Hope Springs Eternal

Work in Progress
Evening Primrose
10 x 10

Many years ago, at the beginning of my former life, I had a law professor whose favorite phrase was "Hope springs eternal". He used it often- usually in an ironic or sarcastic way- to respond to student questions. It became a sort of mantra my classmates and I used to describe our miserable plight. Over the years, it still pops up in my head from time to time. A few weeks ago I was out walking and noticed that the Evening Primrose, a wildflower that blooms in north Texas in April and May were out. Spring offers a bonanza of wildflowers in Texas, the most famous being the showy bluebonnet. But, my favorite is the primrose- its delicate, translucent, pale pink flowers held up by impossibly thin, wispy stems- it seems too fragile to ever survive, much less thrive along the roads and across the fields of north Texas. And yet, it does. Hope springs eternal. These days, it means something completely different to me.

Walking the Country

We live about 4 miles outside a small town (pop. 3800 on an optimistic day) in North Texas. Founded in 1833, back in the day, it was a prosperous town with numerous cotton gins and four drugstores and a movie theater on the town square. Now, not so much. Our road and the adjacent land in our area has had its own identity as a distinct community for many years also. Its called Mabry. My husband hates that- he thinks it sounds like "Mayberry". I say, so what? Mabry is, of course, a family name of the people who settled here and several of their descendants are our neighbors. When you turn on to our road, an old, white church and a graveyard mark the entrance to Mabry. The school house for the community (two rooms) originally stood on our property. A small piece of the foundation and a leaning flag pole (which we still use) are all that is left today.

Over the last 16 months I have painted mostly what I can see from our property, on our road or the drive into town. I cannot say, as Constable did, that these are "my places" given our short residency here, but nevertheless, they do feel like they are mine-at least aesthetically. Over these months, we have met our neighbors and most already knew I was an artist (that's the way it is in small towns). Many have graciously consented to let me roam their woods, pastures and fields in search of inspiration. I never have to go far. That little wooden ladder leaning against the fence behind my studio seems a perfect symbol of my place here- and I am content with that.

Rick's Pool #2

Rick's Pool #2 oil 6 x 6
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Same song, second verse. As I have mentioned here before, I am always having a conversation with myself as I paint about whether what I have done is not enough-just enough-too much. Unlike a lot of artists, I tend to quit too soon rather than overwork a piece. I'm pretty sure I'm not lazy.....:) , so I expect it has something to do with wanting to keep things simple and hopefully just a little elegant and mysterious. I actually photographed this yesterday with the intention of posting it and then realized..uh oh..not enough. So I spent a little more time on it today and I think I moved it into the just enough category, but just barely.

Rick's Pool

Rick's Pool Oil 6 x 6
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This one has been in the incubator- that is to say, my head, for a while. Some take longer than others, but today I finally painted it. So, about the title. Here in Texas (or at least this part of Texas- its a big place) , people refer to ponds, often man made and used to water livestock, as pools. Occasionally you'll hear somebody call it a stock tank, but usually its called a pool. When first made, they have sides built up to hold the water, but I think after a while the cattle manage to return things to natural elevation. And they can get fancy- some people stock them with fish and build little docks on them. I even saw one with a fountain in the middle. But this one- on my neighbor Rick's property- is just your basic pool.