Losing Control

New Growth, New Pumpkin

At best, the face emerging was uncertain. This was another desperate attempt at watercolor. In the latest pass I had added too much water and it puddled near the left cheek, and suddenly ran wild, obscuring one eye. The very eye I had so painstakingly laid in. Instinct told me to quickly mop it up with the brush or a paper towel, but instead, I just tossed it to the floor to let it dry on its own.

I love watercolor. I do. The purity of color. The wonderful transparency. The delicate beauty. But for me it can be, shall we say, a challenge.

Frustrated, I went out to the garden. Although, these days that isn’t exactly the place to find solace. It was no secret. The garden this year had been a struggle. The pumpkin patch alone had barely survived the early winds. And just as little pumpkins were setting on, the deer came one night and ate them all. Then, two days later, our first hail storm of the season,(and it was major) shredded most of the big leaves. Again, instinct suggested I rip it all out and start dreaming of next year. But I waited. And the very next morning, amidst all the chaos, the vines were blooming, as if in defiance. They were still so determined. So, I left them to see what would become of it all.

And today, a few weeks later, down among the old tattered leaves, was a new vine with new leaves and a female blossom, with the potential to fruit. And right next to it was a male blossom. Even though there were several bees about, I hand pollinated it with my paintbrush.

I know, this late in the season, even if a pumpkin sets on, it probably won’t have time to get to full size. But I felt good about the message this new growth was sending.

Even if the gardener gives up, the garden doesn’t.

I left the garden feeling differently, and went back into the studio, to the work I had abandoned. The puddle on the little painting had dried. And the pigment had somehow settled into the most amazing color cloud. An effect I could not have achieved with any brush, nor could have even planned.

Creativity, it seems, happens rather easily when we get out of the way. Perhaps the hardest lesson for any artist, or anyone for that matter, is to just trust the process.

Meanwhile, outside the studio, around the corner, the sunflowers are starting to bloom bright yellow, and the sage, a lavender purple — complimentary colors choosing to bloom at the exact same time. Coincidence? Perhaps or maybe creativity at its best.

Note: The little pumpkin did indeed form and is now growing among beautiful new leaves. (See the photo above 💚)