Beech Trunks

©Robin Edmundson, 'Beech trunks', watercolor, 16 x 12 inches.  Framed $395.  

 

The trees never fail to bring me in.   My daily walk takes me through some heavily forested areas, some pastureland, some open fields, some small wetland - all within just a couple of miles of here.   

The flora and fauna vary according to the habitat, which makes me very happy.  I love the variety and endless flow of new things to get to know. 

The trees along the road are targets for the county bush hog so most of them have multiple trunks.   The bush hog got them one year, but during hard times, the county didn't mow them the following year.  If the weather is right, that's enough time for a strong root system to put up multiple trunks.   

They're beautiful and interesting and full of surprises. 

[This is another version of 'Place to Rest', which I posted in May]

Winter Woods

 ©Robin Edmundson, 'Winter Woods', watercolor, 8 x 11.5 inches.   $225, unframed.  

I have the tremendous pleasure of working with Angela Fehr as her director of operations and part of my job is to spend time in her online community.  The membership focus is to become heart-led in your creative practice; to work on mindset as much as technique; and to learn to enjoy the whole creative process in a way that allows you to become your own favorite artist.  It is truly a joy to spend time there every day. 

Last month, one of the lovely members of our online community posted a reference photo and told everyone to paint it their way.   [Thank you, Deborah Ropp!]  The painting above is my version - leaning more toward a southern Indiana woods, than a northern woods.   [Yeah, it's what I know.]  

Deep Woods, Sacred Ground

 

©Robin Edmundson, 'Two Trees, Deep Woods', watercolor, 18 x 24 inches.  $650, unframed.

Someone asked me recently what my personal symbols are. Those things that show up in many areas of life - the way some people have rainbows, or butterflies show up everywhere. I was mystified for a while. I don’t really collect things like that. 

And then one day I looked around the studio. Trees. A forest of them on my walls. Big ones. Little ones. Trees in all the seasons. 

Trees are a potent symbol for me. One of my favorite symbols is Yggdrasil, the Norse tree of life. Often it is depicted with a large beautiful crown - and an equally expansive root system. Balance. Strength [as opposed to power]. Life.

I can see woods from every window of my house. I walk there every day. The woods are my sacred ground. I move through the woods and the woods move through me. It’s an exquisite dance of spirit.

It’s hardly surprising then that trees show up in my work and on my walls. 

I’ve been thinking about ‘sacred ground’ ever since. Mulling over what that means for me, what it means for the woods and how we approach and care for them. 

The woods are a temple of the spirit for me. A place of rest, of peace, of solace. The dwelling place of god. Or God. Or Goddess. Or Spirit. Or the universe. Whatever works for you. 

It’s a good place - the best place - this sacred ground. 

I hope you have a chance to find and tend your sacred ground this season.

Sycamore Series

Sycamore study #730, watercolor, 9 x 12 inches

I've been painting a lot of pictures of trees.   I have a favorite sycamore along our creek.  It is damp and covered with moss and vines.

The trick here is to suggest the idea of woods without spelling out all that chaos.   Lots of marks.  

Here is the second version: 

Sycamore study #731, 9 x 12 inches

The paint did more of the heavy lifting here and I'm in love with the stuff going on just to the left of the trunk. 

Now to try it bigger.  Much bigger.

Next version:

©Robin Edmundson, 'Sycamore - 733', watercolor, 18 x 24

Painting something that much larger requires a rethinking of many aspects of the piece.  Mostly it means larger brushes and a lot more paint preparation.   I like this more the more I sit with it.  I like the light, the moss, the balance of paint runs and marks, the lights and darks.  It feels like a friend. 

I'll be submitting this to the Hoosier Salon this year.   

In Full Bloom

© Robin Edmundson, 'Bluebell Wood, Full Bloom', watercolor and ink, 14 x 10 inches.
Framed to 20 x 16 inches.  $375.

I know it's too early for bluebells, but that delicious color just calls to me.   I've been thinking about my trees in different seasons, trying to figure new ways to combine favorite subjects in a new way.

Still some work to do, but I'm having fun doing it.

Trees and Bluebells

© Robin Edmundson, 'Bluebell Wood, Just Beginning to Bloom', watercolor and ink, 13 x 10 inches.
Framed to 20 x 16 inches.  $375.

It is almost bluebell season.   As soon as the weather warms, the tops of the leaves start to pop up along our creek and in the woods along the bottoms where it floods.

I love the contrast of the rough gray bark, that fresh moss and the blue, blue, blue of the flowers.

More Trees

© Robin Edmundson, 'Trees and Vines', watercolor and ink, 18 x 12 inches.

Framed to 24 x 18 inches.  $450.

There is a group of three sycamore trees just down the way from us.  They're on a creek bank, covered with moss and vines.  I love them. 

After the experimental tree that I shared in my last post, I spent some time thinking about these trees. I painted the piece above thinking mostly about the vines and lines that festoon and crisscross every tree in the woods.  

In the next piece, I focused on the beautiful [and ubiquitous] moss.  Here in southern Indiana, the woods stay damp all year long and the moss thrives.   During the winter months, when the colors of the woods fade to umbers and grays, the moss glows.  

© Robin Edmundson, 'Trees and Moss', watercolor and ink, 18 x 12 inches. 

Framed to 18 x 24 inches.  $450.

The process of working through these tree studies is deeply satisfying.  I can be expressive with my mark making and the lines and I'm learning to let the paint do its thing and work with it instead of trying to control it.

Stay tuned for more.

Trees, trees, trees

It all started with this tree.   I'd been thinking about a demonstration I had seen of Anne Blockley's - free and expressive - just watching it made my heart sing.   She used a combination of watercolor, ink and watercolor sticks.

Our woods are full of sycamores.  I walk through them every day - we have become friends - and as I worked, one appeared on the page.  Moss and vine covered with all the beautiful chaos that is the woodland of southern Indiana. 

More of these trees have shown up in my work lately.  I can't wait to show you!

Frost Stops at the Edge of the Woods

©Robin Edmundson, 'Frost Stops at the Edge of the Woods', watercolor, 11 x 16 inches.
Framed to 16 x 20 inches.  $395.

Our first few fall frosts are lovely blankets of sparkle that always stop just at the edge of the woods. The fields are white with a faint undertone of greens and the woods sparkle with fall color. 

At first glance in this piece, the temptation is to wonder why the trees have been cut off at the tops, but this piece isn't about the trees.  

This piece is about the transition space at the at the edge of the woods, where the leaves still cling to the trees and the temperatures stay a little warmer.  It's about what's happening at the feet of the trees. That's where the magic is happening.

I love the edge of the woods. We so seldom look there. We look at the trees, at the grass, at the frosty field, but we rarely look at that space where the frost ends because the warmth of the woods held it back. I love that space.

Overgrown

©Robin Edmundson, 'Overgrown Barn - July', watercolor, 8 x 10 inches.  Framed to 11 x 14 inches.  $280.

July is when everything out here is in danger of getting overgrown by the oat grass, the virginia creeper, the fox tail, the nutgrass, the poison ivy, the walnut saplings that the squirrels planted last year, the ironweed, the johnson grass, the ragweed, the goldenrod, the wild grape vines, the blackberries - so many blackberries... 

In short, there is an abundance of growth and with that comes the very real danger of a structures being entirely overwhelmed.  They can be pulled down by the weight of the vines, or pulled apart by things growing through the cracks in the walls, or knocked right over by trees growing next to the foundation. 

I do this to myself.  All. The. Time.  Country life is a metaphor for the rest of my life.

I love an abundance of information.  I love learning new things, reading new books, mulling over new ideas, trying new strategies.   I want all of the information - right now.   I want all of the options - right now.   I want to save all of the ideas - right now. 

Pretty soon, my head is bursting with options; I worry that I won't pick the 'right one', I feel anxious that I'm 'behind' in what I'm studying, frustrated that I don't understand it all, irritated with the number of notebooks full of Very Important Notes and piles of books that I've saved from studying all the things and afraid to get rid of them because what if that's the notebook with The Answer that I've been looking for.

So much abundance and so much overwhelm. 

I need some mental mowing.  Weed eating.   Pruning.  Maybe a judiciously wielded chain saw.  Something to keep balance between the growth and the structure [me].

Quite honestly, I have no idea - at all - how to do that.  It's one of those boundary things I'm not so good at. 

I'll be thinking about it for the next while to see if I can come up with a strategy to encourage abundance while limiting overwhelm.   Maybe that will help me restore some Fun to my life.

More Bluebells

©Robin Edmundson, 'Bluebells - 546', watercolor, 8 x 11 inches.
Matted and framed to 11 x 14 inches.  $225

Another view of the bluebell wood down by Richland Creek.  

This is the first time I used the 300# Indigo paper and I have to say that I love the pebbly texture. The company has made some manufacturing changes since this batch was purchased and I'm excited to try their new paper.  I hope it has this same great texture.

Blue Bells

©Robin Edmundson, 'Bluebells-545', watercolor, 10 x 14 inches.  $375
[Matted and framed to 16 x 20 inches]

Bluebells don't last long enough and this year was no exception.  That gorgeous blue stays with me and as I drive along our creeks, I watch for that signature blue every spring.

The Barn Near the Woods

© Robin Edmundson, 'The Barn Near the Woods', watercolor, 18 x 24 inches.  Framed to 26 x 32.  $750
[Available at the Lawrence County Art Association until April 20, 2019]

It is said that Indiana's state religion is basketball, so it's no surprise that so many of our old barns out here have a basketball hoop on them.  Friends gathered before and after school to blow off steam.  Fathers and children shot a few baskets on the way to feed the animals.  I still remember the thump-thump of the ball hitting the wood and then hoop as friends practiced layups.  These hoops are fixtures on our barns and in our hearts. 

Abandoned Farm and April Treeline

© Robin Edmundson, 'Abandoned Farm, April Treeline', watercolor, 10 x 14 inches.

I was still working on trying to capture that early spring transition in the woods when the leaves are just coming on in some of the trees.   There are some big problems with this piece, but it was good practice.  I'll try again next year.

Finally Done

© Robin Edmundson, 'March Creek, Cloudy Day', watercolor, 12 x 9 inches

This one is done.   I darkened up a few things to increase the contrast and I've learned what I need to learn from it.    It's ready to be framed.    

Framed it will be 22 x 18 inches.  $350.    

Leaves

I thought the russet color of these oak leaves was pretty against the woods. 

Little House in the Big Woods

This little house sits off one of our back roads.  It and the accompanying barn a bit apart were long since abandoned and it is a decaying wreck now, slowly, slowly being reclaimed by the woods. 

Proof positive that Indiana wants to be woods and when left to herself will revert right back.

This place sits atop a high place and you can tell that it had been cleared at one time for quite a distance around it.   They probably raised cattle and had a tobacco field or two.   Maybe grew some corn.   

The roof and floor have completely rotted out and the rooms have caught the detritus of decades of landowners.

It had a pretty view out the back at one time where the hill falls away.

I loved the old wallpaper in this room.  The woman who last loved this house also loved flowers.  

There are giant old forsythias that bloom in tangles between the house and the barn.    There are wild and windblown rose of sharon trees out the back. 

There are probably surprise lilies that come up in August, hidden in the weeds, as there are by all the old houses out here. 

The windows were shot out long ago.  The walls are separating.  The siding is crumbling.   It's a crooked little house now, next to the crooked little barn,  melting and melding into the big woods. 

But once upon a time, a woman sat in a rocker on this front porch and shelled peas and listened to the birds. 

Turkeys

Our turkeys are quiet and shadowy residents of the woods.   They come out to forage or cross the road when no one is looking.  They spook easily.   If you happen to come upon them, you have time only to say, 'Look!  Turkeys!' and then they're gone.   If you really surprise them in a clearing, you might see them fly for a few yards into the woods.  [Which always makes me think of WKRP in Cincinnati  'As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.']

We were lucky to spot these on the road and have the camera at hand.  Claire snapped the pics as this bunch hurried into the trees.  

Morning

Jack in the Pulpit

This is our south woods.  The big creek runs right through it.  It's quiet and peaceful and beautiful and we're always finding cool things there.

Like unusual wildflowers.

And humongous snapping turtles with their babies hanging on to their backs.

And salamanders under the rocks.

And parts of old tractors.

And not too far away from the creek, there's a sinkhole with two washing machines in it.  Weird.  One washing machine I can see, but, really.  Two??

It's our plan to figure out a way to haul out the washing machines.    Eventually.   I shudder to think of what else might be down there.



Anyway.

This isn't about the sinkhole or the creek or the turtles.

It's about Jack in the Pulpit.

Lily found them - just a few. 

They camouflage well, don't you think?