cut paper

SNIPS

unfold it gently

working on a book

These days

tap tap tappity tip tap

typing my hand written notes

into Word documents.

what I first knew from my research in 2011,
from trips to the downtown Kansas City Public Library
fifth floor in special collections room. 

 what I now know in 2017,

after more digging on-line,
Google searches,
new angles
find just the right "search" words!!! 

hand on the mouse (here).

grateful for all the doors that have opened,
thank you jesus-- author of my life, 
all my days are written in your book!!

the chats 
at the grain elevator.

seeking to reconstruct

things Fowler learned from the family business. 

the segments of his life that I can relate to--

the pieces of the story

that interest me in 2017.

 about a pocket of people

who met up in 1910. 

++

yes

One minute. Subject. Site. Painting on easel, bungee cord. Friday noon. 
Double click images to enlarge details.

 Yes by Karl Marxhausen

Acrylic on 70 lb acid free paper

Plein air

November 17, 2017

gray smudges on knuckles

The country drive last Sunday began "the stir........"  
Monday after running errands, I stopped by Lincoln Lakes "to stand ...... and be. listen. feel the sharp air on my face. silent, hoping for a response."
I began a checklist. Dug out my padded overalls. Would my body still fit in them?? Pulled the heavy backpack with paints and supplies out of storage.
Tuesday I checked off the overalls. It was a squeeze with my tummy, but I fit. Went out with the hand saw and for my new past time, hand sawing tree trunks that lie out in the yard. Each in various stages of being cut. It is more of an exercise for me to do, rather than a task to accomplish. An exertion to keep my mind sharp.
Wednesday the paint kit was moved into the cab. The easel in the back. For a time to come.
Friday the sun remained out long enough for me to "go look. pull out the backpack, set up the easel, hunt and locate the bungee cords. telescope the legs out. stand and observe. locate the graphite.. and sketch."

Orange road cones are stationed around me as I draw from the creek bridge on South Ely Street. Sunshine. Nip in the air. Clear sky. November. And the promise of an overcast afternoon. ... An hour passes. I regard the creek on the west side of the bridge. Another day for that, another time.

Today it goes well. How will my body respond tomorrow? ...to this stretching and lifting, bending and moving, climbing up and down out of the cab. Another check off the list, taking down the easel, carrying supplies back into the cab, lifting, placing. Gathering the cones. Off down the street.

  
Ely street meets West Lincoln Street and I stop by a green field with trees aflutter and a house nestled beneath its boughs. At last I find a fallen branch and mark the place I want to come back to. No sketch. Jotted thoughts on a paper squatch in my pocket to remember by.

On the shore the easel and drawing pad secured with bungee cord around back. All set.
A sullen monument of bleached tree ascends to my right. A far tree bank across the lake. Two houses peeking out from behind way up there. The breeze cold, the sunshine bright, the sky still clear blue. Bright yellow green algae. This place I hope to return to and paint.
Less than an hour I am satisfied.

Piling all into the cab. Easel hoisted. Graphite retired. The smudges removed with a clean moist baby wipe towel. I return home. My eyes roam through the passing tree trunks to backyards and houses tucked away in the wood. The spark bursts. Houses tucked away in the wood. A concept to come back to.

Here, I have finished posting the photos and typing the text, and the weather report proves to be true. The clouds have rolled in and the sunshine has left.

Thanks for reading it. It's time for lunch.

North central Missouri, central United States, North America, planet earth.