Winter Passage

This time of year holds so much promise. 

The earth revolves to meet the sun each morning just a little bit earlier, and holds on just a little bit longer before it cedes to darkness.

The smallest branches high in bare trees accept color now from light freed of the frozen pull of winter.

Migratory birds begin to feel an ancient desire for flight, with promises to linger over fertile farmland here in mid-country. They have passed through here far longer than we have laid claim to boundaries and titles.

As I take refuge from brittle cold outside I feel these things.  We artists paint what we know, and I know that winter is a necessary pause from the wild growth of summer. It is a pause before the raucous call of the sandhill crane, kestrel and sharp-eyed hawk as they find refuge and food in the shallows of the Platte River. 

Winter is also a necessary pause, for me at least, from the habits and rituals of the past season.

I've noticed this feeling in the past; the slow movement at this time of year toward some sort of change.

This fallow season is when I too seem to pass through a sort of grace period, a recognition of old habits and an awakening to something that's been there all along but hidden, much like last years' summer vegetation now covered in snow. 

This painting is a celebration of the cool side of the color wheel; chill blues and violets, and cooler versions of the opposing orange and yellow. A relief from the intense greens and blues of summer painting.  As with the solstice, it's a turning point of sorts, an exploration of new ways of laying down paint and scraping it back, balancing marks from intuition and forethought. Like early sun on a winter landscape I feel a warming, a freshening of my course.   

Downhill Painting

Rather than smile shyly and scuff my shoes on the ground while you gush forth with compliments I’m just going to say it right up front:  This is a mighty fine painting.  I love it, in fact.   

I knew the minute I saw this grove of trees south of the Platte River by Kearney, Nebraska it would make a wonderful painting.  The dark silhouette of the trees, the stragglers – or leaders, depending upon your personality, intrigued me.  I could even feel my arm move to create the brushstrokes I would use.  

I don’t usually spend a lot of time in preliminary work.  Despite the best efforts by teachers along the way to convert me into doing things "The Right Way", I don’t do sketches before hand to test compositions and values and color schemes.  For me it’s a quick sketch on the canvas to note landmarks, a glance at a color wheel to focus my thoughts and then jump right in before my brain has time to get in the way.

©2011 Patricia Scarborough  18x24 oil

Working this way requires a delicate balance, kind of like riding a bike down a steep hill. Equilibrium between experience and improvisation will get you to the bottom with limbs intact - most of the time. Often enough to get me back up to the top of the hill to try it again, anyway.

That may be partly why I love this painting. It’s the sweet memory of the ride, dodging potholes and parked cars with confidence, finding myself  at the bottom of a steep hill with no real idea how I got there. 

It's probably not a smart way to work.  I crash as often as I succeed and have the scars to prove it.

When the ride is good though, oooh, baby, it is soooo good.

Sandhill Crane Story

Greetings All-

The earth has a rhythm of her own.  This blue orb we inhabit for such a small moment has been hanging in space for time untold, and will be here long after the most educated, advanced and civilized human has turned to dust.
There is power in these rhythms, both the power to destroy and the power to sustain life.

Handsome Husband and I, along with all of you, were astounded and deeply touched by the re-shaping of Japan by earthquake and tsunami.

Platte River south of Kearney, Nebraska, March 2011

At the opposite end of the spectrum, we were astounded and touched as well by the return of the Sandhill Cranes through central Nebraska.

This ancient rhythm of life has occurred through centuries of time, yet it never ceases to amaze.

HH and I took time out from the routine and spent an afternoon following the Platte River west to the place where half a million cranes will stop for a short time to re-fuel on their way north to Canada and Siberia. 

To witness this ancient ritual and hear their constant strange vocalizing brought calm and assurance that the rhythm of life would go on, and helped put our shallow worries and needs into historic perspective.

As evening rose on the river and cranes began to settle into the shallow waters for safe-keeping, HH and I felt comforted by the strength and unwavering determination of these truly magnificent creatures.

We are reminded that time passes methodically, spasmodically, unfairly or momentously. The earth heaves and adjusts.  Sandhill Cranes and other creatures will migrate thousands of miles north and south, unaware of the moods or accomplishments of their human counterparts. 

I am put in my place and find that comforting somehow.

Looking Back, Planning Ahead

I've spent the last week wrapping up 2010 and preparing for 2011.  Rather than charge forth with all the moxie I can muster, Handsome Husband reminded me that sometimes one must look back on what's been accomplished before making plans to move forward. "How do you know where you're going if you don't know where you've been?" he asked. He's a smart one, HH.

I'm reminded of his grandfather, who would ask, "Where they going? Where they been?" as he waited for his turn to cross a busy intersection. Maybe he wasn't just talking about traffic.  Where have I been?  More importantly, where am I going?

To find out where I'm headed, I'm looking back today, and inviting you to come along.  Rather than bring out everything, including my baby booties, let's limit it to the last 5 years.

 ©2005 Patricia Scarborough, Receding Waters 28x36 pastel

©2006 Patricia Scarborough, Well Traveled, 26x38 pastel

©2006 Patricia Scarborough, Waiting, 8x10 pastel

©2007 Patricia Scarborough, Mill Road, 24x18 pastel

 ©2008 Patricia Scarborough, Cone Flowers, 7x5 plein air oil

©2008 Patricia Scarborough, Indian Summer, 24x18 pastel

©2008 Patricia Scarborough, West Edge of Town, 5x7 oil

©2009 Patricia Scarborough, Leaves on Blue Water, 24x18 pastel

©2009 Patricia Scarborough, Three Crows, 8x10 oil

©2009 Patricia Scarborough, Last Light, 22x21 pastel

 

©2010 Patricia Scarborough, Platte River Recharge, 11x14 oil

©2010 Patricia Scarborough, Hibernal, 12x16 pastel

©2010 Patricia Scarborough, New Day, 12x16 pastel

After a review of some of my favorite - and not so favorite - paintings of the last 5 years, (you don't get to see those) I think I know where I'm going.   I've got plans, baby.  HH, Grandpa and I, we know where we're going.
 

Do you?

My Graduation Speech

It's the middle of May, so it must be graduation time.

Commencement addresses flowed like the Platte River in spring the past few weekends in my neck of the woods, and probably yours too. Oprah Winfrey, Michelle Obama, Mr. President himself, and even Laura Bush shared pep talks and snippets of wisdom to the new Grown Ups.

Wanna hear mine?

Based on what I've learned the past couple of years being a solo-preneur (that's like being a one- man band for those of you who aren't up on the new lingo), and based on what I've learned in 60 days of daily painting, my graduation address would sound like this:

Show Up.

And after the applause dies down a bit, I'd add: Ready to Work.

Since I've declared my status as a full-time working artist, I've learned that in order to accomplish . . . well . . . anything, a person absolutely must Show Up.

I'm painting 100 5 x 7 paintings in 100 days, as you know. All the fancy-pants ideas and materials and brushes and witty blog posts do not accomplish 100 paintings in 100 days (nor anything else that comes with living on Planet Earth). Showing Up does.

Showing Up puts you in a position to confront life as it is right now. Not as you want it to be, not as your coach told you it would be, and not as your Mom or Dad threatened it would be, but as it is right now. Look closely. Satisfied?

The second part is Ready to Work. Showing Up gets you there in the right place. At this point Showing Up is simply potential, like squatting into the starting blocks of an 800 meter dash. Bending down and shaking out your ankles and calves and getting that mean look on your face is all fine and dandy, and may even impress someone, but are you prepared to blast out of the blocks and run hard for a very long time when the gun goes off? If you haven't done the work you might just dive right onto your nose. Wouldn't that be classy.

Ready to Work means sticking with whatever you're doing until you're satisfied. Ready to Work means willing to look like a dork for awhile until you figure out exactly what you are supposed to accomplish. Ready to Work means searching out answers. Ready to Work means finding mentors and taking advice and putting their offerings into action.

You'll have to put off some of the fun stuff probably, because you'll have committments to those mentors and advisors, and yourself.

But that's cool because it won't be long before Showing Up Ready to Work becomes the fun stuff.

I promise.

So to Brian, and Kayla and Courtney and all you other immensely talented graduates out there, the world is your oyster - if you Show Up Ready to Work.

How will you show up?

Top: Day 45 Concrete River 2009 5 x 7 oil on gessoed board

Middle: Day 57 First Light Heifer 2009 5 x 7 oil on gessoed board

Bottom Day 63 More Peonies 2009 7 x 5 oil on gessoed board

Banner Day 62 Peonies 2009 7 x 5 oil on gessoed board

Free Gimme

On December 24th it was 40 below zero wind chill here in the wind swept plains of Nebraska.

Highway 6, 2008 14 x 11 Oil

On December 26th it was 62 degrees above zero. I'm no rocket surgeon, but that's alot of degrees in just a few days. No wonder I'm feeling a little schizophrenic.


It's also very nearly a New Year. I'm celebrating with a Free Gimme.



I'm giving away warm weather. Green grass. Cool water. Reflections of warm sun.

Platte River, Late Afternoon, 2008 11 x 14 Oil

I'll send you a free (yes ma'am, that's no cost to you!) postcard-sized reproduction of "Platte River, Late Afternoon". I'll sign it, too. It'll bring back memories of summer, a late afternoon by the river. Dip your toes in and listen to the bugs buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

It's yours for the asking. Tell me where to send it and it's there. I'm not looking for anything from you. It's my little gift to those of us who have a hard time getting through the winter months. Zip me an email at patricia@pscarborougharts.com and ask for a warm breeze in your mailbox.

Here's hoping your holidays were lovely, and your New Year is full of warm friendships.