Skip to main content

One More Thing

In my anti-TV post, I forgot one other interest which has been dormant for quite some time. I took a stab at watercolor painting and wouldn't mind trying it again. I didn't get very far in the quest as demonstrated by the best thing I could dig up--generic field grass.

Comments

I love it!!! I am sourounded by painters as my wife and mother inlaw both paint and are very gifted. Remember - Joni Mitchell is really a painter who's hobby was music.
dive said…
That's beautiful, Robyn.

More, please.
I'll see if I can photograph some of my own stuff (it's all too big for the scanner).
Let's start a gallery.

And Rich, not only Joni, but my beloved Captain, Don Van Vliet.
Scout said…
I'm all for a gallery, but I don't have much more to show. A blue chair, and a snowman, that's about it. very sad.
dive said…
All the more reason to turn off that telly and paint.
You could start with some views from the lake house. That's beautiful.
Anonymous said…
That's Beautiful. I love it!
You should do more.
JanieBelle said…
It's lovely generic field grass, Robyn, and don't let anyone tell you different.

I, on the other hand, can't paint the little guy from hangman!
Scout said…
Look at how nice you're all being about my little painting! The thing can't be more than 4 inches wide--it was an exercise. I'll see what else I have in my drawer, but I'm pretty sure they all look the same.
Taihae said…
I'm an art school student who can't paint, though I'll probly post a couple of my boyfriend C's paintings - it's all he does.

maybe i should post some furniture?

lovely grass, robyn. dont quit now!
Scout said…
Thanks, Taihea. I tried taking a water color class once, but it was frustrating I decided to just try teaching myself. I gave up last year, but I still think about giving it another shot.

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...