Excerpts from a Journal that accompanied a series of paintings of a backyard pool.

Pool Studies
Rivage

 

Summer 1998

Mon. 6/15

Watercolor; bright sun, surface broken by pool sweep and slowly rising North wind.

Tues. 6/16

Wind from North. Awful. Couldn't paint. Blew for 2 days.

Sat. 6/20

Saw Little Snaky climb out of pool into rosemary. Last year when the earthmovers were pounding the field behind us, preparing for the new subdivision, Big Snaky and Little Snaky, beautifully patterned gopher snakes, came into our yard for refuge. Ben, my grown son, caught Big Snaky and my husband, Jim, took him to a garden in the arboretum, where the gardener, has since seen him and reports he's doing well. I hadn't seen Little Snaky since he wriggled away when I tried to catch him for a similar evacuation. Glad to know he's still here. Seems to be a hole in the retaining wall under the rosemary that he disappeared into.

Later, close to 8:30 pm, two crows land on the overhead wires behind our fence. They move close together and nuzzle. It is refreshingly cool now. A barn swallow swoops low over the water.

Tomorrow is the Dog Boys' birthday. Voyager, my big Golden, will be nine, and Super, the boss Border Collie, will be eight. One is my sunshine, one is my shadow. I want to take them swimming in the pool if we get back in time from the Father's Day lunch for Jim's dad. It can be hard to have Father's Day when my father is dead. It has been 20 years. How can any of life seem real after such losses?

Well, I seem to have strayed from the pool.

Mon. 6/22

About 6:30 this morning the shadows in the pool looked almost black. The colors formed and brightened as the sun rose closer to the tops of the trees in the East. The water was warmer than the cool air, and wisps of mist rose at an angle.

Late in the day on Sunday 2 bright orange dragonflies darted over the surface. Saturday I had seen one of the smaller bright blue ones.

All around me this morning are "things that need to be done." This will be the most difficult lesson this summer. Until noon I will do nothing that is unrelated to art. Is this possible? Stretched 2 more large sheets of watercolor paper.

The water is still not clear. The filter may be full of dirt from the North wind days. At least the leaves are all skimmed or vacuumed out. Was realizing how quickly such an artificial water hole would revert to the natural. Dirt would settle to the bottom, leaves would decompose, the water level shrink from evaporation. Already there are sometimes water striders on the surface, and little "boatmen" rowing themselves under the water.

"Dragonfly Sunprint"

Tues. 6/23

Just before the light of the sun tops the trees, the pool surface is very flat and dark. Almost opaque, except for the vague white shape of the drain in the deep end. The rising light brings reflections and then, just as I start to focus on the shapes, the road building machines clank by on the other side of the fence. How can one paint the obtrusion of the noise? Can the pool "look" the same in that apocalyptic din as it did seconds ago in the cool stillness?

The straight parallels of the wires reflected on the water suddenly become tight zigzagged lines, the weight of the machines transferring in compact little waves to the water.

Is "growth" inevitable? And what is growth? Is it what's happening in the subdivision, once a mustard field, behind our property? Or is it the fact that this morning, for the first time in 5 years of setting out peanuts for the jays, one of them, Bird, landed on the platform near my head, and commenced picking up his treats only a foot away from my face, as I continued to lay out the rest of their breakfast?

Now the really "heavy metal," or "big iron," as Jim calls them, moves in, to compact and grade the earth. The pool surface is like shaken jell-o, heaving and humping up and down, as if underwater moles are about to break the surface. The wire reflections now sway in and out from each other, like dizzying hula hips. The scrub jay has fled to the neighbor's tree. It seems appropriate that the sun is behind a cloud and the pool surface dark and cold-looking again.

I confess there is an 8-year-old inside me who would love to be out there driving those big clunkers through the dirt. But then, she is from the 1950"s when all was progress, growth, humans all-knowing and "in control."

Weds. 6/24

Two more watercolors done. Started at 6am to avoid the machines. One of them showed up at 6:05. Decided to try to coexist.

In the evenings the dogs take turns to lie on the edge of the pool and drink. Beasts at the watering hole. The barn swallow swoops to drink.

Sat. 6/27

The mockingbird has discovered he can balance himself on the ball atop the flagpole. Singing nonstop. I imagine he is proclaiming his territory to the earthmovers. Didn't leave my painting out to dry today, too much dirt coming over the back fence. Noise like an unwelcome and brutish guest.

The dogs had a rowdy time in the water yesterday. There's a mass of hair on the surface this morning. A strange kelp bed. Sometimes the hair accumulates in a loose ball near the drain in the deep end. The first time I saw it there, moving and seeming to pulsate, I thought we had grown a jellyfish.

A relative was visiting today. Last week an old friend from the East coast stayed for two days. Another time I would welcome the intrusions. Now they are like rocks dropped into the water, which has only just become still again after the last disturbance.

The side of the pool casts a shadow across the bottom, and at its edge is a corona, a thin line of bright color. Is it phthalo blue? What causes it?

Mon. 6/29

A ground squirrel has taken refuge in our yard. Saw him poking around the path under the bird feeder. Busy, intelligent little face, a saddle of darker color down his grey-brown back.

One of the killdeer flew along the fence yesterday, crying its distress. I'm sure their nest has been crushed by the mechanical behemoths. I wish we had a larger yard, to provide refuge to more of the creatures.

Sun. 7/5

The squirrel seems to be excavating a squirrel condo under the hot tub. I will have to find a large live trap so we can move him before he gets in trouble.

Mon. 7/6

Didn't get out in the yard until noon. Too hot for me to work out there. The jay was on the fence with his mouth open, probably trying to cool off. I suggested he go visit the bird bath.

Tried to get a better look at the "halo" at the edge of the pool shadow, but it wasn't very distinct with the sun directly overhead. Went out later and could see that, yes, there is actually a narrow "rainbow" all along the shadow's edge. The blue and violet are most distinct, but looking closely can make out green and yellow and finally a barely discernible orange-red. All the colors in a very narrow strip along the shadow line.

There have been a lot of little white cabbage butterflies fluttering around the garden the last few days. Little white souls. I almost missed seeing them because they are so "common". Like the ever-present house sparrows it is easy to miss their beauty if one ceases to see the individual.

Two orange dragonflies were flying around linked together. Hope they don't get so lost in ecstasy that they crash land in the pool.

The dogs are so happy to have me home, and I am so happy to be here with them. They are my Zen monks, my Han-Shan and Shih De. They anchor me in the present. Comic relief and more wisdom than I can ever hope to attain. When we swim, we swim, when we nap, we nap, and when it's dinnertime we eat like there's no tomorrow. Only today. Only now.

Tues. 7/7

By 9:15 it's already too hot in the sun. Sweat running in my face while I try to paint. Did some quick sketches and color washes in watercolor. Will have to move inside for awhile, start one of the acrylics...

Not sure how much I did today, but here's what I didn't do from 8:30 until 12:15 I didn't answer the phone, check the mail or read the newspaper, do dishes, do laundry, go to the grocery store, call to see how anyone was "doing," write or e-mail anyone. I did keep focused on my painting.

Thurs. 7/9

Stayed up to watch the moon in the pool last night. Made a sketch that may become a painting. Didn't wake up until 7 this morning. Went directly to the pool to catch the sun just starting to add color to the water. Added Winsor yellow where the edges of the privet leaves start to color up. There was a faint rosy glow that skimmed the very surface of the water in one area, then was overwhelmed by the other colors emerging. Used a wash of Rose Madder there.

Took a break to find coffee and feed dogs and found a mouse scurrying from the dining room to behind the kitchen stove. Oh, oh. Must be another refugee from the field. I do have to have limits. Set a trap under the sink. No peanut butter so tried hummus. Am awash with guilt.

They seem to be laying sewer pipe out back today, and doing some finish grading on the bike tunnel.

Have made so many mistakes on the acrylic I'm doing that I must be learning something. Voyager just went by with the bathroom rug in his mouth. He seems determined to pluck it like a chicken. Cartoon break. I must be taking myself too seriously.

"Pool Study #12"

Tues. 7/21

All of last week was difficult. Unable to concentrate, agitated, felt like I was walking around with a hole through my gut. Finally realized it had been a year since my conversation with my friend, Molly, who had moved to Tennessee. Neither of us knew it would be our last, of so many. Two weeks later I had tried and tried to reach her; finally contacted her daughter. The "strained muscles" in Molly's back were lung cancer that had spread to her spine. The medical procedures left her unable to speak on the phone. Could only write a letter that her daughter read to her before she died. I remember sitting by the pool with her, both of us trying to draw it. She lifted up one of her oil pastels and said, almost singing, "Cerulean blue, Cerulean blue." It was almost as if she could taste the color.

Today I look at the pool and try to see it again for her as well.

This morning it is cool, and the water is a very quiet shade of turquoise, pastel really. I watch a water strider skating over the surface and wonder how they first arrived in the pool.

Will start working on the unprimed canvas today, and finish the large watercolor. The sun has hit the water and mist is rising, like a soul.

Weds. 7/22

The surface of the water holds dog hair, clouds, and the brilliance of a white sun behind the clouds. Now the sun breaks through and makes the shadow at the deep end that I've been trying to capture for the acrylic study. I go in the house to grab a sketch book and when I return the shadow has disappeared, replaced by reflections, the sun behind a cloud again. Okay, apparently we're playing hide-and-seek. I'll just have to sit and wait. It is deliciously cool this morning.

We had a wonderful paddle in the pool yesterday evening. The dogs are rejuvenated after last week's barfing and pathetic lying about.

Thurs. 7/23

What a funny morning, and still only 7am. Super was barking at something behind the fence. I went to look, thinking it would be a dog threatening his territory. Through the slats saw a man crouching there, near the privets. Was about to say something like, "excuse me," when he suddenly stood, pulled up his pants, and walked quickly away. For a second I wondered if I were dealing with some perversion, but then noticed he was headed toward the crew of guys walking around on the neighbor's roof. Figured the poor fellow probably left home without finishing his "business," as the dogs and I call it, and got stuck,took refuge in the privets, only to be exposed by the intrepid Super.

Now there is banging and banging from the roofing crew. No privacy; they look down on the pool and back yard. They're removing boards with that terrible squeaking, tearing sound. At 9:15 they start tarring the roof. Pew! Starting to feel less paranoid and more certain there really is a conspiracy to disturb my work this summer.

Sun. 7/26

The surface of the pool is moving slowly clockwise. The filter pump goes on early these days. Takes longer to keep the water clean in summer. Yesterday I was sick; head pounding. Would paint for an hour or so then go back to bed for 2 hours. Managed to get in about 4 hours of work that way. Ben has gone to visit his father this weekend. Jim is away kayaking. Just me and the dog boys.

Took a nap and dreamed I was talking to Super about "corn dogs." In the dream a corn dog is a picture of a dog made out of ears of corn, with green husks and tassels still on. I only dream 'em, I don't figure them out.

Weds. 7/29

Worked steadily and happily all day yesterday. The monster machines were gone and the day was cooler. Sitting by the pool this morning with coffee and toast, when suddenly Voyager starts running back and forth in the yard, looking frightened. I get up to check it out and yes, he is right, there is a hot air balloon just over the houses across the field. I let him in the house. He is terrified of them. I used to think they were beautiful but have come to hate them since one nearly came down in our yard five years ago and instilled this fear in him. A friend who lives outside of town told me of horses throwing themselves on barbed wire fencing in their efforts to escape. Just so the balloonists could give their clients a close view of the countryside. I hope this one drifts away from us. It's low over those houses and seems to be coming down, hopefully behind them. Damn! Do these people have no brain?

The light patterns on the bottom of the pool dance and run and make me dizzy. The water strider casts a shadow of five dots on the bottom. Four where his legs touch the water and one where his diamond-shaped body is. Other shadows move across the bottom, round, with coronas. Like the "floaters" I see when I close my eyes. The swallow comes to dip and drink. The sky is an intense, clear blue, beyond cobalt. The pool has been changing color as I sit here. Shadows deepen as the sun grows strong.

"Wings"

Thurs. 7/30

It's so cool and still. Only a slight ripple on the surface of the water. The sun creeps over the neighbors' house, reflections begin to appear. The trees are backlit on the surface. The reflections of the overhead wires vibrate as the water moves. Everywhere I look is something I want to capture. Twice this week saw monarch butterflies. Not the time of year I expect them.

There are trucks in the field, the sound of spreading gravel. I feel as if I defend a sanctuary.

Fri. 7/31

Read in the paper last night that one of the boys who was in my day care years ago was killed in a lumber mill accident. He was 28, with a wife and child. I remember him only as a sweet, shy child with a gentle sense of humor. Life can go so suddenly, like turning a page, dropping a china cup. Somehow we move, and the world no longer holds our reflection.

Thurs. 8/5

Saw ten white butterflies all at once, flutter up from the grass and the gaura plants, whose flowers themselves look like butterflies, balanced on long slender stems.

Last few days have been 105, 111, 106 degrees. Bad air quality even in the early morning. Maybe there will be a south breeze tonight. The dogs and I know what to do in the meantime.

And how do I paint this experience of being in the water, watching my shadow on the bottom of the pool, reflections exploding around me? Or the feel of sitting on the step, the dogs wet and panting on either side of me, the smell of their wet hair, their almost electric eagerness for me to throw the retrieving buoy one more time? The water is cool against us, the sun warm on our backs. Camaraderie without words; the bonds of our affection breaking over us like waves that wash over rocks and make them shine. The small, indescribable joys of being alive and conscious.

Above our heads the mockingbird sings, as if he would turn himself inside out to celebrate this blue, blue sky.

 

 

Pool Studies
Rivage
© 1998

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Spring 2000</