Tag: watercolor

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Botanical Watercolor Masterpiece Mistake

I knew when I painted a fern branch earlier this month that it would be my favorite of all the firsts. It looked real, with the variegated green leaves and authentic stems, like I’d plucked it fresh from the edge of the forest lining my driveway and placed it right here on the paper. It appeals to my simple side – – just two colors and one brush, a recycled coconut Oui glass yogurt container filled with water, and a page-bound piece of watercolor paper. And the directions.

Yes! Finally, something that looked real and that might be framed in an art gallery by some lesser-known semi-famous watercolor artist from a rural town in middle Georgia.

I liked it, so I set out to use the plain white notecards I’d found in the craft section of one of our six local Dollar Generals no more than five miles apart on every map throughout the southeastern United States to create a hand-painted notecard. And I worked and worked and started loving it, too…..until…..

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…two little leaves halfway down the page and to the left of the stem became problematic. Instead of leaving them as their own sort of natural trouble, I started trying to fix them with my human eyes and perceptions of how fern leaves should look. And tried and tried, and ended up with what looked like two leaves on a stem that a novice watercolor human had tried unsuccessfully to fix. Definitely not those up to par with a semi-famous rural watercolor artist.

I’d heard that “all art is fixable,” a long time ago. I decided to text my older daughter, who had been to college as an art major, for tips on what to do. I sent her the picture and asked if she could find the mistake, thinking maybe it was just me, measuring with my own human eyes my perceptions of what a leaf should be. But she, too, found it and marked it up in her phone and sent the photo back like she’d found 1990s-famous Waldo in a red and white striped shirt sticking out like a sore thumb.

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And she suggested what to do to make the art fixable…..painting a caterpillar “or something.” We continued texting, and what I love about texting with my children is that while we are talking about fixing art, we are really talking about life and its universal transfers to deeply held beliefs. I thumbed through my watercolor book and found both a ladybug and a caterpillar and decided on the caterpillar. I did NOT like that ladybug, even though I tried painting it. The legs looked a little off.

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I like, too, that even though she was an art major and has so much natural talent, we are both using our “training wheel” books with the picture already sketched onto watercolor book paper. She will bloom in creativity far more quickly than I will, as she’s already ventured into salt watercolor painting, her own sketches, using filters on her camera to change photos she takes to a watercolor filter to see how she might paint something, and inherently knows more about the artistic techniques that she can apply from other art forms to watercolor painting.

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And I really love that a 59-year old mother trying a new hobby can ask her 39-year old daughter who naturally gravitates to all things art like a duck takes to water, what to do about my fern leaf failure. And I love that I took her advice. I found my caterpillar directions in my training wheel book and painted this caterpillar in a smaller form, over those two bad leaves. And as soon as I began, I knew that my next lesson needed to be on perspective and dimension. I’m not sure whether the watercolor training wheel books can teach those skills, but I’m going to go into every painting henceforth reminding myself that caterpillars in the wild do not dangle like gymnasts on parallel bars from fern leaves. But my daughter, ever the optimist, found a way to add an encouraging sentiment in the text thread.

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I think I like caterpillars on branches much better….and the more conceptual version of leaves, too.

Move over, Eric Carle……there’s a new hungry caterpillar in rural Georgia dangling by one suckerfoot from a fern, eating all the greenery on her quest to grow a pair of painted wings….. and take flight.

big-ass ladybug?

or one fat caterpillar?

either fixes art.

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Watercolor Haiku: Water Lily

Leaves, Any kind of leaf gives me trouble, especially with edges and vein lines. This was one of the very first watercolor paintings I completed on spring break in my step-by-step paint-on-page watercolor book, the equivalent of a bicycle with training wheels. I look at this and the logo above and of course the nature lover in me remembers sitting at a picnic table on a campsite by the creek that runs to the pond full of water lilies and frogs at FDR State Park in Georgia. It seems like a lifetime ago, and here we are at the end of May. And then my eyes trail to the veins in this leaf that looks more like a molded croissant or a fortune cookie than a lily pad. Tsk-tsk.

But I can appreciate it. After looking at hundreds of watercolor paintings over the past few weeks and learning a little more of the blending techniques, I can see some growth even just in how I hold the brush now compared to two months ago. I’ve been watching my writing friend Susie Morice as she tries a new paper and is moving all to one kind of watercolor paint. My friend Glenda took a class and can paint flowers like a pro now. My friend Margaret Simon is in a class and could illustrate her next book. And my daughters are both painting again, too ~ one sent me a peach from her morning painting yesterday, and it warmed my heart…..my firstborn, born a Georgia Peach in Savannah, now living out west and painting a peach. She went to art school years ago and has given me tips and pointers as we share creations. She told me that watercolor was less forgiving than any other kind of painting, and I can feel it. She also told me that when I painted a fern on a notecard and messed up two of the leaves, I could paint a caterpillar over it. I learn so much from my children.

I wonder what she would say about a moldy croissant trying to look like a lily pad……

Watercolor Waterlily

Neverland tales of

Princess Water Lily drift

into adulthood

….or was she Tiger Lily?

I’m too old to remember

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Watercolor Fox for Silas

When my daughter saw that I was watercolor painting, she asked me to paint something for my youngest grandson, her son Silas, whose name means “man of the forest,” bringing to mind all my favorite woodland critters. Before he was born in December 2024, I made him a quilt featuring forest animals (as I have for all of the other grandchildren for their nurseries); it was his baby shower theme, his nursery theme, and will hopefully stay with him in a love of nature and animals throughout his life.

When I saw the book of woodland critters to paint, I snapped it up and started working through the pages. There were several similarly-themed books to consider, but the fox had to be cute. Every other critter can be ho-hum, but if you’ve got a cute fox, you’ve got the right watercolor book. And I think I found it. I love this little fox, looking like he is sitting in the breeze just chilling and enjoying life. This is what I wish for all of my grandchildren ~ that they will know how to appreciate each moment, love the outdoors, and be respectful of the environment for all creatures great and small.

For My Grandson

a fox for Silas

little man of the forest

clever and charming

(…..and sometime this weekend, I’ll be shopping for a new quilt theme for the newest grandson, our eighth grandchild, who is due July 4).

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Hydrangea Watercolor Haiku

Whenever I see a hydrangea, I think of two people. The first is my late father, who in his waning days after a lifetime of calling it a hydrangea, called it a hydranjula. Someone had brought one to the hospital, and he urged me to “take that hydranjula” home with me. Either he was used to the constant room changes or he knew his days were quickly coming to an end. I took the flower.

The second is Missy, my childhood friend who gave me a sprig of a hydrangea she’d been rooting. I transplanted it to our farmland home in middle Georgia from the island where we grew up riding bikes all over the place before it became a tourist destination. It must have wanted to be a country hydrangea, living in a quieter, less subtropical place. It’s thriving, despite my neglect of it. These are the kinds of plants I need. The kind I can plant, water, and forget – – and let nature do the rest until time for pruning.

When I saw the blank watercolor page with its step-by-step paint-on-page directions, I had no idea how to create color within color until I learned a little about wet on wet versus wet on dry painting. When a page is wet, the colors bleed together in a way that painting colors on dry pages doesn’t. I can’t think of a better flower choice to learn about wet on wet than a hydrangea, with its blending pop of colors that change based on the pH of the soil. And for once, I had a leaf actually turn out the way it’s supposed to look. I couldn’t have done that when I started, so I am learning a little as I go. I prefer slow, unhurried learning – – and ironically, it’s a lot like watercolor painting where you build layer on layer. I was never a fast learner, but once I finally get it, I’ve got a grasp.

Happy Sunday! Tomorrow, I’ll share our first experience boondocking in a Harvest Hosts site. If you’ve never heard of Harvest Hosts, it’s an innovative way to travel like a complete and total hippie – – which is my ultimate goal for the next chapter of my life. I want to be a hydranjula-painting traveling haiku-writing hippie, and I’ll show you the boondocking part of what that looks like tomorrow.

Hydrangea

the last flower my

father ever gave me was

a hydran-jula

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Watercolor Haiku: Mushrooms

It’s funny how you can follow watercolor painting step-by-step directions and mess up big, but you can fix problems with parts of a painting never meant to be there in the first place. Like a really dark green leaf that comes in from the right side of the page. Like life throwing curveballs.

And let’s talk about placement – – my red cap on the larger shroom is supposed to be tilted down, but it looks more like a UFO hovering over the stem. And yet I sit here laughing about it all. The irony here is that if you look at the tip behind the leaves, it’s a reminder not to be afraid of mistakes – – but to see them as happy accidents. Like a wrong turn that takes you to the best slice of pie you’ve ever had.

It’s okay. It’s all okay. …….I’m journeying and embracing process over product. No one is framing my work, and I’m celebrating anyway.

And I like my stems and under-shrooms, so something turned out okay.

It’s fine, everything’s fine.

I’ll fix the rest of this fungi in retirement if I feel like it. And instead of chuckling, I’ll be belly laughing!

Mushrooms

mushrooms of my youth

1970s icons

scrapbook sticker fun

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Watercolor Welcome: Lemon

Confession time. I was trying my best to wait to read the book I chose to read for Sally Donnelly’s Summer Reading Club, 44 Poems on Being With Each Other by Padraig O’Tuama, but I have not been successful at all. A new book of poetry, for me, is a lot like that bag of M&Ms I try to hide from myself but that won’t quit calling my name until I give in and devour the whole thing. Forbidden M&Ms are like words of poetry – – I can’t quit until the last word in the bag is gone.

And so I have read, savored, pondered, written, and I haven’t gained all the pounds of the chocolate, but I’ve consumed all the delicious indulgence of the page. There’s no sense in feeling the guilt of reading the whole thing early ~ I read it and my clothes still fit, so I’ll celebrate the power of poetry to bring joy and inspire new writing.

I’ve been watercolor painting on weekends, and I decided to take Wendy Cope’s classic poem The Orange on page 224 in the book and allow it to inspire a poem and painting of a lemon, using Cope’s same iambic beat and stanza form. Already, I’m wondering what each poem in this book can inspire in art forms: photography, collage, jewelry design, mosaic, and a million other creative possibilities. I am re-reading already. A huge thanks to Sally Donnelly for inviting us to be part of a kindred gathering of readers.

The Lemon

while camping, I painted a lemon

its colors all citrus-y yellow

curious campers came calling

waving and smiling warm hellos

and that lemon, it brought conversations

of campfires and families and fun

once strangers, now neighbors chit-chatting

on sunshine-y site 301

the “ap-peel” was really surprising

my painting was not all that zesty

but colorful palettes paint friendships

I love my new lemon-y besties

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Watercolor Haiku: Orchids

Somehow or other, orchids are on a whole elevated level in the world of flowers. I think that even my father, who called hydrangeas “hydrangulas” in his final days, knew this. He distinguished himself and his friends, socially, by the esteemed class of this flower. As he talked about his dating days and how he earned money for the movies and dances selling crawfish he and his cousin Porky had caught in the Okefenokee Swamp, he made it clear that they were not “orchid guys,” as if the high school boys in Waycross, Georgia had circles of their own like Greasers and Socs in The Outsiders. In July of 2025, the month following his death in June, I shared the stories he had told us as my brother and I sat at his bedside – – many of them recorded so that others, too, could hear him tell all about the good old days. All those stories and recordings that I shared are on the right hand side of my blog page in the July 2025 tab.

Remembering that Dad was not “an orchid guy” on the heels of a weekend on St. Simons as my brother and I are still cleaning out the house, I’m here to tell you that he was right about that. Orchids take a lot of care, and Dad spent a lifetime collecting things that gathered dust and went unrepaired. You can flippantly toss a carnation around and it’ll last for days in a kitchen windowsill, but one cross look at an orchid and it will lose its petals and wither. Dad was a carnation guy – – not an orchid guy. And nearly one year later, I understand more about why he was not an orchid guy than I did when he first told the story.

Orchid

I cannot grow you

and perhaps I can’t paint you

but oh, I shall try!