“Oscar’s House” morning plein air
28 03 2008The weather has warmed up this week, but the strange wind gusts prevail. I sat pondering this over morning coffee, trying to decide where I might go to paint outside without being completely blown away. I had only packed my smaller lightweight pochade box, which as I’ve described previously in excruciating detail, is not great for wind. But the other alternative was to drive across town to my studio to get my larger, sturdier easel. As I turned these matters over in my head, I stared out the kitchen window, and this scene came into view:
“Oscar’s House”
Oil on Canvas
10″x8″
I started noticing how the forsythia bush in our yard (foreground lower left) framed and echoed the bushes in bloom across the street at my neighbor’s house. I also noticed how the bare-limbed trees above created a kind of upper frame for the little bungalow, and I thought the composition could be worth exploring. Also, since I could set up on my back porch, I’d be sheltered from the wind by our house. Whether this solution was realized out of laziness or resourcefulness is a matter of opinion, but never-the-less, “Oscar’s House” was born!
Oscar is actually my neighbor’s dog. I am embarrassed to say that I can never remember my neighbor’s name. Okay, it’s no secret to those who know me that I’m not great with remembering peoples’ names. But this particular memory lapse isn’t totally my fault.
When Oscar and his mom moved into their house, my husband and I introduced ourselves and received a reply of “This is Oscar,” referencing the little wiener dog at our new neighbor’s feet. There was no mention of our neighbor’s name, so the conversation developed in such a way that we received various information and opinions of Oscar’s via our neighbor’s translations. (Oscar likes this, Oscar prefers that. Oscar is barking because he isn’t used to strange men, etc.)
In subsequent meetings we actually did find out our neighbor’s name, but you’ll have to ask my husband. For some reason my mind wipes clean any recollection of her name and instantly replaces it with “Oscar’s mom”. So, this is Oscar’s house. I think I’m going to be kind to myself today and call it a resourceful solution to a rather gusty March morning.
For more information about this painting, please contact me.
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Jennifer
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Jennifer,
Looks like we were painting on the same street! Even the same size. How lovely your painting is. The yellow is such a beautiful contrast and compliment to the blues and grays and purples. The green roof is so important in this one. You are good at knowing how to simplify your subject - leaving out just the right things. I enjoy your writing as well as your art - Oscar’s story is a good one.
Thanks for your comments on my blog and thanks from many, I’m sure, for your heart of a teacher. I can’t imagine the time you give to others by keeping up your blogs, web sites and workshops. I know it’s part of business to some extent but you are a generous spirit.
I like this painting. I alway’s liked forsythia, but there was never enough color with it and it only lasted a couple of weeks and the rest of the year the shrub, not bush, looked like it was dead. I agree with Marilyn about the teacher thing, but don’t even try to make me sit in the corner.
I was looking for a review of your easel about the way you whipped it out and captured that last ray of on Joan of Arc or how light and easy to handle it was when you were running to catch the train to Hamburg. Something smart now.
Marilyn,
Yes, I was thinking the same thing when I saw your recent painting of the bare-limbed trees! I appreciate your comments very much. All of these various Internet venues are admittedly time consuming. And I’ve yet to keep up with all of the “social networking” and web 2.0 stuff that I’ve seen other interprising artists doing. But even with the “limited” amount I do, the Internet’s been a great way to share my work and ideas, and more importantly to make some wonderful connections.
Rick,
Funny you should say that about forsythia. We have had row of these bushes along our fence since we moved to our house four years ago. Until this year they have never bloomed, just leafed right out and grew like crazy — like weeds, as you say. I cut several down to the ground last year in disgust and my husband dug up the roots.
Thanks to you also. As for the teacher thing, I suspect there’s not much you can be “made” to do.
The couple of remaining bushes were on my hit list this year and voila! Blooms. I guess they got scared into flowering? Not sure what it’s like at the beach, but along with the forsythia there are blooming fruit trees and redbuds around here. But the real trick is to see color, even where there doesn’t seem to be any. As Charles Hawthorne once said, “See brilliant color, then paint it a little more brilliant than you see it!”
p.s. I’ll think some more on the J Peterman catalog description. Maybe I’ll be inspired when I go to France in May!