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How to Stroll Through the Fields

12/8/2021

2 Comments

 
How to Stroll Through the Fields - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 11 x 14 x .75  Ready to hang.  Available here and at Artfinder.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

​
—Mary Oliver
There are four roses gardens near our home.  They are small, community-maintained and a bit scraggly most of the time (which is how I prefer rose gardens - a little wild).  We walk the dogs through one or more of these gardens each morning.  Lately, they are squishy boggy mud pits.  Lilly strolls through it like a wheat field in summer.  Wonder Mike skirts the edges, seeking mulch and higher ground.  The humans have boots.
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How to Stroll Through the Fields
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I've been photographing the roses as they wither, brown and fall to the ground.  And I almost always see faces in the flowers. (face paraedolila)

Using a black and white studio filter brings out these little faces beautifully (example left). This one, to me, is a bonneted puppy.  And given it was discovered with our mud-covered dogs, well, I had to paint it.

About the art: beginning with a professional photographic print and mounting it to a wood cradle, then sealing the photograph well.  Choosing a limited palette of soft hues and allowing the photo to be both  Notan and sketch, painted with a wet brush and acrylic paint mixed with matte medium.  
2 Comments
Dotty Seiter link
12/9/2021 07:29:18 am

holy imagin-
ative strolling through the fields,
lola! a prayer.

Reply
lola (jen)
12/10/2021 03:22:20 pm

Dotty! I love your poem....and that you found the prayer hidden in the strolling. xoxoxoxo

Reply



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Here's the blue wild, where
tiny dreamers ride beasts, speak
​ birdsong, hold the moon.

(by poet Mary W. Cox)
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  • Home
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  • Exhibits
    • The Downside of Lycanthropy
    • A Song for the Hunted
    • The Wild God
    • NUDGE - SHOVE
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