Paintings by my father that inspire thoughts to ponder.
Today’s painting is one where, as my dad says, the water does the work. He spreads the water and the paint and sees what it creates. If you have something satisfactory, paint the fisher person and the shore. If not, try again. He says you can create a painting like this in 20 minutes!
If you were fishing on that lake, or that seaside, what would you be thinking and feeling as you cast out your line? Take a few minutes to place yourself there, and breathe deeply.
Such pain has erupted in Minnesota and has spread around the world. We seem to have reached a tipping point where the evil of institutionalized racism will no longer be tolerated. White people are being asked to “do the work” – and I’m seeking to educate myself from the voices of the oppressed, the ignored, the murdered. Just today Patricia Raybon’s book, My First White Friend arrived, and I read the first chapter stunned at her vulnerability and the sheer beauty of the writing. I’ve also been reading each day a devotional from Our Help: Devotions on Struggle, Victory, Legacy. May the Lord bring some good out of the evil done on that Minneapolis street.
Minnesota is a state known for its natural beauty, and so I thought for today’s Watercolor Wednesday I’d feature one of my dad’s paintings that gives a snapshot of this beautiful land, which is filled with many beautiful people too. The lakes and ponds will be bursting forth into life and no doubt will provide a place of calm in the midst of the pandemic and the unrest.
Wherever you are today, may you find peace, hope, justice, rest, and joy.
We were grieving the death of Ahmaud Arbery not long ago. And now George Floyd, killed in my home state of Minnesota.
My heart hurts for this injustice.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
My dad paints in many different styles, and I particularly like his more abstract interpretations, such as this lovely watercolor from a trip he and my mom enjoyed in the picturesque town of Heidelberg, Germany. What strikes me are the stark colors against the more muted background.
Our weather today is the opposite of the soaking drizzle we see here, but of course in the UK we have a lot of that kind of rain.
If you were to enter this scene, who would you be – one of the women under the umbrella or the man in blue, or someone off the side just entering? What would you be doing, and why?
A friend said recently that she’s often absent minded. I said, I prefer to say I have a lot going on in my head and thus I might seem forgetful. Again Wednesday has passed me by without posting art from my dad. I had it on my task list – but didn’t check my task list yesterday. I even was 45 minutes late to my regularly scheduled (as in I’ve been doing this for years) writing call. Just simply forgot.
We just need to extend grace these days, don’t we. To be kind to ourselves and others. To the tired parents; to the weary extroverts and introverts; to the overworked medical people; to those who have been furloughed and are feeling bored and bereft.
Whatever stage of emotion you’re in – or if you’re feeling many emotions – take a few moments to walk in this garden at twilight that my dad painted. I love its atmosphere and beauty. The colors and textures and mixture of plants and trees.
What do you hear in the whispers of the wind as you walk in the garden at twilight?
This week we’re observing Watercolor Wednesday on Thursday, because hey, who knows what day it is anymore! I clearly don’t.
I thought we could use some simple beauty for today’s image. Two flowers with their bright colors on a blue background, reminding us to take a few moments to breathe in as we remember that God loves us and the world so much that he made glorious flowers for us to enjoy.
The Spring flowers this year feel particularly stunning, I think because we might feel beauty-starved from our lockdown-homes or essential places of business. We hear the news; we feel the news; we yearn for beauty and grace.
Take a moment now to pause and ponder the wonder of the God of the universe creating delicate flowers for you to enjoy. May you know his peace, joy, and wonder today.
We’re in the Easter season – Eastertide, as it’s known in Anglican circles, when for 50 days after Easter Sunday we continue to celebrate the risen Jesus. We should be sipping bubbly and embracing our loved ones.
But with the pandemic sinking into us more deeply as the days go by, it doesn’t feel very celebratory, does it. Makes me think of the wonderful Rob Lacey, who wanted to call the story of his healing from cancer, “Halle-blinkin’-luia.” (He was healed, but he later died.) We might have to celebrate through gritted teeth and the strength of our wills.
Perhaps this year celebrating just means breathing out our laments and praying with the Psalms as we hold on to our faith.
Wherever you are in the spectrum of celebrating, or feeling ever so weary from it all, I pray that you will have some moments of peace, joy, and love this day.
Seeing people grouped together now, such as in this painting by my dad, seems to stem from a different time. It feels poignant and removed from our experience today. I wonder how life will be different when we come out of lockdown?
How are you doing? Are you missing any gatherings in particular?
[By Leo Boucher. Used with permission; all rights reserved. Picture is of a snapshot from Rudesheim in Germany, a city my parents visited when they took a trip down the Rhine river.]
I find this recent painting that my dad created so evocative. It captures those weeks in Minnesota that seemingly go on a long time – when the snow has melted but the signs of Spring feel far off. Brown is the color of the ground and perhaps of the soul, as things can feel lifeless and perhaps hopeless.
Maybe you feel a bit brown these days, as the stay-inside orders and all that is behind them affect you with some small – or huge – griefs. Yet the stream with its color and life brings hope to the scene, just as God’s living water brings life and grace as it cleanses and renews us.
May you, during these uncertain times, receive the gift of God’s living water.
As the coronavirus pandemic continues to build in so many countries, city streets are becoming increasingly deserted. What I like about this painting by my dad, which is a look down a Roman street, is the contrast between the bright colors of the buildings with the lone figures on the street. Let’s say they are self-isolating and are out for their one spot of exercise that day. What lies behind all those colorful buildings? What stories could be told?
What stories are you hearing from behind closed doors? How can I pray for you at this time of fear and anxiety? May you know the peace that passes beyond any city walls; may the peace of Christ be yours this day.