It’s a beauteous sunny day in Nairne, in South Australia’s sunny Adelaide Hills.
Beauteous, but I’m not suggesting that it’s warm or anything approaching warm, however I have a jumper and am sitting wearing it with the house’s doors and windows open – Celebrating winter.
A cooling breeze, with “a taste of spring-time on its lips”, has come in playing with my aged whiskers.
Because I am a caring and sharing senior citizen, I am sharing beautiful strains of classical music with the neighbours (OK – it’s not “classical” per se, but rather Robert Plant [“Pictures At Eleven”]), but “classical” sounds so much more sophisticated and fitting for an aged and sophisticated gent such as myself (and that album is a classic of its kind.)
I wonder what the poor people are doing? … probably, like me, they are wondering how to pay both the Council Rates AND the electricity bill both due this month.
Meanwhile “Down at the station where the trains come in” … all is well, and time for a (low carb) sandwich and a cup of tea.
You know, it takes a lot less time to take down an art exhibition than it does to hang one.
We sold a few pieces, more than enough to cover our direct expenses. But was there an overall profit? No, nothing like it. Of course the experience could be classed as a “profit” even though no money changed hands. The knowledge that I have sold more paintings in my lifetime than Van Gogh managed has to be priceless!
We took our time over the deconstruction. We could have driven there in the morning, taken it down, and driven back that evening, but somehow the overnight stay seemed the better option.
Mind you, it was a fairly expensive option. The hotel room was comfortable and fairly well appointed, but the price was a bit steep for a room in a small country town. Yes, the room tariff was less than we paid on our last stay in Sydney, but not all that much less. In Sydney we stayed on the top floor of a tall hotel in the centre of the city, where we had stunning views of high-rises, sunsets, and the road heading to the harbour. In our small country town hotel, we were up one flight of stairs with a walkway balcony outside our window and a view of the drive through bottle department. Still, the bed was comfortable, the food in the dining room was OK (if not wonderful), and the wine was great.
The start-of-winter journey there and back was picturesque, through country we love, tinged the faintest of greens by the breaking of the drought. The wrapped paintings in the back of the wagon muted road noise and any rattles, and the roads were quiet.
It was a good exhibition we are told. It was fun to set up. It was a buzz to listen to the praise at the opening.
But … I think I have come to the conclusion that my paintings might be a bit – well … boring. I’ll work on a new direction for inspiration … perhaps I’ll look back to the 1980s when it almost (almost) felt like I had something.
But for now now, two months after the hanging, the A.Fox Collective “Abstracted Landscapes” has left the building.
It was high noon. He turned to face me and snarled, “OK stranger” “Draw” … So I did!
I’m taking a brief holiday from oils, canvas, turpentine, wax and all that jazz. I’m thinking back through the years, through the decades, to the time when I first started the art thing as a pleasant diversion. Back then, I had a short love affair with watercolours. So, I have started a little series of ink, watercolour, and acrylic (with water) – “quickies” … these aren’t destined to be masterpieces.
I have decided to use ink with the watercolour because I want the higher contrast and definition that the drawn line gives, rather than the subtlety of traditional wash work.
I coloured the farmscape I’d drawn earlier today. This is a style that many people probably don’t like, and some might say it spoils the drawing … never mind, for what it’s worth here is the finished painting ……
It’s a sibling of the forest doodle I posted the other day. They might not be great, but they keep me happy. I’ll see how many I can do before the month ends.
This photo of me holding a portrait of me by Australian artist Peter Patterson, is accompanied by a pretty poor poem in 22.214.171.124 by me (sorry 😁)
Went to the post office
What did I see?
A tube in my post box
Waiting for me.
So I carried it home
Unwrapped it quick
What did I find in there?
A painted page
My portrait by Patto
What a surprise!
Peter Patterson thanks
From old Ant Fox
I’ll frame it for my wall
So it is seen
And admired by all.