Mom and Dad

This morning I dropped off "Mom and Dad" at Silver Street Studios for the Harris County Juried Exhibition, which was curated by Hesse McGraw. This show will be on view starting June 1st and be up until July 18th. 

"Mom and Dad" was painted in 2023 from a reference photo that I took when we went for a nostalgic lunch at Brent's Drugs on one of my many visits to Jackson, Mississippi. The Amazing Reese very wisely encouraged me to visit my parents often, and, one of the biggest discussions and decisions Every Single Day was concerning what and/or where we were going to eat. That's just the way it is in Mississippi, y'all. 

Now, my momma, until the very end, was absolutely convinced that there was some snake oil beauty product out there somewhere that would prevent her from aging. Dad had the store receipts to prove it. About every visit she would peer intently at my face and ask me what I did to get rid of wrinkles. (Nothing.) One time I said, "Well, you know, Mom, I AM 25 years younger than you. Of course I'm not going to have as many wrinkles." Ooooh! She did not like that one bit. And she didn't like, either, that all I do is wash my face with Dove soap and use Everclear as an astringent. I'm telling y'all this story because she was still alive when I painted this, and I knew she would NOT want me painting her wrinkles, so I purposefully left some out of the painting, so as not to offend her, which it would have done. But after she died, and after Daddy died, I painted wrinkles on both of their faces, and honestly, it looks more like both of them. 

The opening reception will be on June 11th, from 6-8pm at Silver Street Studios, 2000 Edwards Street, Houston, TX, 77007. The Amazing Reese and I will both be there. 

Nothing But Net

People ask me all the time about how long it takes to paint a painting. It's not like it takes X number of minutes per square inch or anything. Every painting is different. Sometimes a painting idea sits in my head for YEARS before anything comes of it. Sometimes it gets the beginnings of a sketch, and then THAT sits for years in a dusty corner of the studio. Sometimes I start painting, and then freak out because it's such an overwhelming process and immediately stop....and wait for another few years to start back up again. This is one of those. I had a basic sketch, and the beginnings of the sky and water, and the basic outline of the rest of it. The painting already had a name....just no paint. 

We were walking on the beach at the end of a long day of sightseeing in Cartagena, Colombia. We were there to watch the sunset when we saw the fisherman pull in their nets after a day of fishing. A small crowd had gathered on the shore to see what the fishermen caught. Instead of celebration, the atmosphere was subdued. Even the seagulls seemed disappointed, and quietly waited in the distance because the nets were empty. There was nothing. No fish. Nothing to show for a long day at sea. Nothing to take home to feed the family. Nothing to sell. Nothing but net. 

This painting is 36" x 48", oil on linen.I painted it from a reference photo that I took in 2023. 

Cuddles with Momo

oil on linen, 24" x 30"

 

Stephen

My little brother, Stephen, died on the day after Christmas. It was a tragic accident during an otherwise amazing day when he had gathered with a group of friends at a nearby farm for a barbeque. Hearing the news felt like a punch in the gut. It has already been an overwhelming year of grief, each event piling one on top of another. To hear of one more death in my immediate family seems like too much. 

About a month before her stroke last year, my mother charged me with praying for Stephen every day. Mom must have known that her time on earth was winding down, and she wanted to make sure that Stephen was covered in prayer. When praying for someone on a consistant basis, one's own love for that person deepens, and, consequently, especially the last six months of his life, my love for Stephen, which was already abundant, grew by leaps and bounds. 

Stephen lived full time in a remote area of Costa Rica for the last ten years, in Malpais on the Nicoya Peninsula, so all of our interactions were phone calls or more recently, face time. It was so nice to see him in person and hug his neck, first at our Mom's funeral, and then Dad's. 

One of Stephen's daily rituals was going to a particular beach just down the hill from where he lived to watch the sunset. Every. Day. Before and after his memorial service at sunset on that same beach, I met as many of his gathered friends as possible. In English and Spanish, as the occasion warranted, I introduced myself as Stephen's sister and thanked them for being my brother's friend. In their own words, dozens of people, in Spanish and English, spoke of Stephen's acts of service to themselves and others, his fierce loyalty, and how he did not suffer fools gladly, himself included. One man said that Stephen believed he was 100% right all of the time, and about 85% of the time, it was true -- he was right. It was unexpected to hear his friends say that Stephen talked about me a lot. It was also fun to surprise so many people by how much we looked alike. All four of us Mills siblings look alike.

While working on this portrait, I listened to several podcasts on grief -- one in particular on the grief of losing a sibling. Listening to other people talk about the loss of a loved one has been really helpful for me as I process "all the feels." This portrait is from a photo of Stephen from approximately 10 years ago. It's 9" x 12", oil on linen.

Stephen leaves behind two beautiful and talented sons, James and Chaz, from two amazing women, Sylvia and Svetlana. He would have turned 55 on January 25th. He is greatly missed.

Girl in Pink

An artist friend, after hearing about my super long hiatus from painting, encouraged me to get back in the studio and paint ANYTHING, which I did last week, and wiped it off, and did again, and wiped it off, and then did again. I kept the third attempt, which is a small imaginary landscape, 8" x 8", that is sitting on a shelf in my art studio to remind me that even though life is hard, beauty is still present. Painting and not knowing what I was going to paint was an exercise in getting dirty and out of my head space, which has been preoccupied with the shifting vagaries of life, namely death, specifically the death of both of my parents a mere six weeks apart this past summer. 

When someone passes away, that connection that only the two of you had together passes away also. Mom died first. Not all of the stories between Mom and me are happy ones - but these last few years have been some great ones. She almost stopped trying to fix me, and I almost stopped being bothered by it. Our last conversation before her speech was irreparably altered by a devastating stroke was probably the most peaceful and relaxed conversation we had ever had. I'm ever so grateful for that final hour we spent on the phone, before words were lost to her forever. 

Dad and I also had a precious reckoning of love right before his end, unexpected and very healing. I so appreciate that my "closure" with both parents was healthy, loving, and gracious. 

I'm not "over" my grief, but am taking small baby steps to reintroduce myself to situations, people, and things which bring me joy, such as painting. What a blessing it is and was to enjoy time in the art studio again! And, thank you Mom and Dad for the gift of a new easel which I bought with a little inheritance money y'all left me. 

And so, on my new easel, which worked like a charm, I painted this little girl last week, which I am calling Girl in Pink. It's 12" x 12", oil on board. 

The Scene and Unseen

 

This painting, A Hard Landing was selected by juror Gus Kopriva of Redbud Arts Center for inclusion in the Visual Arts Alliance 41st Juried Open Exhibition. Opening reception is tonight, November 6th, from 6-8pm with juror remarks at 7 at Reeve's Art + Design, 2415 Taft Street, Houston, Texas, 77006. 

Come for the art, stay for a little visit, and experience the a bit of the Houston art scene for yourself. 

You Get the Picture

32" x 40", oil on linen, Trees at Rice U, painted in 2012

The art scene is almost exclusively designed to promote new works of art, which leaves a conundrum for the artists creating the work -- where to store the old stuff? I've been painting now for almost 20 years, and, although many collectors have my work in their homes, I'm still left with an abundance of inventory in all corners of our house -- under beds, in closets,  behind the sofa....you get the picture.

Most readers of this blog and followers of my art career know that I've had some health set backs over the last several years. A lot of the oompf has gone out of my self promotion, and therefore, I haven't been as diligent of a marketer as I was in the past. 

It's not an original idea....what I'm about to propose. What if you could borrow a painting, with the option, if you so choose, with terms, to own it outright in a few years? Would you do that? 

Have a look at the HERE section of my Sarah Hazel website and let me know. 

Portrait of Pete

Pete, 12" x 16", oil on linen

The Look

The more that I worked on this painting, the more I fell in love with it....and her. I don't always get to meet the people who I paint -- this is one of those instances -- but I think that I would REALLY like her. Doesn't she look like, even at age ten, that she has already read Les Miserables in the original French? 

Ready to get in the queue for a commissioned portrait by yours truly? NOW would be a good time to start the commission process, especially with the holiday season fast approaching. Let's both get a jump start on it for your portrait to be ready and dry in plenty of time for the gift giving season. 

This newest work is 10"" x 10", oil on canvas.  #portraitcommission #portrait #sarahhazelart #oiloncanvas #houstonartist #layaway #layawayplan

For the Love of It

"What motivates you to paint?" Someone asked me that question last week at the opening reception of Visual Arts Alliance 40th Juried Membership Exhibition at Redbud Arts Center. One of the things I've been working on is how to talk about my art in the moment, but this seemed like a much bigger question. It was loud at the opening reception, as it often is at such events, and questions about motivation seem better suited to a conversation one might have at say, a quiet cafe over a cup of coffee. I did my best to answer, rather unsatisfactorily, and have continued to mull over the question for the last several days. 

There's a phrase in an old John Denver song, "...coming home to a place I'd never been before." On the best of days, when standing at my easel completely absorbed in the process of transfering ideas from globs of mixed paint on my palette to a no longer blank canvas, my heart, soul, and fingers feel both energized and at peace, if that makes any sense. It is akin to coming home. And the place I've never been before? That was me, 20 years ago, the first time I held a paintbrush in front of a canvas on an easel and started transferring visions and ideas to a two dimensional surface. 

Which seems like a lot of words to say that I LOVE painting and especially love painting portraits. The above painting is my second portrait painting in this small size. (I just now realized that I neglected to blog about the other painting. Oops. I did post about it on Instagram, but not the same thing as blogging about it.) In case anyone is interested in commissioning a portrait, please contact me. Become one of my many happy patrons and let me immortalize your loved one on canvas. 

Deux Shows -- July 13 & July 17

It's a wonderfully busy summer in my little art world. My most recent painting of the Amazing Reese and our grandson, Theodore, was accepted into Archway Gallery's Sixteenth Annual Juried Exhibition, the opening reception for which will be on July 13th, from 5-8pm, with juror remarks and awards at 6:30pm. Internationally recognized artist, Lydia Bodnar-Balahutrak is the juror for this show. It's always a priveledge to have my work seen and chosen by people so well regarded in the art world. 

As we were driving to a friend's house for supper last night, we drove past the gallery, and I popped in for a quick look at the exhibit. As you enter the front door, my painting is the first painting on the left on the wall to the left of the front door. Does that make sense?

Archway Gallery is air conditioned, which is an important detail to mention, especially because so many Houstonians are still without power after Hurricane Beryl, which even though the weather people said that it was only a category 1 hurricane, as someone who lived through it, and has lived through other hurricanes in Houston over the past 40-ish years, it felt much more violent than just a category 1. Sadly, our house is still without power, but, happily, some of our dear friends have invited us to use their gloriously air conditioned home while they are out of town. Yay for air conditioning! 

And, here's a reminder that the opening reception for the Visual Arts Alliance 40th Juried Membership Exhibition is on July 17th, at Redbud Arts Center from 6-8pm. At the Bus Stop will be on view there, along with 46 other works in the show.  

Reese and I will be in attendance at both events. Come say hi!

Archway Gallery's address is 2305 Dunlavy, Houston, TX 77006

Redbud Arts Center's address is 303 East 11th Street, Houston, TX 77008

 

Seven Years

When I realized that the next art show reception that will showcase two of my paintings, and in which my daughter Anna will also have work is on June 29th, the date jogged a memory for me, because that is the date of my mammogram and biopsy in 2017 that forever altered my universe by confirming a rather aggressive breast cancer diagnosis. Spoiler alert -- I'm still alive, and dare I say, thriving, balancing a life of gratitude with regard to the reality that disaster can strike anyone at anytime. I'M SO GRATEFUL TO BE ALIVE!!! So, it feels like a milestone to not only make it to the seven year mark as an alive human being, but it seems fitting that I will "celebrate" the memory of that tragic day by showcasing LIFE through the beauty of art in a gallery at the Art League of Baytown in Baytown, Texas. Girl With Apple is on view there. 

The Art League of Baytown is hosting a closing reception for the Shadow and Light Pop Show on June 29th, from 4-6pm. Daughter Anna, the Amazing Reese, and I will all be there. Come see us if you live in the Baytown  area! (Rosa's View is also on display in Baytown.)

Girl With Apple was previously in the Visual Art Alliance 37th Juried Memborship Exhibition which was an online exhibit that happened during the pandemic in November of 2020. 

Applying to shows is never a guarantee that work will be accepted into an exhibition. That is why I'm pleased to also announce that another one of my paintings,  At the Bus Stop has been accepted into the Visual Art Alliance 40th Membership Exhibition! Of the 453 artworks that were submitted for review, juror Tanja Peterson only selected 47 works for the exhibition, one of which was mine! The show will be at Redbud Arts Center in the Heights from July 7th - July 27th, with the opening reception on July 17th from 6-8pm.  

Come see me!

In Grandpa's Arms

Grandpa and Theodore, oil on linen, 18" x 24"

When Reese loves on people, I fall in love with him all over again -- even more so when he's holding one of our grandchildren. 

This was painted from a reference photo.  (Theodore is four now! Time flies.)

Where I Am, and Where I'll Be...

I'm pleased to announce that my painting, Self Portrait - 2024, will be on exhibit in the Visual Arts Alliance 40th Juried Open Exhibition from April 1- May 11. The opening reception is at The Jung Center, 5200 Montrose Blvd, Houston, Texas, 77006, on Wednesday, April 10th, from 6-8pm. The juror for the exhibition is Houston gallerist, Kerry Inman, and I consider it a huge honor to have had my work chosen by her for this exhibit. The Amazing Reese and I would love for y'all to join us at the opening reception!

Self Portrait - 2024 

In our life here in Texas, it's bluebonnet season, and we're enjoying the bluebonnets in particular, (see photo at top), but, really, all of the wildflowers are beautiful. We have been staying at a friend's ranch for a few days in Blanco, Texas, in anticipation of the total solar eclipse happening in a few hours, and we've thoroughly enjoyed the wildflowers, butterflies, and change of scenery. We'll be back in Houston for the exhibit, though, so come on by and see us. :)

At the Bus Stop

Sitting in the passenger seat of our car at the stoplight on the corner of Montrose and Westheimer in Houston, I saw this woman sitting at the bus stop. Her hands were constantly in motion, like she was trying to brush something off. She was keeping some sort of rhythm with her movements that only she could hear or feel.

"Art is beauty in ordinary moments." That's the opening line in my artist statement. This tiny moment, a snapshot in the life of someone I don't know, is just that -- a slice of rawness in an unexpected location that was beautiful to me. That's why I wanted to paint it. 

It's 24" x 30", oil on canvas. 

The Grey Scale

This fella was sleeping near the bottom of some stairs along Buffalo Bayou in the downtown Houston area, though it seems like it's a scene that could have been anywhere. That's the thing with homelessness, or whatever brand of outdoor living this is. I don't know this guy's story -- I don't know anything about him other than how seeing him there, vulnerable and oblivious, my eye was drawn to the composition and color scheme and the poignancy of his aloneness in the vastness of this city. 

This painting is 24" x 30" oil on cotton canvas. I usually paint on linen instead of cotton, so it's always interesting to see how the paint moves on a different surface as it is applied. There was a bit of a learning curve painting on cotton, which hopefully I'll remember as I have several more cotton canvases that someone gave me to use. I've already started the sketch on another cotton canvas so we'll see how the next one goes. :)

Self Portrait - 2024

Lately, instead of standing at the easel, I've been sitting in this green chair to paint. One day recently, while sitting at the easel, I noticed the harmony of the greenish blue shirt I was wearing, the soft blue of the walls, and the light reflecting onto and bouncing around my hair, and I knew that I had to paint what I saw. So, voila.

Self Portrait - 2024, oil on linen, 20" x 16"

And, it just so happens, over the years, when in between projects, or unsure of my place as an artist, or afraid of starting something new, or about to tackle something new, or any or all of it, I have come back, again and again, to painting my self portrait. It's a bravery exercise. It gets me back in the studio, back at the easel, back to mixing paints. It is a great motivator to shake the sticky cobwebs off my fingers and dust out the underutilized corners of my mind. 

The green chair very closely matches the color of spring happening right now outside the studio window. It's a happy thought.

Heart Health

Edit : Sorry for the confusion -- I was trying to do something on my blog and accidentally unpublished this blog post from January 31, 2012. I'm re-publishing it, but the original, THIS story was from 12 years ago. I guess I'm not as tech savvy as I thought. Oops. Thanks for being understanding. (It's going to really bother me that it's out of chronological order.)

February is heart health month. In that vein, this is the art heart I created for a member of the Circle of Red Society for the Go Red for Women portion of the American Heart Association.


I started working on this last summer, first with a practice sketch, and then on the giant heart itself. The front of the heart is very three dimensional, sort of like a wedding cake, which makes drawing on it rather difficult.


The back is a flat surface; much easier for drawing and painting. It's been a long process, but today it is finally going to its rightful owner. I couldn't be more delighted.

More Joan

More Joan, 14" x 18", oil on linen

This commissioned portrait, More Joan is painted from an old black and white (sepia tone) photograph from the 1930's/40's. It is a portrait of a beloved mom/mother in law, before she had any mom responsibilities, when she was in the prime of her youth, full of life and promise. The stillness of the pose seems to be hiding a lively spirit, bursting with life and laughter. The Amazing Reese and I enjoyed living with her for a few weeks, as the painting dried. The more we looked at her, the more enigmatic her expression became. 

In the beginning, it was quite difficult to find the right color values. While struggling with it, I asked for a few photos of this lady's grandchildren to compare skin tones and hair and eye color. Those reference photos were an invaluable tool as then I was able to fully visualize what Joan (probably) looked like as a young lady in the flesh. 

It's my understanding that she lived a life of hospitality, welcoming and encouraging everyone around her to live their best lives, continuing to volunteer acts of service well into her advanced years. May we all be so free with our gifts and time. May we all be more like Joan. 

Meet the Parents

I love these two people. Even though I've known them my whole life, and have loved them forever, I can say for a fact that the sweetest they've ever been was when they came to Houston time and again to care for me when I was going through chemo and assorted surgeries for breast cancer. Dad shopped for groceries and they both cooked all of my favorite foods -- anything and everything to bring me comfort when I was at my most desperate and vulnerable. 

The traits I've seen and appreciated the most from both of them is their gift of hospitality and acts of service. They really work well together as a team when they have a common goal of serving others -- I've been on the receiving end too many times to count. Reese and I are grateful for their example. 

Thanks, Mom & Dad. 

This is 18" x 24", oil on linen.

 

A Mother and Daughter Portrait

On my website, in the about the artist section, I have this written artist statement --

Art is beauty in ordinary moments.

Subject matter for my paintings is propelled by my personal belief that common moments are beautiful and worth capturing in a two-dimensional format. There is a realistic quality to my work, but it is more about a moment, rather than focusing on details. Because my eyesight is bad, my work is slightly out of focus. Even so, the general impression is one of tranquility. I call my style "fuzzy realism".

I love painting figurative work and portraits and prefer working in oils on linen.

It is always a privilege to be commissioned to paint a portrait of a loved one. Capturing delight, beauty, and emotion in an everyday moment is at the core of what I work to portray as a visual artist. 

For my most recent commission, we scheduled a photo shoot so there would be something fresh and current to use for reference photos. It was my first time to visit at length with the mother and I sort of fell in love with her. Which in a way helps, because of out of the dozens of wonderful reference photos from the photo session, four poses stood out above the rest, all of which resonated with beauty and charm. To select the pose to use for this painting, I cut out two 18" x 24" canvas sized pieces of cardboard, and sketched the four poses in thinned oil paint on the front and back of the cardboard. After studying each pose carefully, and weighing the pros and cons of each, I selected my favorite pose. 

Often, what looks good in a photograph doesn't translate well on a canvas. Many times in the past, I have sketched (in thinned oil paint) on the canvas and wiped off repeatedly until one sketch prevails. Sometimes the sketches don't completely wipe off, and then I end up starting a painting with a muddied canvas. By sketching on cardboard first this time, I was able to avoid the muddied canvas phase of the process and select the pose that stood out above the others -- the pose that represented the sweetness of this mother and daughter relationship -- and the pose that looked the best in an 18" x 24" format. This was that pose. 

A Mother and Daughter Portrait, oil on linen, 18" x 24"

For this painting, I changed the color of the mother's top from black to a red violet. Also toned down the distracting, busy background so that the viewer could focus on the subjects rather that darting all over the canvas to look at wrought iron fences and barren winter shrubs.

Edit: This is what the daughter in the portrait, Dovie, posted about the painting and her mother. 

This is a portrait of legacy that feels apt during Women's History Month. Sarah Hazel recently captured this beautiful moment between me and my mom as my gift for her upcoming 80th birthday. I can't stop looking at it.

A few months ago, I was asked to write about two people I respect or admire most. I wrote about my mother and my grandmother.

My mom - Helen Marie Vaughan Keprta - worked for the same company for 30 years, and would tell you today that her very best friends in life were made at work. She was trusted immensely by everyone from the receptionist to the CEO, often referred to as "Dr. Keprta" (as both a psychologist and as an quasi-MD who typically gave the real docs a run for their money when it came to diagnosing her colleagues' ailments). My mom worked her whole life to give me every opportunity at a fulfilled, happy life. She made many sacrifices, only some of which I'm aware. She taught me my work ethic and the value of a hug. And, she learned a lot of what she taught me from my grandmother.

My grandmother was a strong woman in the prime of her life in the 1930s when she divorced her first husband (for reasons) in an era when that was not the done thing. After that, she made her own way by starting a boarding house business, where she met her future love, my grandfather. She taught her children to be independent, how to stand up for yourself when nobody else is standing up for you and how to love others well.

I am eternally grateful to them. I am humbly conscious that I stand on tall shoulders as I reach every new milestone or achievement in life, personally or professionally. And in this moment, I'm mindful that every life I touch through my own life and work is a product of their legacy as well, at least to some degree.

At the Masur Museum of Art

The Amazing Reese and I drove six hours from our home in Houston to Monroe, LA to attend the opening reception of Masur Museum of Art's 60th Juried Competition Exhibition a couple of days ago. 

Arriving at the Masur Museum of Art for the opening reception (!!!)

The juror for the exhibition was Jovanna Venegas, assistant curator at San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. She was well spoken and gracious, and took time out of her busy evening to chat about my work and visit with my sweet parents. 

Juror remarks by Jovanna Venegas to a well attended reception

My parents really enjoyed chatting with Jovanna. 

One way that I can grow as an artist is to get better about talking about my work. The viewing public is naturally curious and want to know the inspiration behind the painting(s), and maybe it's all right to say that I don't even know why some images appeal to me more than others, and why I paint them. (?) Is it appropriate to say that maybe some of what I select to paint is based on intuition? Suffice it to say that talking about myself/my art is a work in progress.

Visiting with a new fan of my work

When talking with Jovanna, I wish that instead of me fumbling around for things to say, that I had thought to ask her what resonated with Three Girls that she selected this piece for this show. 

Maybe I could have said that I love painting all kinds of people in all walks of life (?) 

THE #1 reason we drove 6 hours to attend the reception was to meet Jovanna Venegas of the San Francisco MoMA, meet the curator of collections of the Masur Museum, Stefan Nodarse, with the added bonus of meeting various board members of the Masur. It was totally worth it.

The JOY of Eating Ice Cream

oil on linen, 16" x 20"

Oh, the joy of eating ice cream -- does life get any sweeter than this? This is one of those paintings that has been on the back burner for a while, that I wanted to finish before starting my next commission, kind of like making sure that my fingers, heart, and spirit are nimble enough to start the next thing. It is 16" x 20", oil on linen. 

In other news, yesterday was the opening of Masur Museum's 60th Annual Juried Competition exhibit in Monroe, Louisiana where one of my pieces, Three Girls will be on display until May 6th. Of the 1300 submissions for the competition, Three Girls was one of 72 works selected for the show. It was juried by Jovanna Venegas, assistant curator for the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. (!) The opening reception is on March 9th from 5:30-7:30pm. The Amazing Reese and I will be there for the opening reception and welcome anyone to join us if you happen to live anywhere near Monroe, Louisiana. (I'm so delighted that my precious parents are going to drive over from Jackson, Mississippi to attend the opening!)

Three Girls, oil on linen, 24" x 36"

The First Picnic

Our church is making a concerted effort to be a good neighbor to the surrounding community. One of the ways we're doing that is through an initiative called the "traveling table" -- where church members take an actual picnic table to a nearby apartment complex, and host a meal for the residents there. 

The Amazing Reese and I are on one of the teams going to a specific complex with a traveling table (that our group designed and painted -- see the photo below) and sharing a meal with the people who live there. The idea is to have a few "picnics" over a period of a few months and get to know the people there with no strings attached. 

Our first picnic was great. The traveling table was laden with an abundance of food. The area around the picnic table, near the manager's office, was quiet at first. Gradually, though, residents came out of their apartments and joined us for an hour or so. We all chatted, and ate, and played cornhole. It was fun. We had our second picnic last weekend, comprised of assorted crock pots of chili, cornbread, and smores by the fire pit for dessert. We'll start planning our third picnic soon. 

In conjunction with the literal picnic table that we painted, the church commissioned a painting (by yours truly) to go along with the "traveling table" theme. The idea is that the church wanted to have a visual reminder for us to live lives of hospitality toward our neighbors. 

This is how I interpreted that concept.

The title of the painting is The First Picnic. It's large, 30" x 40" and oil on linen.  

It just so happens that the first place our painted traveling table went was to the apartment complex on the other side of the wall that is depicted in the painting (behind the trees). 

The First Picnic, oil on linen, 30" x 40" 

There is a place waiting for you at the table, and extra food in the basket. All are welcome.

Editor's note: I've been sitting on this story for a while. The painting itself took a few months to complete, and then I had to wait to say anything about it until the painting was officially "unveiled" at church, which happened this morning. 

It was a challenge to paint -- in essence, it's ten portraits and a landscape with a little still life thrown in for fun. The people in the painting graciously agreed to pose for me one day after church last fall at which time I took over 100 reference photos. It took a while to sketch. And for continuity and harmony in the piece, I changed the colors of some of the clothes. 

The Local

Every now and then, a friend will post a photo on social media that I'm sure will make for an interesting painting. This was one of those photos. My friend Lorna with Atlas Adventure Trips took the pre-pandemic reference photo several years ago while on a trip in Purmamarca, Argentina. She graciously let me use her image for this painting. 

The monochromatic colors in Lorna's original photo intrigued me. The dirt and rocks in the mountains surrounding the town (according to Google images) are these same colors. It's almost as if the old man is made of the same clay and rocks, which of course reminds me of the latter part of Genesis 3:19....for dust you are and to dust will you return, which, incidentally, is why I don't dust -- it might be someone I know. ;)

The painting is 16" x 20" oil on canvas.