When I arrived, I toured the grounds to decide what to paint. There was, of course, the carousel. Front and center. This vintage piece of childhood goodness is a bit overwhelming to paint. Lots of detail. Way more red than I'm used to painting in a landscape. And it moves.
So... I considered alternatives. - there were trees. Everywhere. And children. Hmm. But the carousel would not let me avoid it, as much as I tried.
"You can't paint me - I'm too complicated for you," it teased.
I stood there and took a breath. I studied the structure. Hmm. I plunged into the carousel's challenge.
I started in on painting the carousel. My friends in the Anastasia Plein Air group joined me.
That's when the distractions arrived. Children. Running, jumping, yelling, throwing things. I ignored them and continued to paint.
They noticed us. They approached. Watched.
One said, "Hey, you're a good artist."
"Thank you," I replied.
A little boy took a fancy to me. He told me he was four. He reached out, picked up a brush and played with the bristles. He took a critical look at what I was doing and gave me pointers.
"You should put a kid in that painting," He said. "And other people."
"Thank you. I will."
He looked up at the carousel and squinted. "It should be redder," he continued.
"You're right. . . Are you an artist?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," he assured me. "I'll paint after lunch. I like blue."
What a super-welcome distraction. A delight. Refreshing. I took the boy's advice and added a kid, and made some deeper reds in the carousel. Best advice I've gotten in a long time.
-- Mary Hubley