Five Haybales, Evening

© Robin Edmundson, 'Five Haybales, Evening', watercolor, 18 x 24 inches. 

$750. Framed to 26 x 32 inches.

A larger version of my favorite haybales this year.  Our late afternoon/evenings are hot and even the shadows glow just before the sun goes down.  

This was a delicious exercise in glazing and harmonies.   I started it a couple of weeks ago and it sat with just the sky and trees for a long time.   Then a bit here, a glaze there, a shadow here, another glaze there and it slowly came together.  

Five Haybales: Afternoon

© Robin Edmundson, 'Five Haybales, Afternoon', watercolor, 10 x 14 inches.   $375.

Another in the 'Five Haybales' series.   This was the original 'light' intended for the composition.   I'm kind of loving those puffy afternoon clouds.  

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.  

White Hot July Sky

©Robin Edmundson, 'July Sky', watercolor, 18 x 24 inches.  Framed to 24 x 30 inches.  $750.

It's July. 

It's hot.

Searingly hot. 

The hay is cut and the fields quickly dry out to a dusty gold.  The days are hazy and lazy.  It never really cools off at night and the mornings are heavy and damp.  It's like the air itself is sweating. 

In our humidity, the clouds are varied and interesting - mackerel scales and mare's tails are indicative of quickly changing weather.  As things heat up even further during the days, we often get pop-up thunderstorms, dumping even more humidity into the air. 

It's too hot for the birds to fly and they stay inside the cooler edges of the woods.   Dragonflies and darning needles large and small flit around the trees instead.  At twilight the fireflies start their light show. 

And over and under and around it all is the gentle accompanying swoozh swoozh swoozh of the cicadas.

Belonging

© Robin Edmundson, 'Haybales, Blue Trees, Quail', watercolor, 10 x 14 inches. 
Framed to 18 x 22 inches.   $375

I've been thinking a lot lately about belonging - or rather not belonging.   It's a human thing to gather into like-minded groups and to identify as 'belonging' vs. not belonging; it's a 'we' vs. 'other' thing. 

Like most people, I belong to a number of groups, and I identify with many different things.   Most of the time, I am very aware of how I am different from others in the group and in the past some people have been unpleasant when they found out about those differences. For that reason, I hang out around the fringes of most of my groups, participating cheerfully, but never quite going all-in.   I never feel like I truly belong.

It occurred to me the other night that while I don't feel like I truly belong to any particular group, I do feel like I truly belong to a particular place.

I belong to rural Indiana.  I feel it deeply - at the atomic level.  The wind is my breath,  the earth my flesh,  the creeks my blood. 

That one realization was a turning point for me in my work.   When I tap into that feeling of belonging - of being 'one' with this place - then my work takes on a certain kind of pleasing character and flow.   People respond to those pieces in ways that I would never have predicted. 

This kind of belonging is a powerful thing.

Hot Bales

© Robin Edmundson, 'Hot Bales', watercolor, 10 x 14 inches.  

It's been hot here.   Even the shade is hot. 

[This piece is available.  Holler if you want it.]

Thompson Barn

© Robin Edmundson, 'Thompson's Barn', watercolor, 18 x 24 inches

This piece was a commission for a lovely family who lives out near us.   They raise guineas and it was super fun to go hang out and take pictures of the place.  I love the squeaky hinge sounds the birds make.   

The barn has all the character you'd expect from anything that has had a long life of service.  Multiple layers of color, 4 additions, an inspiring collection of materials.   I'm always happy to honor the life of one of these old beauties.  

Split Roof & Grassy Bales

© Robin Edmundson, 'Split Roof, Grassy Bales',  watercolor, 10 x 14 inches. 

This place is not far from us, at the bottom of a hill in a damp, sheltered spot.   The bales often sprout before they're used for winter feed.  The old tractor shed's roof split a couple of years ago when we had several heavy snows in a short time.   It's quiet and peaceful.  Even in the winter, the grass stays green for a long time there. 

I studied this barn for a long time before I painted it. I routinely do a few versions of a piece to get a feel for color, shapes and light.    Here are a couple of practice pieces:

I may try to do it again as a snow scene.  I'll keep you posted.

Turquoise Barn

© Robin Edmundson, 'Turquoise barn and haybales', watercolor, 18 x 24 inches.  $750, framed.

I got stuck for a while right around the holidays.  I couldn't seem to paint anything I liked and felt way out of whack.   My mentor, the amazing Susan Webb Tregay, suggested that I focus on barns - lots and lots of barns.   For days I painted barns in all the colors.   I didn't try to make them 'good', I just painted them again and again.  I used the backs of a bunch of paintings in my garbage stack.  I tried new pigments, I tried new color combinations.  I whined a lot.  [A lot.]  But every day I painted more.

One day, it was time to pull out the Big Paper.  You know - the good kind, with acres of white staring at you, daring you to make a mistake.   I dove in, adjusting along the way.  Step back, let it dry, come back tomorrow, get feedback.  Adjust again.  Get more feedback.  Adjust again. 

I'm learning to linger over a piece and to not feel like I have to rush it. 

And in the end, I have this.    And of course I want more feedback - tell me if you think the gravel in the road is working.   I tried something new and I'm not sure how I like it or if it works.

Haybales

© Robin Edmundson, 'Haybales, blue trees', watercolor,  8 x 14 inches.  $375

Usually I try to paint the colors in season, and winter here is all about the umbers, cobalt and indigo.  This winter, though, I haven't been able to set the golds, greens and brighter colors aside yet.   I'm still loving those brights. 

I have a feeling that I'll be keeping with the brighter colors for a while. 

Double Mist

© Robin Edmundson, 'Double Mist, October',  20 x 24 inches framed.  

This is a piece I did a few months ago.  Once in a while we get a double layer of mist over the fields. It's magical on a bright fall morning.


I'm having prints made and they will be available at the show.  And soon, in the shop section on my art site.