A Writer's Prayer

Today folks, I thought I would share with you a poem I wrote that is about writing but also covers the intimidation one feels as one begins to paint:

A WRITER'S PRAYER

White paper, like blank new snow

Intimidates me;

Clear screens with icons in a row

Infuriate me;

Let me crumple the paper in a fist of bold resolve,

Let me strike a word or name to fill the void;

Let me muck up the paper and muddle up the fonts;

Let me write, type, or assault with

Black on white.

Copyrighted by Morna W. Owens

The Market

Good Morning. This oil was inspired by a trip to an outdoor market I made one day while in New York City. It was raining but I had an umbrella so I was determined to still see all I could of NYC. Down around Canal Street, there are many open flower and vegetable markets. On this particular day, the rain dulled the usually vibrant colors of daffodils, roses and the fresh fruit. Some people have said that a rainy day affects their moods dramatically. I wonder if it is because there seems to be a gray veil between them and the bright colors that routinely decorate the streets, the sky, and even the grass of their world. Thanks for tuning in.

French Meadow

Good Morning. I have been very busy painting the last week. This 4 x 6 oil is the first of 5 paintings I have done. I have seen many pictures, scenes from movies and other artists' renderings of a French landscape. They always made me sigh at the beauty. So this painting is my own interpretation of what a meadow in Versailles might look like. However, the beauty of nature is among us every day, no matter where we are. Even sitting at a stoplight we can appreciate the landscaping that has been done to beautify the median. And there is always the beauty in the bright eyes and bright smiles of those we care about. Have a great day and thanks for tuning in.

Abandoned

Hello. I'm sure by now that you've noticed that I am fond of rural life on farms. This painting was inspired by a photograph. Where I come from in N.C., as you ride down the twisty roads, many a gray and decaying building appears on both sides. Some are old barns, some are smokehouses, others are family dwellings. Often they sit in the middle of fields with corn, soybeans and cotton growing as close to the dwelling as the farmer and the plow could get. As my mother and I ride by the houses, she names them for the families who built them, raised children in them and then either moved away or built newer houses. She'll speak of the children as she knew them in school and tell tales of playing basketball outdoors on dirt courts, or of pranks they played on their teachers. The contrast between her vivid recollections and the broken down dwellings is stark. My mother holds the history in her heart and mind. I think that is fortunate for the folks she knew.

Mission

Good afternoon. I just completed this pastel. It was inspired by a photograph I saw of an old mission. It looked sad but inspirational at the same time. When I think of the people who built it, their faith and their labor of love, I am filled with respect and admiration for them. Not all of us have the opportunity to build a building from the ground up fueled by faith and hope. We do build things, and it is often with faith and hope: relationships, family, friendships. Out heart and soul go into these personal endeavors,. don't they? Although this mission looks like it is in a state of decay, it is still a work of art. Let's all work toward building things that last forever. Thanks.

Monday Wash

Good morning, everyone. This oil (and I admit that it didn't scan very well) represents the archetypical work ethic of country folks all around our country and even our world. Their lives are filled up with chores that seem simple and repetitious but are crucial to their survival. In my experience, I have found they just do the task before them and move on to the next. Monday morning wash was a ritual where I spent some of my childhood. The women would stand at the wringer washing machine and feed the sheets, towels and clothing through the wringers. There was a tin tub or basket that caught the laundry as it dropped from the wringer. That basket was hurried out to the clothesline while the next load was wringing through. Along with the chatter about how many loads were left to do, they planned dinner and supper. Sometimes yeast rolls were already rising in the kitchen with a ham baking in the oven. Who would gather the lima beans and tomatoes from the garden? Who would set to baking the pie shells? Once in a while, while the sheets are swishing in my electric washer, I put a ham in the oven and set to making out yeast rolls. On such a day, I feel grounded.

Bucket Of Summer

Good morning. This is an oil painting I did of hydrangeas. As you know, the pH of the soil determines to a great extent the colors of hygrandeas. Acid, alkaline, or a mixture of both can produce the deepest or the softest pinks, blues, purples and whites. They are all beautiful in their own way. Just like people and their various shades and hues, right? I'm on the lookout for beauty today, how about you?

Siesta Country

Good morning, folks. I was at the doctor's office the other day and told him I seemed to be sleeping too much. I mentioned that on some afternoons, I fall asleep for 3 hours or more, only to awaken and go to bed at 10:00 and sleep through the night. He said that a 3 hour nap was a bit long for us, around here. He meant our country. He said that in other countries, an afternoon siesta is customary, if not expected. He must have travelled a lot because he named several countries where afternoon naps are part of employment: businesses closing, just for lunch and a siesta, to open again around 4:00 and stay open until 8:00 or so in the evening. I know about these customs in other countries and I think he knew I knew. As I look back, he seemed rather wistfull in manner, as if he were remembering siestas he had taken elsewhere. So, this pastel painting was inspired by a trip to the doctor's office. He prescribed a 1 hour nap for me. I bet he would prescribe a siesta for everyone if he could, himself included. Have a long, leisurely siesta as soon as you can - maybe in your backyard, your own "Siesta Country."

Home Place

Good morning. This watercolor is of my ideal house. It speaks to me of family, summer, picnics, grandmothers and grandfathers, and of Southern women who always have the prefix "Miss" before their first name, like "Miss Ada." In the lazy Southern town where I spent a lot of my childhood, homes resembling this were abundant and behind every front door was an entry, a parlor and a "Miss Somebody." On Sunday afternoons, it was the custom of my grandmother and my aunts to go and visit these sweet ladies. More often than not, they were widows. It was tough for a ten year old little girl to sit perfectly still on the settee while the ladies exchanged cares, woes, and gentle laughter. I took in all the doillies, figurines and oval sepia tinted family portraits. Once in a while I had to recite a poem or some quotation I had learned at school. There was no escape. But, now that I've come to a place in my life where the children down the street call me "Miss Morna", I very much wish I had the house to go with the title.