Just had time to work on the persimmon fruit today. Since the windstorm a couple of days ago tore off many of the leaves, so I'm glad I took reference photos.
I'm revisiting the persimmon in a second watercolor. This will show leaves in stages of turning rich yellows, oranges and reds, different from my painting from a couple of weeks ago when the leaves were all still green. Many of the actual leaves blew off the tree in today's heavy windstorm, scattering brilliant color all over the garden.
I don't normally post photos instead of paintings, but I had to share the fleeting glory of the persimmon tree. It's raining now, and the leaves are falling fast, but for the last few days, it has been magnificent.
I have mixed feelings about collage as an art form, because it feels like taking credit that rightly belongs to the original photographer or artist. Still, my friend Rona gathered some friends today to play with it, and it was a fun exercise. I clipped and arranged over a dozen images from catalogs and magazines, then scanned and cleaned up the cut edges in Photoshop and added some type and cloned areas.
When cleaning out my mug one morning at a beachside motel, I discovered this cockroach in the remains of my tea. How had it gotten there? Had I carried him in my thermos, and had I been drinking cockroach tea all along? Or had it crawled into the mug in the middle of the night?
When I got over my horror, I photographed it, and have finally sketched it. It's no small creature; counting its antennae, it curled halfway around the inside curve of the mug.
Starting to noodle in the details on the leaves. I thought I'd better paint in the persimmon first so I could get the contrast right. The fruit and leaves on the real tree are changing daily as I paint.
I'm just beginning to lay in some color. After painting so much in acrylics lately, it's a challenge to remember stray brush marks can't be painted over with watercolors.
I planted a persimmon tree four years ago, and even moved it once because I didn't think it was getting enough sun. While it has become a handsome young tree, it has never borne fruit. I only discovered the first fruit this fall when it began to turn orange against the green leaves. Here, I've drawn pencil outlines on an 8 x 10-inch sheet of watercolor paper; the lines are actually much lighter than then appear here.
The fun bread experiments continue. I'm still following the Mark Bittman-Jim Lahey instructions, but instead of flipping the risen dough into the dutch oven, I put parchment under the dough and lift it into the pot by the paper's edges. This way, I can also slash the top of the loaf before the rise. Almost as fun as eating the bread is listening to the crust crackle as it cools. I also follow some of the modifications, adding a few drops of vinegar and using very hot water, but still let the dough rise at least 12 hours.
While I haven't been working on new paintings lately, I have been prepping past work to sell as giclee prints. This watercolor seemed appropriate for my first November post. Happy Fall.
I like to share work in progress, random foodie notes (since I've written two cookbooks and illustrated others), and occasional past work from different periods of my 40+ years of drawing and painting.
Every Grain of Rice: A Taste of Our Chinese Childhood in America Co-written with Annabel Low, illustrated throughout with my watercolors. Winner of IACP (International Association of Culinary Professionals) Julia Child Award. Out of print, but available new and used at varying prices.