fine painting of flowers, I may not have thought of writing about the painting I have sitting on my study wall. There is a history to this painting of pink roses in an old-fashioned vase (circa late 1940s), which was possibly done as a study from an image in a book, or calendar. The book may have well been a ‘how to paint’ variety, showing step by step processes. My father clearly studiously emulated the image – whatever its provenance. The sketch, painted in watercolour on a primed piece of cardboard, was admired by those who saw it, including myself and siblings. I was a teen when my father died, and any art of his carries special meaning.
Just two nights back, this was the view from our windows which look onto the sea, Auckland’s CBD and further west, where sunsets like to glow and sink into night. But before they do, they offer some stunning colour arrays, which have me squealing to Kerry, ‘Look at the sky, look at the sky!’ And he often follows me onto the patio to take photos. But this one, on the 28 December – WOW!
I have written a few times about our native Pōhutukawa which we call our Christmas tree, because of its vibrant red blooms tipped in gold which look like decorations, and it always blooms around Christmas time. Last year the flowering was not so spectacular, but this December because of more constant rain, the flowering has been superb. Most of you who follow me will know that I have been working on a new novel, and have been writing like crazy to complete the first draft. It is almost there. So, before I embark on the last pages, I thought I’d relax with a little sketching. I have chosen to do a close-up sketch of emerging pōhutukawa flowers. Hoping it will look okay.
Dear bowl, I love you, with or without fruit. That is because you are both a vessel and an artwork. Some years ago I had the good fortune of working weekends at Palmerston North’s regional art gallery, where local artist Fran Dibble was exhibiting large boldly-painted bowls. What was even more special about these objects is that her potter mother had made the bowls for Fran to paint. Another great combination.
Last post I was dealing with a crook back. Improving now, thank goodness. I was also recovering from a cataract operation, and that I found even less conducive to looking at a screen for writing, or a sketch pad for sketching. However, I can exercise again, and can see without peripheral bright light flashing, finally enabling me to do the post I’d planned. For two or more weeks I’d thought about drawing this old wooden barrel, which is a perfect container for loose tea. It did start its life as quite a different object which I’ll get to by and by.
An expression meaning many things, but here I use it literally. The past month is almost a blur, with a second trip to Australia to see the youngest daughter, who lives some way out from Brisbane. I had in tow her sister and brother, he from Melbourne, she from Dunedin and me, Mum from Auckland. That explains my busyness, and lack of posts. It doesn’t explain my latest blip which was putting my back out, and although I have been doing regular exercise, I also need to sit down more. Perfect for getting a sketch done!
ARTISTRY 