The Price of Living in Paradise

The Price of Living in Paradise

Loving Louisiana



                                  Dragonfly 3                                  

Acrylic on paper, 18"x24", August, 2016

 

 

 

 

 



 Dragonfly 3, detail

 

Dragonfly 2

Acrylic on canvas,  18"x24", August, 2016

 



 

Dragonfly 2, detail



It rained and rained and rained.  Twenty inches in twenty hours.  The water rose, over the creek banks, over the knoll, and into the studio, where it knocked over the easel and bathed paintings in swamp soup.

When the water retreated we were left to pick up the pieces.  Grateful, we were, to have relatively minor damage.  Some neighbors had no pieces left to pick up.  Grateful, also, for the help of family and friends for the clean up.

After four weeks of cleaning and repairing we were comfortable again, and my studio was up and running.  I painted on creamy, textured cold press Arches paper.  With oil and acrylic paint I did thin washes, to impart the luminosity of watercolor techniques to landscape backgrounds.

The flooding came again, six months, to the day later.  Again, we cleaned and repaired.  This time the studio was ready, still grungy, but ready for creativity, after only two weeks.

Two "100 year floods", back to back.  Surely, it will not occur again for another 100 years, we reassured one another.  The neighbors said, "This is the highest flooding since 1980,... since 1950".

After the flood, when the low areas had dried out a bit, we walked the trail alongside the creek.  Overhead, we felt the elevating energy of the arching, cathedral canopy of tall trees.  All about the ground was dappled shade.  Alongside the trail an expanse of impenetrable jungle flora.  Grapevines with trunks as big as a sumo wrestler's thigh, send tendrils twining up to the towering tree tops where a bird banquet of grapes ripen sweetly. 

Rambling the bramble, we read the wildlife signs of deer, rabbit, wild hog, beaver, armadillo, opossum, squirrel. We see blue heron and owl overhead, turtles and catfish in the water.  Occasionally we see snakes,  rarely cotton mouth moccasins.

Strolling the trail, a wafting fragrance introduces a thicket of Elder Trees.  Elder was a sacred plant of the ancient Druids, shamans of the metaphysically talented Celts.  Elder, prized for food, medicine and magic, grows with wild enthusiasm.  A large tree fell two years ago and created a spot of sun for Sambucus Niger to grow.

When the sun rises, and when it sets, there is a symphony of bird melodies, tree frog trebling, and bass of bull frog.  A sky washed with cobalt and orange.  An embarrassment of riches.