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I don’t often paint landscapes but I am constantly inspired by nature’s creative presentations. I feel that what makes a good painting is an artist’s response to experience rather than subject matter. Sometimes that experience reflects what is seen, like in a landscape painting. But even then, the artist’s object isn’t to copy the scene but to convey atmosphere and the feeling of presence. Most landscape painters do not include every thing they see, but carefully select what is significant to the sense of time and place. 

Once in a while I’ll paint something I find in nature like flowers or acorns or mushrooms or birds, but most of the time those goodies will be included somewhere in a supporting role. What really grabs my attention are colors.  I love color combinations, the seasonal color schemes that can cause my heart to ache for their beauty. Unlike the array of symbolic, brash and invasive colors found in retail, nature’s seasonal presentation is different each year: subtle one time, vibrant and exciting the next. Even winter’s neutrals are lovely, with a focus on line and texture rather than the stardom of distinctive hues. 

This year our fall has behaved more like California than Ohio. Higher than normal temperatures and less rain have left us uncertain about the usual spectacular color show of yellow, gold, orange and red. But I have fallen for this year’s alternative: deep woodsy greens of still-present foliage dotted with soft yellows and pale pink-reds of tumbling leaves. The combination of dark warm green with soft yellow and pink evokes coziness, gentleness, peacefulness. I find it restfully-exciting, if that makes sense. 

My daily walks in the woods bring my mind and soul rest, reminding me of the word-picture of Psalms 23:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 

He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. 

He restores my soul.

 He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. 

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

 I will fear no evil for you are with me;

 your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

Your prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; 

you anoint my head with oil, 

my cup overflows. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

 and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

The perfect subject to wrap in this year’s fall colors: a shepherd’s sheep! Rich cream and brown wool, sweet hopeful faces, the symbol of trust. 

Inspired by the deep darks and floating lights, I’m creating a painting about trust and rest: two sheep, peaceful in the gentle fall, a clothes line in the background. The hanging array, floats like large colorful leaves, absorbing fall’s fresh scent, to be brought inside a little later. The image narrates assurance, hope, and restoration, revealing what my heart longs for when words fall short. 

One of my earliest watercolor paintings hangs on a wall in my mother’s house.  Two sheep stand placidly at the base of porch stairs, a classic example of the early ‘80s “country look” which my mom loved. In creating the painting, over thirty years ago, I meant only to imply that the sheep were in front of an old house, but the staircase has become deeply symbolic now, near the end of her life. She struggles with dementia (as so many people do), a disease viciously insulting to the dignity and identity of its victims. It’s hard to espouse the Shepherd when one of His sheep flails under the weight of a broken world. And yet, I trust. I now see the painting in light of of a life-journey, represented by the stair steps.

Perhaps the rungs on Jacob’s ladder suggest the same journey of trust, the ladder solid each step of the way. I will fear no evil.

I have to paint, to be immersed in color and its relation to experience and emotion: challenge, struggle, hope, satisfaction, peace. The process of painting is a part of my existence. But do I trust God with me? Do I trust Him with what brings me stability and grounding? There’s a fine line between nourishment and idolatry. 

Too many times I depend on art for my life’s purpose and source of identity. All of us struggle with the original sin: to Be Someone, to be important, to be like God. I often find myself stepping off the ladder and into the abyss of seeking the approval and affirmation of others. Yet my purpose is not in what I’ve done through hard work, practice, or the gift of talent. My mark in life is made in how I love others. My importance is in who Christ says I am— 

I have called you friends,

 for all that I have heard from my Father

 I have made know to you.

 You did not choose me, but I have chosen you 

and I have appointed and placed and purposefully planted you,

 so that you would go and bear fruit and keep on bearing, 

and that your fruit will remain and be lasting, 

so that whatever you ask of the Father in my name

 He may give you.

  John 15:15, 16.

I won’t always paint sheep as my subject but I hope each painting reflects trust in the Shepherd. He draws my heart through the impressions of color and light. I paint in order to share what I have experienced when I catch a glimpse of His presence. 

As fall moves forward with Thanksgiving its crowning glory (or has it been replaced in importance by Halloween?), I know that winter will be challenging to me artistically and, as a result, spiritually. What will I do when color inspiration dwindles? I am finally addressing this reoccurring dilemma by committing to a winter of still-life painting. I have much to learn from still-life work and I will have the space to play with it as I settle into my new studio (details in my November newsletter which I invite you to join!). But for now, the light is calling. I'm going to jump on my bike and  take in all of it that I can! Then I'll explore the voice of a new painting.