|The original sketch|
As we worked our way homeward, we stopped south of Sedona to camp for a couple nights at Wet Beaver Creek (yes, that’s the real name). We had a lovely spot along an olive green creek framed by sycamores hung with glowing yellow, gold, and bronze leaves. Their trunks of creamy flesh curved upward like slender elfin creatures. These trees looked as though they were frozen mid-dance in a graceful tableau.
I’ve been struggling to capture this grace, starting first with a monoprint that was a miserable failure. It looked more like a Rorschach inkblot than any kind of recognizable image.
I moved on to watercolor, but that came out too heavy-handed and didn't reflect the shapely form that initially attracted me. The leaves were nothing like the golden mantel draped over the limbs. Although the painting might be salvageable with a little more work, I decided it was time to move on to acrylic.
So, here I am, again sharing something unfinished. This is risky, because it may not turn out. It may end up being a do-over. It’s too early to tell. Yet pulling aside the curtain to share my adventures in art—even when things don't turn out as planned—allows you see that it’s not always as easy as it might appear to be. The “struggle” in struggling artist has many meanings.
|The acrylic version. I'm not too far along yet, so it's too soon to tell if this will be a keeper.|