A last day of a heatwave. Room between 26 and 28 degrees for about three days and nights.
Completed the Shakespeare underpainting with the poppies, rather enjoyable to paint from a source rather than imagination. I watched a Sky Arts documentary about Degas, and we seem to share similarities. He preferred to plan paintings in detail and execute them in the studio, more a classical studio painter than an impressionist, also a somewhat antisocial, high-ideal perfectionist. Most of his exhibited work today seems to be studies or experiments. His portraits and figures are excellent but he perhaps didn't paint enough of them. If he had painted lots of work like his Cotton Exchange, or even mythological or romantic scenes like William Waterhouse or Bouguereau, I'm sure he would have been as successful as they.
I changed my poppies from yellow to red in my plan but neglected to note that the design of red poppies is different, the style, stigma, anther, so I had to make changes on the fly, which was fine in these circumstances as those details are not significant in this instance, but one 'ghost' poppy in the sky needed alteration.
I should paint today but need a rest and have other admin jobs to joyously catch up on.
I'm full of painting and musical ideas and I'm making technical strides. I've run out of money for the camera rig, framing wood and materials, a new synth. My paintings need to be seen more and sell more. I'm reminded how much better they look in real life than on the terrible digital screen or in a photograph.
My Chinese friend and translator has completed a printed catalogue of my paintings in Chinese, entirely on his own initiative.
Last night, from Deborah's window, I watched a hawk pluck a pigeon, swiftly and silently grasped from the air above her garden while we were there. The hawk did an efficient job, as good as any butcher, and it was nice to see one of these birds up close for some time, careful not to disturb it for fear of the tragedy of frightening it away from its moribund quarry. Four magpies cackled about it just after the kill, probably waiting some of the meat, but then, I wondered, if these local magpies knew the pigeon and were trying to help their friend.
