Downpour

oil on canvas

12" x 12"

It rained a lot last week.

Ninth First Brush

Dead End Power

oil on canvas

16" x 20" 

I just finished cutting my grass...got the mower stuck in the drainage ditch right beside the road.  A passerby yelled from the passenger window of a very large pickup truck, "You're Stuck!" 

I've been in New Harmony, Indiana for the past few days.  If you're reading this, there's a reasonable chance you already know, but the Indiana Plein Air Painters Association and the Hoosier Salon put together an annual gathering of plein air artists from all over the place...it's called "First Brush of Spring" and it's sort of like the state fair for Midwesterners who like to paint pictures outdoors.  The fine folks in charge of the event and the kind people of New Harmony do a good job at making abnormal behavior seem novel.  Painting pictures is as dumb as it's ever been, but I'm sure glad there's a place where dummies like me are welcomed with open arms.

I didn't paint many pictures while in New Harmony, but I greatly enjoyed the little break from my normal routine.  I managed to squeeze out the painting above to the sound of frog songs and intermittent carp splashes.  I sun burnt my face and lost a contact lens too...such are the perils of plein air painting.  At least I didn't hit my head.  My pal Larry hit his head.

And that contact lens I lost...found it stuck in my beard later that evening.  It's good as new now and where it should be.

Faithfully Funny

Yesterday, as I was cresting a hill on a winding road, I witnessed the inflation of a "wacky waving inflatable tube man"...you know, one of those silly eye-catchers that used car salesmen lure you into the lot with...the pneumatically-automated equivalent of the sign spinner outside your local "cash for gold" establishment.  It came to life right there in front of my eyes, reaching its commanding height over a changeable letter church sign that read "He is risen."  With arms fully extended, the bright red and cross-like figure turned toward me as I drove past, staring into my soul with its goofy vinyl eyeballs.  It was surreal.  In fact, it might not of actually happened, but I believe it did.  

"I feel stupid, I feel useless, I feel insane"

It was fun...see you at next year's Picnic.

Forget the Potato Salad

The Rock 'N Roll Picnic

Everybody's going to be there...

Cole, Nick, Megan, and Seamas

Through You

It’s 4:30pm.  I just woke from a twenty minute nap in the grass.  My dog and I take catnaps in the backyard when the weather is nice.  Years ago, I’d be afraid to fall asleep without having him on a leash tied close to me, but I don’t worry anymore.  Gibson is thirteen.  He has a hard time getting up without help.  My wife, Brittany, got him when he was a puppy, around the same time we started dating.  A few years ago, she got Gibson a kitten for companionship.  Her name is Penny.  She’s not sweet like Gibson is, but we’ve grown to love her rambunctious spirit.  Much later in the wee hours, I’ll go to sleep on the couch just in case Gibson needs my assistance through the night…he can’t make it up the stairs to our bedroom anymore.  Penny will wake me up with intermittent bouts of bawling and I’ll silence her with a snap of the fingers and a “shhh.”

I had planned on taking the nap at school during my prep period, but I was pulled away from desktop slumber by a return phone call from the Tudor Room.  Brittany and I eat brunch there every year on Easter Sunday.  My grandmother loved eating brunch at the Tudor Room and we both dearly miss my grandmother.  After some nice voice broke the news that Easter brunch is fully booked, I discovered a student at my door and temporarily abandoned my siesta.  My prep is at the end of the day instead of at the beginning as it had been the past several years.  I typically don’t get as much preparation done as recuperation during this time.  My class schedule is more demanding than usual this school year.  It’s mostly my fault, as I have a hard time denying students the opportunity to take my class.  For example, I’m teaching Intro to 3D, Advanced 3D, Drawing/Painting, and Digital Design classes in a single 45 minute period to a mix of 9th-12th graders.  I wouldn’t trade it for an opportunity to sit behind my desk though.  I’ve grown to love the chaos of it all.  I try to act as silly as possible as often as possible around my students.  I also try to be brutally honest with them—not just truthful, but really honest…I’ve been trying to get better at that.  The school year is winding down and I’ll inevitably lose track of a few students I’ve come to know so well, but many will take an art class next year.  There will be some that keep in touch after they graduate. 

Brittany will be home in a few minutes.  She typically works late on Wednesdays, but she called to let me know she was on her way.  We’ll probably go out to eat at the local Mexican restaurant.  We frequent Casa Sevilla at least once a week, like much the rest of Bloomfield.  On the way to a booth, it’s impossible to avoid at least a dozen people you know.  I usually end up sitting within earshot of a table full of students and their family members.  Sometimes, they’ll come over and talk, but most of the time they give me a half-wave and tell me about their meal the next day in class.  Sometimes, I can manage to overhear their dinner conversation about whether or not they’ve completed their sketchbook assignments.  I have a pretty good ear, as I’m sure some of my students will attest to.  That doesn’t mean I’m always a great listener though…I need to work on that.  My grandmother was a great listener. 

At this very moment, Penny is pawing at a puddle of water on the kitchen table.  She’s very curious.  The water is condensation from my thawing palette.  I store my oil paints in the freezer whenever I can remember to clean up after myself.  I’ve got piles and piles of dried paint scabs—testaments to paintings painted and carelessness with my art materials.  I’ll take the palette upstairs before we leave for dinner so it’s ready to use later this evening.  I still need to paint a picture of Cole, a former student of mine.  I painted his good friend, Nick, and Nick’s girlfriend, Megan…I didn’t want to leave Cole out.  The three of them came to see me a few weeks ago to film a pretend critique of Megan’s artwork—footage needed for a project she’d been working on.  While they were visiting, I convinced them to pose for some reference photos.  It had been a while since I’d seen the boys.  They’re great guys…funny, talented, and artistic.  I can’t say for sure, but I think Nick and Megan became a couple while taking one of my classes.  Megan was my cadet teacher during her senior year.  She’s a great artist.  She’s now studying to be an art teacher.  I’m very proud of her.  Megan has watched over Gibson and Penny for Brittany and I on a few occasions.  She’s just about the only person I’d trust to do such a thing.  I’m glad I can call these former students my friends. 

Tonight, when I return home drowsy and don't really feel like painting, I’ll go ahead and pick up the brush anyway.  While sentimentality may not be a guarantee for a great painting, I’m confident of its value as a reason to paint.    

I’ll tell my story through you, with your likeness and because of the time we’ve spent together. 

Wyatt LeGrand