Fresh peaches, coconut, local honey. Crunchy like granola, without the grain.
Barb is a food writer, a travel writer, a recipe developer and an artist. But mainly she is my friend. Today she is a guest blogger. You can experience her “art journey” at http://yearofpainting.wordpress.com/ and her artful food blog at http://www.babfeasts.com/.
Here’s Barb …
Pat’s blog walks a line of creativity and spirituality without being religious…for me, at least. I don’t know if she means it to be that way, but that is what I find when I read it, and I love it. I think it is down to her lovely writing and her seeking a path. She shares that. I write a guest post today with that in mind.
I pick up a brush and stare. A blank white sheet of paper stares right back. The water is ready. I have more brushes than I could ever need, “art porn,” as my husband calls it. I have all the colors I could possibly need.
I have a lovely scene I front of me.
Sometimes I am hard-pressed to make the first stroke, the stroke that turns the blank page from paper to painting. It is a classic fear of failure. Something in me wants to turn out a masterpiece every time I sit down to paint.
I went to an opening for an art show put together by three acquaintances, and I nearly despaired when I saw their beautiful works and looked at the vast chasm between my paintings and their elegant efforts. A good friend reminded me that I have been at it for just more than one year. They have been at it for decades.
Am I failing?
I go home and pull out my own work. I am nearly 300 pieces In to a year of painting daily..or nearly, at any rate. When I got the idea, I just wanted to get better. I have blogged it every time I painted, with very few missed days.
As I go through them, I see an improvement in my drawing skills for sure. And the truth is. I set out to paint daily, and I have really done it almost every day. It is not a chore. It is a reward.
And if I am really, really honest? I have improved. I have miles–and decades–to go before I get to the level of those paintings that I saw in the gallery, but in the meantime, they inspire me. No need to despair.
A little skill, a lot of determination, plenty of practice and remaining open to learning what I don’t know (and, perhaps, learning it over and over and over again).
Bit of a metaphor for life.
McClellanville is a tiny coastal village in South Carolina. Shrimp boats slide in and out of the small marina and some of their catch ends up for sale at the small marina. There’s nothing better than local shrimp. Shrimp and grits is one of my specialties. But today I’ll barely boil the shrimp and maybe serve them up with a little homemade cocktail sauce.
Local, hours-ago-swimming-in-the-ocean, shrimp deserve to be cooked well, with the least amount of fuss.
Peach pie, peach cobbler, peach ice cream, peach jelly, peach jam, peach preserves, pickled peaches, peaches with sugar, peaches on ice cream, peach parfait, peach melba, peaches with honey, just a peach, peach tea, peach salsa, peeled peaches, peach shortcake, peaches on pound cake, peach milkshake, peach wine, peach daiquiri, grilled peaches, barbeque peaches, peach fried pies, peaches and cream, peaches with whipped cream … I guess that’s about it.