Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Logan Paints

During the grandchild visit, we had several outstanding painting sessions. I have chosen Logan's painting to show you because of his color sense and the joyous freedom of his watercolor washes. (He won't be three until October.)
[Recommendation: I remember Prang watercolors in the black metal box from my childhood. They were always more satisfying to use than other kid paints, with juicy color that releases easily without scrubbing the paint cake. Now they come in extra colors, too (Logan was using the box with the two purples) and are still great paints! I saw them at Walmart just the other day with the school supplies. Just throw away the brush that comes in the now-plastic box, and substitute one of the cheaper well-formed synthetic brushes, one that has a little snap. A couple of the girls preferred a brush with a slanted chisel shape; I was surprised that they noticed!]

I feel autumn coming on and I am unprepared to leave my woodlands. The hibiscus beside the house is a riot of giant blossoms. The veronica looks great, too, and makes a beautiful well-organized shape over a long blooming season. Here is a something that Stanley Kunitz wrote about his garden:


Light splashed this morning
on the shell-pink anemones
swaying on their tall stems;
down blue-spiked veronica
light flowed in rivulets
over the humps of the honeybees; 
this morning I saw light kiss
the silk of the roses
in their second flowering,
my late bloomers
flushed with their brandy.
A curious gladness shook me.

So I have shut the doors of my house,
so I have trudged downstairs to my cell,
so I am sitting in semi-dark
hunched over my desk
with nothing for a view 
to tempt me
but a bloated compost heap,
steamy old stinkpile,
under my window;
I pick my notebook up
and I start to read aloud
the still-wet words I scribbled
on the blotted page:
"Light splashed . . ."

I can scarcely wait until tomorrow
when a new life begins for me,
as it does each day,
as it does each day.

from Next-to-Last Things; new poems and essays by Stanley Kunitz; 
The Atlantic Monthly Press, 1985. Page 17.

What will you be doing tomorrow? I don't have any definite plans.

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