Above is my latest attempt at painting the yellow roses I had received on women’s day, though the flowers themselves had long since withered away, and this was painted from memory.

“Would you like to take some flowers? It’s for free!” the cashier told me as I was paying for my groceries that day. I came home happy carrying a bunch of yellow roses.

Since then I have had (to this date) five attempts to paint them. The first attempt was a couple of days after first bringing the roses home and putting them in a jar of water. I had been enjoying their sight for a couple of days (unfortunately they didn’t have much smell) when I decided to try and paint them. I took out paper and paint and produced this:

I went to sleep that night dissatisfied with my painting, but determined to try again the next evening. The following evening I produced this:

I thought the composition was better, but still, I wasn’t happy with the result. I took a fresh piece of paper and tried a different technique, laying the color on dry paper:

I went to sleep restless and still unsatisfied. The next day I tried to produce softer roses by painting on wet paper:

After that I gave up painting for a while, as the excitement was affecting my sleep. The roses wilted and I threw them away. Time went by. Then one day I found myself in front of watercolor paper, but this was not just any paper, it was cotton paper. I had never painted on cotton paper before. Generously I wetted the paper. I mixed my colors and applied them with confidence with a large brush. I had no model in front of me, and no reference photo. It was just me before the cotton paper, trying to paint something pleasing to the eye. 

I admired the way the paper absorbed the paint. I let it dry somewhat before adding detail with a finer brush. I looked at whatever markings I made, at the flow of colors, and tried to imagine the petals. Carefully, and with a dryer brush, I marked out the imagined petals. As more details were added the petals became clearer, and I understood better where they should be, and I enhanced their clarity. 

Adding some more detail with a dry brush…

Adding some wet washes to the background… and… finally I was satisfied.

Dancing, that is what I love drawing. 

I didn’t feel like copying anything. I took paper and pen, and drew. I took my time creating repeating patterns, like parallel lines, because I thought they might create a pleasing effect. I  also sat back, relaxed my shoulders, and quickly drew out long curvy lines, to give a sense of flow. I then added color, layer by layer, over a period of a few weeks, until I didn’t have what else to add. 

It is good to draw from the imagination once in a while, and to get such images out onto paper.

Daliat El Carmel is a Druze village near Haifa. I was there with a friend on a sunny day, and, taking the wrong path to the market, we found ourselves in front of a beautiful view. I promptly took a photo on my phone.

Later I was sitting at home listening to my sister playing the piano. She was playing the Bach fugue in C minor, over and over in loops. I set to work painting this scene from the photo I had taken, painting individual grass blades, and gathering patience from the gentle repetitive notes of that beautiful fugue.

I sat with paper and pencil and drew a girl drawing in the dirt. I believe that from the dawn of our species we have been drawing, and that the urge to use the fine motor skills of our hands is ever present, even if for no practical use. The urge to create, to express, to change… that is what we are all about. 

I looked at my drawing and liked the subject, but it needed refining. I worked on it slowly over some days. I then worked carefully on adding the watercolors. I added a little color, then waited a few days to see how the effect pleased me. I wanted it to be in fantasy land, colorful with the ecstasy of creation. I thought carefully how I should finish coloring the drawing. I then sat one night and completed it, and time stopped and I was in fantasy land for a couple of hours. 

I was in Jerusalem, and took my outdoor-painting gear with me to the old city. I found a comfortable bench to sit on and started painting what I saw. I had meant to take photos of my painting as it progressed, but I forgot, painting completely absorbed me. I sat in a very touristy area, and there were people about, but they generally respected my privacy and left me alone. Children however are different, and are less hindered by social restraints. There were three little children, maybe between 5 and 8 years old, who came and sat by me, watching me paint, and not uttering a word. They watched until their mother called them away. They lit my imagination though, I think three bright-eyed children watching someone intent on their work can make an interesting painting…

This painting didn’t feel too difficult. It is hard to do too badly with a view of Jerusalem and with people watching it.

“Have you ever painted outdoors?” I asked one artist. “Yes, I have” he said. “I try painting outdoors at least once a year. It is a hassle though” he explained, “you must deal with the wind which blows your things away, then there is the sun glaring on your painting and blinding you, so you need a parasol. There are  also flies that come to you. It is not as romantic as it sounds.” He thought a moment. “It is not easy” he continued, “painting from real life is very different from painting from a reference photo. In real life your eyes pick up much more detail and much more color than a photo can produce, and all this information can overwhelm you. You must learn to discriminate, and to simplify what you see.”

I wanted to do this outdoor painting thing, or, as it is called in art jargon, plein air. I took a market trolley and packed it with the following items:

1.  A small paint box
2.  Two brushes, one large and one small
3.  A black pen and a black brush pen
4.  A pad of watercolor paper
5.  A jar
6.  Some toilet paper (to wipe the brushes)
7.  masking tape
8.  A plywood board (larger than the watercolor paper)
9.  A small folding stool
10.  A large bottle of water
11.  Some nuts (to give me energy)

I left the house with my trolley and made my way to a local botanical garden. By the time I arrived the sun was high, it was hot, and I was tired. Desperately I looked for a shady place to sit and rest. I found a small dark path, shadowed by large trees. I went there, took out my stool, and sat down. I looked at the path and the trees, wondering how they would look in a painting. As I was contemplating the path, I noticed this stem with leaves waving in the breeze, and I thought it sweet and liked it. I turned my stool around to face it squarely, and took out my painting supplies.

I taped a piece of watercolor paper to the plywood board with the masking tape, and put the board on my lap. I filled the jar with water, opened the paint box, and put the brushes and pens beside me. I looked at the leaves I wanted to paint and wondered how to start. It was quiet except for a few birds chirping. There were very few people around, nobody was foolish enough to come out in that heat. In the shaded spot where I was sitting it was cool and comfortable. I made a few lines with the pen, then started painting the leaves.

I ate some nuts and continued:

The rock underneath the plants was challenging. I realized what the artist meant by being overwhelmed by all the detail and colors our eyes can see in the real world. I continued with some darker colors:

I looked at my watch and realized that I was sitting there already an hour and a half, and I was starting to feel uncomfortable on the stool. I added some washes for the background, then traced the stem with the black brush pen. I was done. 

I packed my things and left.

I had received some new watercolor paints that came in tubes. I didn’t have pans to put the paint in, and so decided to make my own watercolor box with paint pans.  I took a plastic box and glued inside it caps from empty water bottles, and filled the caps with the new paint. For a color mixing palette I cut out the bottom of an empty water bottle. This worked so well as a color mixing palette, that I made myself a few more.

With my new watercolor set, I went forth to paint a pot of African violets that my mother had given me. It started like this:

But it looked too simple, and so I added some dark accents:

It looked too childish, and I was losing patience, and so I took my big brush, soaked it in water and pigments, and just let go, adding wet paint generously and carelessly, soaking up the paper, until it looked  like this:

I thought it good enough, and let it be. 

I saw the documentary of the ballet dancer Sergei Polunin, and was impressed. It made me proud to be human, for the amazing potential humans hold, and the places they can reach. This painting was inspired by Sergei Polunin’s “Last Dance”, where he dances to the music “Take Me To Church”. I tried to convey here some of the exhilaration of his leaps, like the human spirit reaching higher and higher…

I was in an exhibition of living statues, where people dressed up in different manners and posed as statues.  This painting was inspired by one of the living statues, a woman who sat amidst what looked like rocks made of paper. I liked her pose and calm demeanor.

I had enjoyed the freedom of the abstract painting I had previously done, where I just let my hand roam freely on the paper, making random designs. I wanted to do something free like that again,  but to combine the abstract lines with a clearer subject from reality. So I took a black pen and drew the lines needed to describe that woman posing as a living statue. I then continued in wavy lines, covering the rest of the paper with the whims of my hand.  Next, I opened my box of watercolors and had fun applying bright colors to the drawing.

My intention was to have the figure blend seamlessly with the rest of the drawing, making her part of the abstract shapes around her. The result looks to me like some sort of goddess of the earth — mother nature. She is not a figure situated in a landscape, she is the landscape itself. And while she is very powerful, it is not a masculine power, but a feminine one, very earth, slow, and gentle. 

I bought myself some new pens, black artist’s pens and black brush pens. I came home and tried them out, just making random marks on a paper. I used the thicker brush pen to try my hand at straight lines, as well as curvy lines, and what came out reminds me of books and geological folds. As time went by the random marks turned into a strange fantasy land, glimpsed at through the covers of the books, or so I imagined. I took out my paints and carefully added color.