For day 30, a Red Barrel Cactus. I don’t often paint with red. This barrel is orange, purple, mauve and magenta. And green. And what do you need for a night at the ball? A glass slipper of course. Haha. Watercolor, and for the spines, gouache that was left on my palette.
I painted this Aloe early in the month. I love the clean, curved lines. I started by scribbling some white Caran d’Ache Neocolor on the leaves. Next a mix of Juane Yellow and Winsor & Newton Turquoise. I mixed in some of the color left on my palette, and the result is far too turquoise. I love it, but I may go back in and make alterations.
I was trying for more of a greyish, blueish, whites green. As seen on Day 7. This is what I remember from the Iceplant succulent ground cover so popular in Southern California. There are many plants with this coloring that I love. Blue Fescue, Blue Chalksticks, and Dusty Miller to name a few. Aloes come in fresh green, dark green, and dusty sage green.
The night before last I could not sleep. Not sure why. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the challenge. I got a lot of work done. And I was still awake when the sun came up. I have had neck pain all week, Somehow I tweak my neck at night. An old auto injury. I was hit from the side, and it tore my shoulder and neck. I ordered an ergonomic pillow, relief is in sight.
Well Val, all that “blue” was for you my friend. Haha. And Sea, here is one of my Ikea studio solutions. It is the Ostbit plate holder, I use it to hold paper. There’s a month’s worth of, paper (paintings)! Haha. Plenty of room for more.
Later this afternoon, I will post my 30 Day collage. It is always fun to see all the paintings together. I am looking forward to seeing the group’s collections!
The Choice
The intellect of man is forced to choose
perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story’s finished, what’s the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day’s vanity, the night’s remorse.
W.B. Yeats