It has been about a year since I've last posted. I took a long break from painting, but recently figured out a way to start again. This is from a photo I took in the Himalayas. Looking back over the years, I can see I've grown a lot, both in brushwork, and use of colour.

 

Sadly I lost the phone with the beginnings of the above. Everything was blocked out in orange. My father teased me with the name of Picasso. It's a gift for a friend's birthday, two years ago, and has taken that long to paint. I loved doing the cliffs.

Trying new things

This is not a style I normally work with, yet I wanted to really explore the paint and have fun. I think I would take a little more care, and pull the dark further if I were to do it again. I would also work at adding depth to his eyes. I love the play of colour that came out though, especially on his wings. I liked experimenting with it enough that my next work is playing off of the idea.

Patience...

It would be easy to zip in and paint quickly. It would be easy to give up once the first layer of paint was on and it looked "good enough."

But that wouldn't be "good enough."

Because I can do better, and in order to grow, I must patiently add paint in layers, paying attention to detail.

Sometimes, art is a good teacher for someone who was always trying to finish things fast. Except for chores. Oddly enough, unless something fun was in store, I did them very slowly. I guess I was too wrapped up in the stories I was telling to bother hurrying.

Anyways, this is an acrylic painting I'm doing as practice for class. I might enter it in our school Easter Art War III though. As long as my Sixthies (invented word I think) don't recognize the painting. They're one of two panels of judges :)

Another attempt at displaying wonder.

Unfortunately she got a bit dirty, and her hand is a bit out of proportion, but I am proud of this one. Especially the patience it took me to do a lot of layers on the face and hands. I think becoming an artist is learning to grow and see.

 

Sorry it has been so long. A new quarter began and I felt I was struggling to swim against a very strong current. I think the current is still strong, but my muscles have adjusted, so it is slightly easier.

This is an attempt at a self portrait. I added the suitcase to show how you can add things that show a little about who you are. I've moved more times than I care to count, hence the suit case.

Inside is a  printer's paper tube from when I was two in Cameroon, where we would roll them down hill. There is a fossil I found in Dallas. Sticking out at corner closest to me is my Eclaireurs Evangelique neck scarf tied in a "square knot" that I am proud of. Just above it is a dress my aunt gave me when my first sister was born. It was brown and had puffed sleeves, so ignoring the fact its African design would not be found on Prince Edward Island, I called it my "Anne" dress.

 Lying on the dress is my tobacco pouch that our guard gave me. It's never held tobacco, but has held both m&m's and coins. Across the top lies a home-made bow, one of many I made over the years. I still have not found a home-made arrow as nice as the straw we used to pull off from the roof over our sand pit in Burkina though. A leaf shows both my love of the outdoors, and represents the many leaf forts we used to make. Well -- my family still makes, but since there isn't much place to do so here in Delhi, I abstain.

So there it is: an attempt at a self portrait.

Essay at a rock

It felt like the end of Prince Caspian. I had had a wonderful time in Europe with my brothers, whom I hadn't seen in ages, and with the family I lived with in France for a year as a teenager.

Now I was alone at the Zurich airport, with many hours to go before my flight, and unwieldy pink suitcase to lug around.

After much debate on whether it was worth it to lug the suitcase back into Zurich to more exploring on my own, I spotted what looked like a path leading up to a bench on the hill. The path was paved and accesible. I set out.

The first time I was there, I jumped over some nettles, into a little green natural chapel, where I spent some time in prayer and reflection. I also asked for and found some alpine strawberries.

Eventually I meandered back down. Later, at supper time, I wandered up again, wanting to have a picnic supper at the top. This time I took the left fork of the trail. I was delighted to find some large boulders clustered around, and spent several minutes jumping from one to another in delight, before settling down to a picnic of gluten free bread and cheese.

Finished, I attempted to sketch my favourite rock from above, in memory of these small delights that day.

friendship

 

What can I write about this picture?

It is in honour of late nights playing Ligretto; laughing and talking until the early morning.

It is in honour of sitting together to read the Bible and pray.

It is in honour of sleeping under the Christmas tree to surprise my siblings in the morning.

It is in honour of "Good Night" "Kisher Pari" and "Sweet Dreams"

Of adventure, laughter, tears, and bear hugs.

Anda, eflin.

Writing and Sketching

I have moved more times than I care to count in my life, changing continents every two years while I still lived in the single digits. After that it slowed down, but I still moved a fair bit.

One day, tired of being uprooted constantly, and wanting  a reminder that God is in control, I painted a picture of a sad little girl being gently uprooted.

Over the summer, I was struggling once more with this grief. Within the struggle came a reminder of God's love and care, and a desire to repaint the picture with changes.

Now the girl is no longer passively being uprooted. Instead, she has been resisting -- holding onto the side of the pot. But now the Gardener has called her. In looking at Him, though her face is streaked with tears, she is letting go and reaching for Him.

Disclaimer: The main reason for this post is to let my students see how writing and sketches can work together in planning sometimes. However, I like to share the story behind things, hence the whole post.

A second attempt at returning.

The poinsetta branch above had been knocked off one of my mother's cherised plants. She tenderly placed it in a spice jar with some water, hoping that it would sprout roots.

Last year when I attempted to return, my camera developed a lens problem a week later. Saddened, and slightly stressed by work, I struggled to return to the blog immediately to post the failure. I think part of me hoped to fix it. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, for which I apologize.

Last week, I got a new camera. So once more, I am attempting to explore wonder, joy, and art. Hopefully, this time it will sprout roots.

A returning

It has truly been a long time since I quit keeping up with this blog.
Several times I have thought of restarting it, but since I was floating back and forth across the globe, I wasn't sure if I could manage to keep it up.
Now  that I am a teacher at a small international school in Delhi, and soon to be hosting an after-school art club, I think the time has come to begin again.
I probably will aim for a posting schedule of once or twice a week. I am a busy teacher now.

The picture above is a card I made for a cousin.

May you have a day of small delights of wonder.

Snow! and art.

Snow comes only a few times a year where I live, sometimes only once. So we enjoy it while we have it. It was lovely yesterday with "snow stars" as someone called them, floating down nearly all day. It didn't stick until evening,though.
Here is a snow sculpture I made with my eight year old brother. He took the first picture.

"Courage, dear heart"

I have always loved the imagery in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader when all seems lost and Lucy calls out to Aslan. An albatross comes and circles the mast and Lucy hears "Courage, dear heart." Recently, it has been a reminder to have courage and trust.

A work in progress.

"Grief is great"

A picture of how I've been feeling a lot this past week: a little girl in need of climbing up into her Father's lap.

A friend died last week. I'd hoped to have some art representing the joy he'd been in the lives of those who had known him, but instead all I have is an older picture, which was a good reminder for me tonight.

Wonder at the Creator's art

Today we had a walk in the woods seeing the wonders of a short cold spell. Following are a few pictures of the wonders we saw, along with a few from Colorado that crept in while I was trying to guess at which were the ones I wanted to share.

Freedom

A sound. Roll call! I leap out of bed and land in—softness? I stand trembling.

Freedom. It is a gift. The world is so beautiful -- so wonderful..., and yet, can she ever be truly free? Laugh, love, smile. Or does even now the camp hold her in mockery, clutching her in its long dark shadow.

Can Peace find her?



An attempt to illustrate some of the emotions of a short story I wrote.

Wanderer

Long ago, I read a poem about a gypsy who, wandering up a country lane, sees a house with looking welcoming, and a lady spinning within. At that moment, she longs to be within.

The housewife, looking out, seeing the gypsy in the wild free air, longs to leave her spinning and go out traveling.

I've often felt like that gypsy. Many times, I've looked at a friend who has stayed in one place all their lives and wished that I too, could be comfortably sitting in a place I could truly call home, that I could be a sitting stone, comfortably gathering moss (to mix metaphors). Some day I hope to paint that scene of the poem -- but not today.

Today the wind is calling. I am the wanderer seeing the downy seed dancing on the wind and longing to follow.

Perhaps the Maker of the wind will give me leave.

Kiosque Peynet

An older watercolor, this was done so I had a painting of France to go with some from West Africa I'd done. I chose the kiosque as I used to ride by it on the way to school. It is where Peynet likely first began to get his fame, as it is there that he was inspired to draw the first of his (relatively) famous series of lovers. The peak in in the background is the ruins of the Chateau du Crussol, which often played upon my imagination.

A lot of Valence did, from the winding footpath cobblestone road that perhaps my parents had walked upon before I was born, to the great doors with a handle in the middle of the door, to the school I went to with its millstream, forgotten well, and forbidden sections (it was a convent as well as school) the gymnasium we walked to play basketball in. The gym was large and old, with a bullet hole in the high glass. With the Vercors mountains, in which the resistance hid, looming up over the city, I couldn't help wondering if it had played any part in the second World War.

Shepherd's gaze

"...And there was the baby, lying in the manger.
After seeing him, the shepherds told everyone what had happened and what the angel had said to them about this child."

-Luke 2:16b-17

Wonder of Christmas