Peach Sunrise

 

© Robin Edmundson, 'Peach Sunrise', watercolor, 9 x 12 inches.

I'm still working on this series of sunrises.   Early mornings.  Clear cold light or soft misty light.  

Pieces like these force me to learn about the pigment, edges, the power of suggestion.   The small lines that tell big stories.  

This one is a favorite for me because I painted it at the end of last semester and left it in the studio.  Claire came out that night and spent several miserable hours fighting with university software to submit a project and at midnight, frustrated and trying to keep it together until the thing finally submitted, she looked over and saw the painting.  She said it helped her get through.

In the morning I came out and found a pink post-it above the painting that said: ' I like this.  Claire' with an arrow pointing down to the painting.   

In the middle of a miserable night, this little study managed to make someone feel better about what they were doing.  Better enough to actually write a note about it.   

Claire's seal of approval is the best compliment I've ever gotten, especially knowing what she was going through that night.

If there's any reason for me to continue painting and posting, it's that one.   To provide a quite space to feel one's feelings, to pause and breathe, and continue on.

[p.s. She got an A in the class.]

Summer

 

© Robin Edmundson, 'Morning Wildflowers', watercolor, 9 x 12 inches. Framed, $300.  

It’s summer. It’s hot. It’s noisy. I love it.

I’m not going lie, all these cicadas have been enormously entertaining, but I won’t be sorry to see them go. Every 17 years is plenty often enough. [This is my 4th time experiencing Brood X. It’s never dull.]

To beat the heat and the noise, I’ve been walking early in the morning, when things are cooler, a bit quieter and the morning mist is blue in the shade and orange in the rising sun. Even the neighbor’s cows are orange on those mornings.

So many wonderful things to see on my walks this time of year. The abundance of food has made the turkeys brave and I’ve actually met one on the road a couple of times. There are a few rabbits that venture out onto the road in the mornings and I’ve figured out how to behave so that they’ll let me walk right by them. I’ve chatted with turtles and salamanders and a few snakes.

I also happened to be standing in the right place one morning to see where a pileated woodpecker’s nest was and it’s been exciting waiting for the chicks to be big enough to venture out. There is a squirrel that lives in the next tree over and I was surprised and delighted to find out that grumpy neighbors are not just a human experience. I’m glad I don’t live next to that squirrel.

The gardens are looking lovely. My asparagus is almost finished, my peas are producing like crazy, I have baby tomatoes on some of my plants and my beans are getting taller by the minute. I love this time of year.

Wishing you lovely neighbors and an abundance of magical moments.

Five Bales: A series

© Robin Edmundson, 'Five Bales, Dawn', watercolor, 10 x 14 inches.  $375.

Once in a while, I explore the same composition a bunch of times with different colors, different lights.  Working in a series with a strong composition lets me focus on other things than the shapes and composition; it frees me up to explore a lot of other things.  

In this series, I painted these five haybales in different light/times of day.  It was a lot of fun.  Over the next few days, I'll show you my favorites.

This first one started out with a 'What if I started with a wash of neutral gray?'   It quickly developed into a sunrise/dawn scene and I just went with it.  I walk at sunrise a lot in the summer and the light is very familiar to me.  

First Light, Covered Bridge

© Robin Edmundson, 'First Light, Covered Bridge', watercolor, 16 x 12 inches
Framed to 20 x 16 inches.  $375.

As I've mentioned before, I've been studying composition.   Mostly this means becoming aware of how I could have better composed a painting after it's too late to do anything about it.   Paint and learn.

I've been collecting composition structures that speak to me and while I was at it I found one that I loved, but only if I added something with some visual oomph off to the right.    I did a couple of drafts, playing with snow and light and shadow while I was at it.  Eric saw this one and loves the glow of that early morning light.  

First Light

© Robin Edmundson, 'First Light', watercolor, 14 x 10 inches
Framed to 22 x 18 inches.  $375

You know that moment on a winter morning, when the sun finally breaks over the horizon and the twilight blues and purples coalesce into bright shadows on the snow?   

I love that moment.   Hello, morning!

Hay Season

The hay fields are beautiful at sunrise.  I love round bales.

March Sunrise

While I was at the top of a hill trying to get those pics of the moon setting off to the west the other day, I turned around to the east and got these.  

That moment - the very first moment the sun winks over the horizon - takes my breath away.