Back to the Willamette River on a gray, cloudy day with my paintbox. I have barely an hour, so I set up on the near bank. There’s a lovely swoop of clouds pointing where the river rounds a bend. I like the movement, so I set up there.
The clouds shift subtlely, but it’s early enough in the afternoon that the changes are slow. Paint the sky first. The blue-gray overtones of the sky overshadow everything, influencing the colors of rock, plants, water.
I hear the buzz of a hummingbird behind me, catch a glimpse of his silhouette over the blackberries. I was gone for the last week of their plumpness, and now they are shriveled and drooping. This may be my last summer painting down here this year. Before long, leaves will turn color. The river will rise and I won’t be able to get out to the island. I am filled with the desire to paint every day, tomorrow will be changed.
The clouds shift subtlely, but it’s early enough in the afternoon that the changes are slow. Paint the sky first. The blue-gray overtones of the sky overshadow everything, influencing the colors of rock, plants, water.
I hear the buzz of a hummingbird behind me, catch a glimpse of his silhouette over the blackberries. I was gone for the last week of their plumpness, and now they are shriveled and drooping. This may be my last summer painting down here this year. Before long, leaves will turn color. The river will rise and I won’t be able to get out to the island. I am filled with the desire to paint every day, tomorrow will be changed.
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