Haying Abandoned

I hadn’t intended to introduce a UFO into this project, but my indelible black ink pen exploded. And just when I was beginning to think it might turn out okay...I suppose it does give the boy something to look at...

Oh well—off to the abandoned projects file with it…

Haying: Progress—Sort Of

Well, this is a woeful pace I’m working at—but it’s all I got. Todd’s been hovering over my shoulder saying, “Now, remember about overworking it—what have you learned from past experiences?” To which I reply, “ta not ta” (but I don’t really mean it).

It turns out my brown ‘waterproof’ ink is not so waterproof—(I think a waterproof ink should have a longer-than-twenty-year shelf life before it starts breaking down). Well, at least hay looks brownish at harvest time. At this point, it’s hard for me to take this piece seriously, so at least I’m not all in a bunch over it anymore. I’m just posting this so you won’t think I hacked it to bits or lined the proverbial hamster cage with it. I think I’ll just call it what it is—experimental—and play with some more color and then call it done. To be honest, I’m itching to start something more along the lines of my usual—just have to find the right subject…

…and I don’t know what happened over there on the right-hand horizon—okay, well, I do know what happened but I don’t feel like elaborating…
 
...and I sort of fixed the problem grass under the guys arm—not that anyone but me notices...

I’m Kinda Regretting This One…

…maybe it’s just that point I get to in most projects where I feel dissatisfied, but I’m not liking the way this is turning out. I don’t like that clump of trees on the horizon, it's a pointless interruption. And I messed up on the grass under the harvester’s extended arm; it should match the rest of the grass at that distance—I guess I just wasn’t thinking. With indelible in, there simply isn't any getting rid of it...



I don’t know…maybe if I add some color. To be honest, I feel like canning it…

More Hay

Well, I figured I ought to post this now that I feel as if I accomplished a little bit. Besides, I need something to show for this crink in my neck.

I find I can only work at it for a few minutes at a time before I start going cross eyed—Suddenly I'll realize I’m massaging my neck and need to back off till later. Oh, the hazards!

Oh come on now—you knew I couldn't resist all that grass!

Haying Started

Okay, this is another one of those posts where I hope I don’t regret it…I decided, ‘Oh what the heck, just start it—what’s the worst that could happen, right?’ To be honest, I’m not really sure what result I’m looking for. I am completely winging it and it may be a total flop. As you can see, I’m going with pen and ink for right now, and I don’t know but that I might switch over to some black ink at some point. I may even go for some color other than blacks or browns…

You may have also noticed that I altered the placement of some objects, and eliminated others…artist’s prerogative. And that line down the center is because my scanner is too small for this 9" x 16" image—had to do it in two parts.

A Pen & Ink

This is a pen & ink I just completed—actually, it’s a redo of one I did back in the early 1980’s from a photo in an old Vermont Life magazine. My older brother liked it so much that he persuaded me to give it up for $50. That was the first—and only—original artwork I’ve ever sold, reinforcing the notion that I had some talent, and helping to sustain that idea through years of inactivity. Every time I’ve seen it hanging on his wall, when visiting his home in Vermont, I’ve been reminded how much I love the image. I finally decided to do another one for myself. I think it would be interesting to someday compare the two…
For me, it’s such an evocative image that I just couldn’t help write a little something for it…

My Consolation

Shriveled peas roll from my plate, into the pail where several crusts from morning toast await. Three escape into the sink and I chase them around the basin like piglets in a pen. I have trouble locating them as a shard of light pierces the tattered curtain, yet I can feel them, cornered. My fingers are still nimble enough to pinch and so they join the others.

On my way out, I pass her chair, pushed snug against the table. I stroke its back the way I used to caress the handrail as I stepped onto the porch of her parents’ house, my stomach twisting and turning with new love. Her barn coat still hangs from the old iron hook like dainties slung over the shower rod. Although the sight of it burns my eyes each time I come in or go out, I would die but for the yearning.

Then, the screen door slams behind me, echoing off every corner of the barnyard. On cue, they call to me like eager hatchlings waiting for their share.