An Apology, An Announcement, And A Very Messy Story

First off, I must apologize for not posting last week. I got caught up in the end of the semester chaos and before I knew it Thursday had come and gone and I hadn't posted! It seems my past two weeks have been filled with nothing but homework, running, and maybe a few hours of sleep here and there. But I am happy to say the new semester has started and with it a chance to breathe and a little time to reflect and NOTICE.

I am pleased to announce that the "Did you notice..." page is now up and running! (You can click on it in the sidebar.) Every week I will be adding to the list a minimum of one thing I notice about each of the five senses. What I see, feel, smell, taste, and hear. In my weekly posts I will provide a link to bring you directly to the page, although at times I may post more frequently, so check back often! (If you become a member or follow, you will receive e-mail updates every time I post. I plan to do a post about following and becoming a member in the near future.)  And please, I really want this to be a collaborative experience...I am (and I'm sure everyone is) fascinated to see what fascinates you!

I'd like to finish my post off with a little story from art class today, because I think it's very apropos to the idea of reflecting on moments. We've been studying Impressionism, which captures those every day moments and exaggerates them through the use of color, lighting, and movement. So, we went outside to observe the scenes of winter and used oil and chalk pastels to depict a scene of our choosing. I chose two footprints on the snow-covered patio.

Claude Monet, Impression, soleil levant(Impression, Sunrise), 1872, oil on canvas, Musée Marmottan

My brows furrowed in concentration. Turn the clipboard this way, that way. Yes, that's the angle I wanted. You would've thought I was in a warehouse with an electric saw. Chalk dust flew behind me like wood shavings, enclosing my body in a cloud as I scribbled away furiously. The chalk dust dried my throat and left me coughing. Down to the nub now, I tossed the chalk carelessly over my shoulder and simultaneously started scribbling away with a fresh piece in the other hand. Sweat dripped down my forehead, lingered in between my eyes for a moment to laugh at me, then slid down the bridge of my nose and off the tip. The icy breath of an early winter morning restricted the free-flow motion of my hands, making my strokes rigid and stiff.

I held the clipboard at arm's length to admire my masterpiece. Two white footprints in red snow...hmmm. Not really what I was going for. Then again, my subject had changed quite a bit as my eyes focused on the now red-tinged snow around my feet. My eyes dared to roam further. My hands were two very confused chameleons. I had a new red highlight. A new winter coat. And my pants had caught a bad case of the chicken pox. Funny...I resembled art more than the drawing did. Too bad I couldn't turn myself in for a grade. And to think I liked pastels just the other day. What didn't I draw a tree like everyone else?  "What did you do, roll in it?" my friend wisecracked. This is why I am a writer, not an artist.