"Rock"

Dad and I made rock paths around our house.  We loaded the wheelbarrow with rocks at the river and trudged them back home where we dumped them out on the grass and contemplated the jigsaw puzzle of potential combinations.  I sometimes wonder if this early rock fitting was key to my brain development.  I'm sure it built muscles since we did probably 3' x 200' of stone paths.  That's one heck of a lot of rocks, and they had to be basalt or granite, and those are extra heavy rocks.

Had I known that all these stupid rock paths would later require endless hours of weeding, I would've been less enthusiastic about making the paths in the first place.  A few years after we made them, Dad and I pried all the rocks back out of the ground and we poured cement under and between them.  That helped, but the cement would crack and nothing stops weeds from growing where you don't want them.  This is all my brother's problem now since he lives at our old house.  He just sprays Round Up.

I still collect rocks.  I walk along the river and seek the best lucky stones, the prettiest granite, or maybe the nicest shaped addition for my backyard pond.  (Time out to notice and rearrange my clam shell of stones on my computer desk and to wander around the house taking photos of my various rock piles.)

I like painting rocks too.  It's a freeing subject since nobody expects them to be actual portraits of specific rocks.  It's just my concept of what a rock looks like, but that statement oversimplifies what goes into painting a rock.  First, I had to study rocks to know to the core of my being what rocks look like.  Second, I have to understand how to paint mass with appropriate lighting.  Sometimes I paint things on actual rocks.  Lately, I've been wrapping stones with wire to make mobiles too.

I'm beginning to think I have an unusual rock obsession?  But if I do, it's genetic.  When my uncle introduced his future gemologist wife to various family members, we all said the same thing.  "Oh!  I collect rocks too!"  Then we showed her our rock collections, which aren't "gems", but are special anyway.

When I was older and started studying New Age kinds of things, people sang the praises of crystals.  To some, crystals are the answer to anything.  I like shiny things, so I picked up some crystals to put in the window, but it occurred to me that all my lucky stones are quartz crystals too, they just aren't shiny.  But if crystals are powerful, my hoard of lucky stones will keep me alive forever.

Sometimes, when I've had a really hard day, I lay on the couch and put a basalt rock on my forehead, or maybe on my heart.  It just makes me feel better, or perhaps just gives me something else to focus my thoughts on instead of my irritations.  Rock is solid and connects me to the river, and the river washes bad things away.

I wonder if that's also true for rock paintings?  I showed this floor painting last year, but didn't feature the rocks since I spent more time on leaves and animals.  Seems silly to paint more rocks for this post when I'm so surrounded by them.

"Silent"

“Silent” seems appropriate for my time of continued computer disaster. My friend John has rigged me up to the internet again, but it’s routed through my friend Korki’s old laptop. The laptop is not happy about the things I ask of it, so I’m keeping communications to the bare minimum with continued hopes that John will be able to rescue my hard drive and all those files I neglected to back up. He’s put in a lot of hours trying to help and I’m very grateful, and grateful to Korki for the loaner too. Forced inaction has led me to painting rocks, and there can’t be anything more silent than rocks. It’s an obsessive thing. Maybe I just want the stability they represent? In a way, rocks are a meditative subject for me. I don’t have to think very hard about what they look like. It reminds me of the beginning of one of my previous jobs…

I was assigned a quail illustration. I asked the art director where they kept reference photos of such things. They didn’t keep reference photos. Hm. Okay? ‘How am I supposed to draw it if I didn’t know what it looks like?” “You know what it looks like. ‘Real artists’ don’t need reference.” UH?!! What does a quail look like anyway? Grr… I did a search online, printed a very crappy reference photo, and growled through my painting. This was the first phase of the next couple of weeks where I said at least 30 or 40 times a day “I’m losing my f***ing mind!” It wasn’t a good start to a miserable job, but I was getting paid to paint, so I kept my swearing inside, to be vented in full steam to my friends on the phone when I got home.

Next assignment was a bow. I got a piece of ribbon, tied a bow, and sustained the almost continual criticism from the AD about how I was weak for needing reference. He stood over my shoulder and remarked about almost every color choice, every brush stroke. “Don’t you have your own work to do?” I smiled at him through clenched teeth. When I dropped my brush, he said it was because I held my paintbrush too lightly, and started to demonstrate the proper way for me to hold it. I picked up my brush, slammed it on my desk, and near tears, stormed into the big boss' office. “I can’t work this way!” By this time, I knew that the big boss and the AD screamed at each other at least 3 times a week, so I knew I had an ally. “Ignore him. Learn what you can from him, and ignore the rest.”

After taking a break outside for a silent primal scream, I went back to the office I shared with the AD, and resumed painting. He wanted birds painted without reference? Fine. Cardinals are red, right? Who cares about subtleties or accuracy? Here’s a red bird. Done. Next assignment. French horn? Sure, why not? I dimly remembered that they have 3 or maybe 4 places for fingers, a big bell at the end, and a whole bunch of tubing in between. Done. Who cares if that French horn would sound like a screaming cat if it actually existed? This was all the more ironic for me because in my previous job naturalists held me up arguing about the number of toes a salamander had on its front feet vs. its back feet. (5 and 4.)

In case you can’t tell, I’d rather deal with naturalists arguing over toes than fly blind over quail. Whenever possible, I did research at home before starting new projects in the morning. Eventually I reduced my mental F words to a mere 5 to 10 times a day. I got better, faster, stronger than I had ever been before. Now I feel annoyed when I actually need to take time out of my life to look up reference before starting something. It’s easy to get hooked on the instant gratification of picking up the paintbrush as soon as I have a new thought. Therefore, rocks. No research, and all the effort is in the color and form. It’s a silent meditation of stability.