Painting and Learning

 So. I'm very excited about visiting renowned painter Charles Brindley's class at Scarritt-Bennet Center here in Nashville, across from the Peabody at Vanderbilt Campus I attended 'way back in the early '90s . I first met Charles at University School of Nashville's Artclectic, which my wife, Lee Ann, was leading (she did so for 10 years of its biggest growth). I taught at USN for 14 years, and Lee Ann was deeply involved in both, in part because both our beautiful children attended school there and in part because USN was her alma mater. I was immensely impressed by Charles' art--who could see and not be so?

I am not going to copy and paste evidence here, it's copious at his website: Get lost in the man's mastery of visual imagery at his online gallery at cbrindley.com. 

Charles' class info is at https://www.cbrindley.com/classes if you want more information about that. I am at least tentatively planning to enroll in one for the Fall semester to learn from the master and I'm buzzed about it. I haven't taken a class of any kind since graduating from Vanderbilt in 1995, and I am visiting tomorrow to see how they work and to assuage a little anxiety about doing so. We'll see.

I first started painting, again, during the pandemic, of course. I walk my dog every day. Just about to go out after jotting this down. There is a great deal of construction going on in my neighborhood, just like in virtually every neighborhood in Nashville, and people are moving in and out all the time. I keep an eye out in the construction lots and alleys for useful throwaways, and I started making Kountry Kraft signs for my front porch out of discarded 2x10s a couple years ago, first using Sharpie markers and graduating to a beginner's set of acrylic paints. Here's an example:

Hoppy Holidays, yes, a beer reference

Other signs include "Love Trumps Hate," "Only Love," REIMAGINE HOW SCHOOLS WORK," "Happy" (4th of July), "BOO!," "BeKind," and...you get the idea. I recently discarded my "Back 2 School" sign because, well, I ain't never going back. 

I am, however, going to class tomorrow and beginning regular participation twice a week starting September 8, barring some jolting turn-off during tomorrow's recon mission. I don't anticipate that. 

I take a lot of photos. Some are well-documented on my Facebook album, "ThingsOnTheGround." In November of 2021, I had to stop the car on the way down the hill from my dear buddy Rocky's home on the ridge above Little Marrowbone Creek Road to take a photo:

Some time later, likely around December, I took one of my reclaimed 2x10s and spray painted it flat white enamel, then spent the next maybe 3 months painting. On January 8 it looked like this:

and when it was "done," it looked like this:

I sketched it out in pencil, threw a plethora of color at it, mixing as I went, and just kept going until it satisfied me. I also extended its field to the edges of the lumber:

Since then, I've finished paintings from a photo of an ancient cinderblock building a couple blocks from my home and from a pic of a great blue heron perched solemnly atop a condo rooftop in Destin, Florida. I'm now working on a panorama view overlooking the grassy field of Brownland Farm horse ranch in Franklin, TN. I don't see an end to it. I've found the zone a few times where I am one with the brushstroke, intuitively understanding when something is right, or right enough, and smiling. I want that feeling again, often and deep.

Examining Charles Brindley's vast body of work at his website, I see that my own crude work with paints is just that, lacking realism, which is okay, and rudimentarily color mixed, which is understandable; and I know that anything I can learn from him will strengthen my experiences. I also believe I may be onto something with my choice of canvas. Building something meaningful and artistic from a discarded piece of lumber imbues it with something a little magical, I think.

That's all today. Watson is getting a little cranky and it's only getting hotter outside. Rain today though! And thankfully not flooding rain. Climate change is. Peace.

It's the late middle of July in Nashville, Tennessee, and I am thankful for the rain this morning. It's just shy of 6 am and it's 72 degrees and according to timeanddate.com, dawn came 11 minutes ago. A gray cloudy sky still smothers the world outside my windows and the streets are dark and shiny with the light rain falling. As I type it grows brighter gray by the minute.

The first thing I did after coming down the stairs from our bedroom with Watson leading the way was to approach the locked back storm door and peer into the dim light to see the rain chain hanging from our porch gutter cascading down with water. Sweet water, Rare water this summer.

Sitting on our lush leather sectional before the 61" flatscreen tv last night, enjoying a big dinner salad prepared by my love, we rediscovered Killing Eve last night, starting back up from where we left off after episode 1 of the third season. I don't recall why we did not continue--something else more glittery came along, we switched to another series on a whim, it was in one of those platform transitions where we ditched the Roku and bought an AppleTV device, something. Maybe we discovered Ted Lasso.

Whatever the case, it's a doozy of a series and we have most of this season and all of season four to enjoy. During the show, I enjoyed a Vesper Martini and Lee Ann drank some Pino Grigio and we sipped waters and laughed and talked, me on the sofa, she in the luxurious, monster Barcalounger we bought on sale during her recuperation from emergency intestinal surgery this year. We probably watched four episodes, bingelike, until agreeing it was time for bed and snuggle time.

Life does not suck. I don't know what I thought retirement would be like, but likely it was like this. I like it. Like, did I say "like" too much there?

After a whirlwind pair of trips away from home (see most recent posts), I like our home. 

I spent yesterday and most of the previous two days totally relaxing, sort of an enforced relaxing due to my sprained hip (self-diagnosed) from over-exertion on Montana. I shouldn't say that, really, because it was just a strain imposed by a less-than-intentional steep step up out of Blanchard Lake 

Pano at (little) Blanchard Lake off US83. We fished a bit off a little pier on Harper's Lake then drove on a smidge to this little gem. The creek comes in at the right of this pic and my handsome son Colin surveys the breathtaking surroundings. Ah, Montana. 

after standing in the cold mountain creek water that fed it for maybe an hour and a half. I remember Colin reaching down from above to help me make that step and I remember a slight pulling sensation as I pushed myself up with my left leg. Two days later, getting up from a seat on my last of eight air flights in 2 weeks, I felt it again. That's when I started limping. It got progressively worse.

Now, 3 days later, it gets progressively later. The weakness is still there, but I'm not grimacing or moaning out loud when I move my left leg. I walked the dog for a mile yesterday and there was a little backsliding in the pain department, but it was worth it. I'm on the mend. I'm going to bounce around some antique stores with Rocky today. 

It's funny the games the mind plays. When the pain was at its worst, and it was bad, I kept conjuring in my head the phrase, "degenerative bone disease," knowing that was malarky but teasing myself with it anyway, much like when I hear the one "...crashed on takeoff" when I'm strapped into any plane during lift off from the tarmac. I counter that by repeating a mantra that goes, "I love you Lee Ann, I love you Miranda, I love you Colin, I love you Watson, I love you Ed, I love you Tim, I love you Katie, I love you Rocky, I love you Jimmy, I love you Seamus" until the plan levels off into its flight. On repetitions, I often add other names: I love a lot of people. If I left you off the list, don't get your knickers in a twist. I remembered to add you as it grew. The cool thing about these last four takeoffs was that I got to say the first sentence to Lee Ann, as I held her hand. 

As the bright green happy red maple in the front yard releases unhurried droplets of water, leaf to green green leaf, as Fred the Fly (wondering how the hell he gets out of here back into the vast outside) wanders beyond my white wooden blinds on the window overlooking the porch and my little idyllic rain garden, as Watson sleeps behind me on my office rug in my beautiful home, I just want to say I'm grateful. 

I am grateful. And, oh, I finished a painting yesterday. I just need to seal it up with a layer or two of shiny polyethylene glaze and it's done. Here's the final form it took:

blue heron on destin rooftop

I really do enjoy painting on these reclaimed cast-off 2x10 (and other size) pieces of lumber. Always from photos I have taken with my iPhone. I think it's a thing. Next up I'm going to try a pano on a wider 2x6 I picked up in an alley walking Watson yesterday. We'll see. 

That's my blathering for today. Peace.

Montana Trip 2022

Final update with pics from July 9, 2022--Done!

So, I think I'll just let the images describe this leg of our summer Montana trip, 'k? Click on the image above to view our dynamic annotated album from July 3, 2022 to July 9 when we head on back home to Chez Merrique in Nashville. Click on the first pic and navigate through the photos with the arrows on the sides. This album will stop growing but remain as long as the Internet loves me (and you). Check back often as I'll be uploading and adding brief comments to most pics until the end of the trip. 

BTW, the alarm is armed and neighbors are watching at home, so don't even think about it. Cool.

Sojourn to the Berkshires 3, Last Day (kind of)

 Okee dokee. At the moment I am in a beautiful hotel room in Missoula, Montana, having hugged my son and daughter-not-in-law-but-so-for-real for the first time in a year. My lovely soul-mate is sleeping in the king-sized bed behind me, and I am up after being comatose for nearly 12 hours to (begin to) get caught up after a challenging mess of a set of flights home from Albany.

What happened, you may ask.

I may answer.

Friday morning Jimmy came by the Fairfield Inn and we took the Purple Charger to breakfast. Or we took ourselves to breakfast. A skip and a jump up the highway to the Rio Café we went. It's a cute little place with a back lawn hosting well spaced picnic tables and we took one, chatted about the play and life and family, just enjoying one another's company. It had been 7 years since we had been geolocated and it felt so, so good to be with him. And it had been around 42 or 3 years since we had met as young men in Alaska, becoming fast friends who have stayed in touch along our meandering paths through lives. I love him and trust him completely. 

After a tasty breakfast, I took a selfie. This is us, together and happy. 

Two old friends at Rio Cafe

We hugged goodbye a couple times in the motel parking lot, bid each other see-ya-later, and he drove away to his next rehearsal. I had already checked out and minutes later I was on the road northwest to Albany. I called Lee Ann and chatted a few minutes. She was elated to hear that Seamus was home from the hospital, beginning to recuperate after his two latest brain surgeries and The Virus (that's all I'll say but it was a challenging few days for my brother). I told her that since I had several hours before the flights home (an optimistic assessment), I was thinking about spending one of them at the Turn Park sculpture garden, an attraction along the way. but as we spoke I encountered a sign that said "Berkshire Botanical Garden" and quickly came up on it, turning into the entrance. That's my favorite way to travel, friends, making it up as I go. Like life, you know.

I took a number of photos during the hour I enjoyed strolling through the gardens, but I'm going to save some blog-time here by sending you to the Garden website photos, which are generally mo' better than mine. I do like this pano though, so click on it to view it larger and scroll it, then click here to see the official pics. 

Berkshire Botanical Garden

I was sweaty enough after an hour or so enjoying this beautiful set of gardens so I returned to Purple and hit the road. In Albany, I returned him and got inside through security uneventfully. I figured I would have a beer or two over the next few hours and grab a salad. 

I found my parking spot before flying home!

I spent a couple hours working on my previous post and ate a bad salad with undercooked chicken which I scraped toward the side of the plastic go container, along with two 20 oz. local draft beers, and headed to my gate at the appointed time. On the way, my phone vibrated.

What? 

In a nutshell:  Look here, there's a message from American Airlines that my flight has been cancelled. I rushed to the gate counter and sure enough, it had. No line before me, I approached the harried but really helpful service counter attendant and after some discussion of alternatives was booked on a new flight to Nashville, not through connecting flight to Chicago, but to Charlotte, North Carolina. And not arriving that night, but flying out at in an hour or so and out of Charlotte at early AM the next morning. I grabbed my phone and found a room at the Hampton Inn at a sale rate (what a deal--not subsidized by AA and costing me 250 dollars and tips for shuttles and grabbing me oh about 4 hours sleep before grabbing a Lyft another unexpected expense, at 5 a.m. to get boarded for home. The flight to Charlotte was half hour late but hit the sky, in an hour or so hitting storm turbulence that elicited at least one scream from a passenger. Perfect. 

I called the motel upon landing and barely caught the last shuttle, got into a weird suite at my ersatz bargain rate, hit the 7-11 next door for a turkey sandwich, a breakfast sandwich to micronuke the next "morning," (it already WAS morning by then), wolfed down the first, drank a canned margarita and half a liter of water, laid down on the giant bed, and did not move until my 4 a.m. alarms went off. I showered, dressed, inhaled my bad microwaved 7-11 breakfast sandwich, and raced down to my Lyft, which got me to the church on time. I had no bags to check and things went well at the airport so up in the air I was.

Let me hold forth a bit about COVID-19. I am quad-vaxed. I wore a KN-95 mask on my trip anytime I was anywhere in close proximity to strangers. I was never harassed about it, only got a few demeaning looks from others, and hated the claustrophobic feeling of the hot breath for hours at a time. In airports, I was in the fairly small minority of folks doing that, but I did not give a hoot. I'm pretty sure I do not have COVID. Enough said.

Lee Ann picked me up and home we went. I went straight to bed because we were flying at 5 something the next morning, bound for Montana. 

I'll consider this the end of my Berkshires trip, and a memorable one it was. Will I continue this blogfest with descriptions of my week-long trip to Montana? Maybe. We'll see. 

Sojourn to the Berkshires Day 2 -- some walks, a dinner, and a play

 OKAY! I'm in the Albany NY Airport, and I've found a perch at the terminal walkway bar table  counter, on a stool with a nice draft local hazy IPA beside my laptop. I have 3 1/2 hours before my flight to DC boards, but I did save a little $ on Bruno the Purple Charger by getting it in a bit earlier than the reservation. 

Yesterday morning I slept in until around 7, grabbed a decent and filling "free" breakfast in the motel lobby, then drove out to the theater to make sure I knew where I was going when I had a curtain time to honor. It's a good thing, because pulling out of the parking lot I went rogue on Waze directions and found a shortcut that bypassed all of the roadwork that slowed down my drive there. I made a note to go out without cell phone directions and to turn on Tacatonic Road to get there that evening. That night, after the play, I drove out at waning dusk onto the road bordered by fields of high wild grasses and lit by more fireflies than I have ever seen in one place. I almost pulled over to video, but decided to save the image in my old brain instead. 

As I have shared before, my mantra is "I am good, I am well, I am healthy I am Happy I am whole." Yesterday I changed this to "Healing Seamus Seamus Healing" and will continue utilizing that for the immediate future. He is healing and he is home from the hospital as of last night, but I figure anything I can do, you know, on the spiritual plane... The benefit of this tack, as opposed to praying, is that no deity, no higher power, needs to hear and respond. I am certain it is at least as effective. After all, if there is one God, she must be checking those mantras, right?

Okay, I'm getting all non-linear again. Jimmy and I talked about that at breakfast this morning. He cam to the hotel and we took Bruno ("because your car is cooler") up less than a mile up the road and ate outside at the Rio Cafe. Really good stuffThanks for breakfast, buddy, if you're reading this. Who is linear anyway? "Oh, there's a dandilion. Oh, that thing I did in high school." Right? But. That discussion was today, and we were talking about yesterday.

Let's pop in a picture to break things up, shall we?

After breakfast see ya later hug at the Rio Cafe

Okay then. After leaving the theater on my scouting mission, I hit downtown again, and found a place to park at an entry point to River Walk, an attraction that came up early in my searches. It was attractive enough, and everyone needs to see it, but it turned out to be only maybe a city block long. I took some video along the way, and a couple pics--note the two of a dark barn with a bright little something in its darkest region, then the close up. Class, folks, that's class. I wish I'd got a pic of the road-facing wall of the building. It's just an old barn with two big doors and nothing else, but I can imagine families starting here, on a cool fall night with the disco ball fracking the room.

I walked the little downtown, saw some cute shops, refrained from buying art at some really inspirational studios, took a pano from a corner, and noted the location of The Well, a restaurant and bar I had my sights set on for the next night's preshow dinner. 

Okay again. First little thing after my scouting and my Riverwalk aside was to head up to Housatonic Flats. I pulled into the parking lot with only one more car there. It's been quiet in GB during my stay. Jimmy says they are getting big weekend tourist hits, but luckily my stay was Wed-Fri. Here's Bruno at the trailhead. I was hoping it was a bit longer than a city block. But, it calmed me down nicely. 

Bruno the Purple Charger at the trailhead

I checked my shoelaces and hit the trail. 

Trailhead at Housatonic Flats

Flats sign with explanation. It's a buffer, ya'll.

Trailhead sign closer and clearer

First bench stop with an aside trail to the river

Two dandelions

Pano at the river, click to enlarge-o

I just liked the color here and think it might be fun to paint

And a video... Ducks, ya'll...

It was a quiet, wonderful walk. The trees are taller, older, up here, I think. And the tall wildflowers grow taller before they dry and turn to seed, as they are doing in Tennessee as I type. I just cut mine down in my little back "yard," though I really enjoyed the Queen Ann's Lace and the tall clover that I let run out its time in my "meadow," as I like to call it.

I drove back to the motel and after an hour in the pool with an intervening hot tub soak (excellent power in those jets, Fairfield Inn by Marriot). I took a nap. I got into my nap by meditating on my new mantra, "Healing Seamus Seamus healing." With the help of a phone alarm (I left my iWatch charging at home. I hope it's good for it) I got up, showered, dressed, and drove.

At the Great Barrington Community Theater, Bard College Daniels Cultural Center (say that three times really fast), I parked and moseyed inside, where my ticket was awaiting me. I jacked into the play, which I thoroughly enjoyed and believe is going places, but will not review here. No photos were allowed after I took this one 

of a couple audience members (Sandy and friend, as I found out later) awaited the dimming of the lights. Turns out it was a preview performance with opening night tonight (as I write from the airport). There were only about 20 of us in the small theater audience. That's all good. It was spectacular, and intimate, and I enjoyed emersion in the world I only peripherally experienced. Jimmy called me the day of the diagnosis. I remember it so clearly--I was helping a kindergarten teacher, Mary McCullough, set up her classroom printer and begged off that to go to a corner of her bright, welcoming, kindergarten classroom to talk and to weep a bit. I do that, and it was certainly all right to do that day. From my perspective as a retired human person, I now know that the right thing to do was to fly out there. I did not. I wish I had. Jimmy and I have talked over the years, and I didn't get far from Seamus's recovery, but neither did I really get close to it. Regrets. And healing, which this trip generated, at least a little.

"Leave your Fears Here" is  a "Rememberer" play, a Father play, and a play everyone should experience. I got to meet both Robert Egan and Michael O'Keefe, sat next to Michael for the preview performance. More on all that later. 

That's freakin' it! I'm ready to fly om the morning. I am ready to be home. I love you, Jimmy. Keep plugging into that impressive piece of writing you've created and bringing it alive. You are going to awaken a whole new audience to this kind of journey and its kaleidoscopic complexities and contradictions, and to your beautiful son, to your beautiful soul mate, and to your beautiful self. I love you.