I ended up in front of the Briarpatch restaurant at about 10:45. It’s hard to believe I can get up at 5 and still only make it there by 10:45; ‘course there were the in between things, like getting a kid off to school and exercising for two straight hours. Why I’m not skinny as a stick is beyond me. It’s amazing how well my body hangs onto food calories. I must be from a line of people who had nothing to eat in some desolate place somewhere and had to hang onto each little morsel for months. Our genes must have evolved a body that is capable of surviving on air and looking at delicious food because that’s all I ever do.
Anyway, I digress, I arrived in front of the Briarpatch and continued with my watercolor ( I started it on Monday, but then the weekend got in the way.) I love Winter Park, Orlando, Florida, USA. It’s such a cool little area; near Rollins College, the seat of so many cultural and artistic events, including the Winter Park Art Festival. How fitting that I would be here with my little watercolor, little old plen air painter me. Of course nature called the minute I got settled in so I had to find some facilities. I ended up going to the Historic Museum I parked in front of and two of the nicest women ever allowed me to use their bathroom as long as I signed in on their guest book. At that point I would have signed anything. I talked to them for a while before I left. It seems you pronounce the “plein” in “plein air“ with a short “e” and not the long “a” I was; unfortunately, using. One of the nice women also had a lot of cultural knowledge. Well, I do it, I guess I might as well pronounce it right.
I finally got settled in and was painting away when a man; Barry, as it would end up to be his name, came up to me and started talking. He had a huge, really technical looking camera with a large lens that looked like it could christen a ship if swung hard enough. He was a newspaper photographer for a long time; even though he looked pretty young. It ended up he started in the newspaper at the ripe old age of 16 or maybe 17. What’s the difference? You’re still very, very young at either age! He’s working on a blog and he also does some commercial work now. He took a picture of me all “plein air” painting with my hair flying out in a frizzy mess, no makeup, oiled down with sunblock, sitting their in my usual outdoors outfit which consists of jeans and a tank top. Oh well, he said it will take a while to get it set up. Maybe the world will be ready by then.
Quite a few people walked by and said they like my work which is always encouraging. Sometimes when no one says ANYTHING you start to wonder just how bad you are. A couple of darling children came up with their mom and admired my work. One little girl who also was a watercolorist; about 4 or 5, came up at the urging of her mom who told me she liked to paint. The mom was all “look what a wonderful painting she’s making. See she’s an artist like you.” The little girl had a butterfly on her blouse, a butterfly barrette in her hair and some on her skirt. I asked her if she liked painting butterflies. They were both just amazed by my insight. The mom said, “How did you know that?” Wild guess.
A little boy came up and said he was a painter and pointed out that I was painting The Briarpatch restaurant after studying my picture. I thought that was a good sign. His mom told me he had just completed a painting himself this morning. He was wearing a T-shirt with a big dragon on it and I thought 2 for 2 before I took the plunge and cleverly asked, “Do you like to paint dragons?” waiting for them both to come unglued by my insight again. No, the mom assured me he liked to paint girls with hats and sometimes cats. Maybe he‘s the next Dr. Suess.
