Saturday, September 24, 2016

Between Now and Then

Apples on the tree (with supports)  Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  9 x 12"  24 x 30cm

Sassi with Geraniums   Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas   16 x 16"  40 x 40cm

Last red geraniums   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas   10 x 20   25 x 50 cm

Gold decorations   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas 12 x 16   30 x40cm

Sassuolo   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas  12 x 24"  30 x 60cm  BUY

Between Now and Then

In my heart, I know I shouldn’t focus on the future, but all I can think of right now is winter when Blair and I are left to our own devices… we’re talking about a few weeks in the city of Bologna, and some time at the beach.  I love the beach in winter, when no one is there, and the sand is open for running and playing with Harika.    I make up games, and Blair and I throw rocks at targets.  Blair skips rocks on the ever-flat Adriatic.   The sky is all turquoise and pink, reflecting colors of the sea and evaporation.  The Mediterranean has more waves, but is still a far cry from the giant Atlantic and Pacific.  We used to go to the Pacific year-round when we lived in Seattle:  world’s largest ocean, right there.

I’ve been thinking about Christmas (no advertising yet, I just thought it on my own), and I added gold decorations to four Christmas trees I painted last winter.  I am trying to remember the words to carols.  We’re planning to get a big tree.

I know that fall is a favorite season for many, but it’s never been so for me.  I like the angle of the sun, finally we can paint again during the day; but the shortening days send me into a panic.  We painted yesterday with two new friends.  We all headed up to the Sassi, our BIG ROCKS, and painted from the deck of the closed-up restaurant.   The geraniums were still in raging red bloom, and we arranged ourselves so they figured in the paintings.

Fall is a worrying time for me, with the disappearance of flowers and butterflies.  All I feel is the END of things.  Even though the coloring of leaves is lovely, I feel happier when we’ve transitioned to winter, and the trees show their limbs.  Then, I keep an eye peeled for pussy-willows.  Light abounds once more.

Fall smacks of new leather shoes and sharp pencils, the aromas of school.   Our yards smells of ripe fruit; I paint the apples.  The tree is assisted with more props than limbs, thanks to Ludovico.  He collects errant branches all year long and turns them into tree-crutches.    I’ve made plum jam and roasted pears.  The grapes are ripe, and the chickens jump in the air to capture them.

The sun is out today, despite our cold nights.   Camilla, at the café, says the snails have burrowed underground already, a sure sign of a cold, snowy winter.   We ate lunch at the backyard table yesterday, with the world’s most delicious tomatoes I “canned” from a friend’s garden.

Grasshoppers with pink and green skirts fly among the dying grasses, living up that last little bit of summer.   

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