Painting Lots of Orange Things

When you look at my painting subjects, you might guess that orange is my favorite color. You’d be wrong. However, orange things are among my favorite things (not raindrops on roses).

The poppy painting is on the easel for consideration and contemplation. How can I make it better? Does it need to be made better? I have an idea for the first question, and the answer to the second question is “Maybe”.

The lemon isn’t orange. Well, duh. The Mural Gallery just sold a little lemon painting so I am painting a new one.

The larger commissioned painting is getting close to completion; the poppy painting is new, and the lemon needs an orange to go with it for the Mural Gallery.

The orange painting is going quickly; the poppy painting is a little more difficult.

It’s from a photo I took up the North Fork of the Kaweah River a handful of years ago. I am not trying to copy every poppy exactly; ain’t nobody got time for that. Besides, nobody cares.

I think this is going to be a good one. My goal is to get it to Kaweah Arts in time for the studio tour on the weekend. It is a county wide studio tour. I’m not participating but am supporting Kaweah Arts in their efforts to draw many people in.

More Spring in Three Rivers

The lavender started blooming early this year. That isn’t a real lawn; it is mowed weeds that dry out when the rain quits and the heat begins.

The Middle Fork of the mighty Kaweah River, looking downstream and upstream. The white-water is a little less than bright white because of the rain. (Ain’t nobody here complainin’ ‘bout that rain!)

Man oh man, I love me some green!

I was pulling weeds in the yard and heard (teehee, almost wrote “herd”) some funny sounds. These deer were eating weeds mere feet from me, chewing kind of loudly.

The first blue dicks, also known as brodaeia (can’t spell it, gave up trying), with an intense bush lupine behind. This is not in my yard.

Hi Pippin. You are the cutest cat, even if you have an entitlement attitude.

March in Three Rivers

I took these photos the first 4 days of the glorious month of March in Three Rivers.

That’s it. Next week we will return to the business of art.

Still Clinging to February

It’s just too short. Of course, by now it is March and there are even more things to photograph. Maybe I should put those pictures on hold until August or September, when it is just ugly around here.

Three Rivers Trees

Oh No! The iconic valley oak on Kaweah River Drive fell over!

Lots of firewood in that dude.

A number of years ago when we still had a newspaper made out of paper (now we don’t even have an online paper), someone wrote an angry letter to the editor after Southern California Edison pruned the tree. It was both rude and ignorant, as I recall. The tree was a leaner, and I knew it couldn’t last. I’m guessing that letter writer might need to be sedated now.

On the same day I saw this sad sight, I saw a redbud in bloom. IN FEBRUARY!!

And finally, my flowering pear tree has blossomed.

I could work in the studio and show you what I’m doing in my art business. But instead, I will show you a few more photos tomorrow. Then maybe I’ll go back to the business of art.

Looking Back at February

Early-ish March isn’t that much different from late February. On an early morning walk, I just wanted to stop time.

This house always grabs my attention, with its quiet simple beauty.

As I walked, I kept smelling something that I couldn’t identify. It was a good smell, and one that I hadn’t noticed before. It was on a route that I only take when my walking partner isn’t with me, chosen because it is shorter than our normal walks. That’s the way I trick myself into going alone.

This is the first time in 26 years that I’ve noticed ceanothus while walking. It is native to this area, and it isn’t very attractive in my book. But I wondered if that was the source of the good smell.

Indeed it was!

With flowering quince and daffodils going gung-ho (that’s a weird word—Chinese origins?**) in my yard, along with mowed weeds that pass for a lawn in spring, I almost felt happy to be alive*.

This one of about nine mailboxes scattered around our extensive yard; they are tool containers so I don’t have to hike a mile for a trowel.
This is flowering quince, not redbud, which is actually pink.

*Fret not. That’s something my dad used to say in his buffoonish way of disseminating wisdom. I was thinking about him a lot in February because that was both his birth and death month.

** Thank you Gnat for sending me that little piece on MentalFloss.com verifying my guess that “gung ho” is Chinese!