I was cutting the veggies for the rainbow salad featured elsewhere on this site. This is not the first time I have enountered kitchen wisdom courtesy of whatever is upon my cutting board.  This time around a purple onion proclaimed, “Love shouldn’t make you cry.”

Ah, it’s spring again.  Our pink dogwood has been putting on a show for two weeks now. The cherry tree’s blossoms managed to hold on for three or four days before showering the lawn with her petals. Tulips and hycinths are a memory of color and scent but other blossoms are readying themselves.

There is a stand of allium down the street that Martin and I have taken to photographing each spring on our evening walks.  This year, one blossom’s calyx reminded me of a French wicker basket a jardinière might use to gather the gifts of her garden. Stay tuned.  I hope to photograph it over the next few days.

Happy Spring!

Sky by the Divine Creator

photo by the divine Martin Darvick

This painting began as a pure indulgence, a reveling in hues of green and blue. Of movement across the canvas. I let my brush go where it wanted, mixing combo after combo of blues and greens. I tried to keep my mind at bay and let my spirit take over. A teacher once commented, “Creating abstract art is 10% painting. The other 90%? Study your canvas. Go away and come back to it. Listen to what it is telling you before you pick up your brush again.”

I didn’t intend a month’s absence from the painting, but that’s how it worked out.  Before I left I noticed a vague shape in the canvas’ lower left hand corner.  Someone’s torso and legs perhaps? Was she bent over? Perhaps hunched against an oncoming storm? Were those rainboots on her feet?  During my weeks away, she danced in and out of my memory.

When we finally reunited, I felt a bit pelted myself. Re-entry from a long and wonderful trip inevitably concludes with piles of laundry and mail. The light and joy of the first night of Chanukah this year brought a father-son hunting trip with Jews in their crosshairs. Rob Reiner and his wife murdered by their son.

I needed to lose myself in something. The vague shape was taking form in my mind as I filled my water bucket and began squeezing paints onto my palette. Brushstroke by brushstroke she came into being. She didn’t need facial features, did she? And why not paint her face and hands blue? If Franz Marc could paint a blue horse, my figure could certainly have slate-hued skin.

Is this painting done? I’m not sure yet. The umbrella’s handle a bit misaligned. I’m sure my teacher would find plenty of teachable moments for me to remedy.  Part of me wants to “do more.” Another part is setting this painting aside for the moment and turning to new work.  Stay tuned. Stay dry. Weather the storms as best as you can.

There seems to be a bee theme here this week.  Each morning I burrow into the NYT’s Spelling Bee Game, more often than not finding enough words to achieve Genius status. Rarely do I bother trying to reach the level of Queen Bee.

Am I a slacker? Content with the silver? Know when to trade the screen for real life? I have a new goal: to have one of my bee images accompany a future game of Spelling Bee.  Whether it happens or not, I enjoy bee-ing in the moment with a fellow earth-traveler. No sting, just joy.

photo courtesy of Debra Darvick

Perugia is known for its Baci, those delicious chocolate and hazelnut candy kisses wrapped in silver and blue foil. It’s good our walking tour of the town helped offset the samplers we inhaled.

Photo: Debra Darvick