Penelope Porch is something of an oil painting!
Penny entered the world almost seven weeks too early but, just over a year later, you wouldn’t know it. She’s an avid reader, pianist, swimmer, ballerina, DJ, pop star, animal-lover and animal and fruit impersonator. However, my favourite painting of the year just happens to be a portrait of my darling granddaughter as herself!
My first mermaid painting
At last my first mermaid painting is completed! She was begun perhaps a year ago or longer and has never received great acclaim in her unfinished state.
The greatest compliment she received during her first year came from a gypsy lad of about twelve. The boy had appeared, with his gang of two other boys and a girl of fourteen, at my studio door one summer day when they were out causing a bit of a commotion in Dawlish town. Ah, but they knocked on my door for help, having been threatened by “twenty or thirty sixteen-year-olds”, and they insisted on coming into my studio for refuge. Once inside, their eyes darted about the room and the red-haired boy looked at the mermaid and exclaimed:
“I really like that drowned lady!”
“She’s not drowned,” said the fair, taller boy derisively. “Don’t you see she’s a mermaid?”
My mermaid was relieved that someone knew she wasn’t drowned and later that night Chris’s bicycle went missing.
Since then, my husband has bought a nicer new bike and the mermaid has enjoyed, or rather endured, several phases of development. Changes were made in respect to other comments, especially about her being “too busty” and “in need of a shell bra”. Well that was a bit of a ‘come down’ for my lusty mermaid – quite literally, as I set about giving her a reduction operation straight away. Yet, still, she stayed unloved except by me (I had a feeling she would blossom into a beauty over time).
By the end of last year I had moved on and started a new mermaid on a larger canvas (5′ x 4′).
Unfinished large mermaid
But when I returned from Australia, ready to finish the larger work, I had a change of heart; my little mermaid’s eyes implored me to give them more character and the painting soon took final shape.
Now I’m thinking about more mermaid pictures – I love the theme. When I see all the beautiful children in my family I can imagine them depicted with mermaid tails. So I’ve been asking them if they would be my mermaid models. Daniel wasn’t too keen, as you will see from some of my recent photographs…
Here are three acrylic paintings and one oil painting inspired and created during my recent visit to Australia.
Dusk on the Darling Downs
Dusk on the Darling Downs, acrylic on small canvas, depicts the pretty wild flowers – Paterson’s Curse (owing to their invasive nature) – that flower on roadsides and fields in the countryside around Toowoomba, Queensland. Whole fields may be a sea of purple or blue. I love to walk at dusk and enjoy the warm glow of pink and gold that makes everything magical.
Under the Setting Sun
Under the Setting Sun, oil on canvas, represents that amazing time of day when the sky takes precedence over the landscapes “out West”. Nature seems to try to outdo itself every night, one evening a blaze of yellow, the next more red, or pink, or orange. The cows still graze and the dogs come out to stare and wonder…
Beyond the old Gumtree
Beyond the old Gumtree, acrylic on canvas, glories in the silhouette of trees against a red and yellow sunset slowly disappearing into night.
Reflections on the Albert River
Reflections on the Albert River, acrylic on canvas, is a view from the pedestrian bridge at Belivah, near Beenleigh, Queensland. What pleasure on a sunny morning to cycle over the bridge and stop to stare, and reflect on the beauty of my homeland!
Peranga Sunset (Unfinished) Oil on canvas 1m x 1m
I just thought you might be interested in seeing the progress of my latest oil painting in the new Australian series. There are still a few gum trees to go on the right side of the painting but I think you can feel the mood already. This is typical of the beautiful sunsets out west. I hope you can feel the loneliness and the heat, if not the mosquitos!
While I was waiting for paint to dry there was Zumba class followed by an uphill walk with Rosie and her dogs on the farm. As you can see from the photographs, it was wonderful and probably as much exercise as Zumba!
My latest painting is nearly finished. Peranga, where Chris and I stayed with my niece and family in January, is a little country town on the Darling Downs, out West from Brisbane. There are only a few houses, none of them modern, and very few cars. Many years back the mines closed and the once thriving population is now down to about thirty, according to my niece’s husband, who is the policeman – the only policeman in a large area of small, widely spaced towns. The place is isolated – that’s for sure – which is probably why it retains the charm of old Australia, the idyll that one imagines and which artists paint. I love the wide horizons, the big skies, the windmills, the barbed wire fences and the warm gold light cast by the lowering sun.
Finishing is the hardest part of any painting. The sky came into being in one day and the rest of the painting has taken about three weeks. Should I complete the scene by adding a group of Galahs (also known as rose-breasted cockatoos), perhaps feeding on the grass or maybe perched on the fence posts? They’d probably look more picturesque on the fence but is that too clichéd? I want the painting to be the depiction of a landscape I love, maybe with some wildlife, rather than a picture of birds in a landscape. I’ll ponder some more on it… Any suggestions?
There is a “Life Force” in our bedroom. It’s a statue of two lovers melding, melting, becoming one, and it lives on the dressing table beside our bed. The statue was a present to Chris and me from its creator, Am Afifi, a man of great intelligence, with many talents and qualities but above all he was a dear friend. Am gave us the statue well before he died of the cancer that wracked him for several years so I don’t associate it with his death; rather, I recognise in the piece the life force that was our friend. On the plinth is the inscription, “Fear no more the heat o’ the sun”. We had been meaning to look it up on Google for a long, long time.
“You know the inscription on Am’s statue?” Chris asked at the breakfast table this morning.
“Yes?” I was intrigued.
“Well it comes from a lesser known Shakespeare play called ‘Cymbeline’. Shall I read you the poem?” Chris asked.
And Chris read out the poem below:
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun;
Nor the furious winter’s rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.
Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dread thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!
So it was about acceptance of the inevitable – leaving this earthly world – and being remembered, which is still a kind of existence for as long as one is remembered. Even the statue will “come to dust” one day.
A trip to YouTube led me to various renditions of the song “Fear no More the Heat of the Sun” – Shakespeare’s poem put to music by the composer Roger Quilter – and I was enthralled by a young Canadian bass baritone. Click on the link below to discover the wonderful voice of Phillipe Sly:
I’m afraid I succumbed. I had to take a break from sketching in order to begin an oil painting of Peranga, the charming little town “out West” past Toowoomba, where Chris and I stayed for a short visit in January. I’ve been itching to paint the place ever since. The sky went on like a dream and the painting is steadily developing toward the foreground.
I used to listen to Radio 4 whilst I painted but I grew tired of the modern idea of a good radio play and for a considerable time now I have taken to listening to audio books. I went through a science fiction phase – loved Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World” read by Michael York – and returned to many old favourites I had read as a child; I laughed with Bertie Wooster and Jeeves and tried Agatha Christie (without enjoyment). Having discovered Michael Connelly’s “Harry Bosch” detective books and, spent many happy hours, weeks and months getting to know and love our hero, the books ran out and I moved on to “The Lincoln Lawyer” stories by the same author…until they, too, ran out.
Recently, at a loss, I turned to YouTube AudioBooks and found something else of interest not altogether new to me – “The Psychopathology of Everyday Life” by Sigmund Freud – well, I did Psychology A Level! Unfortunately, the reader was rather monotonous but the content was absorbing and I found myself thinking throughout, “So glad I’m not mad after all!” (which probably means I’m a bit cracked).
Now as I look at my unfinished painting of Peranga it amuses me to think that I painted listening to the writings of Freud. I wonder if the windmill, yet to be painted, will have any phallic symbolism? Or the fence posts in the foreground? Or the grass stalks? That will be for the viewer to decide when the painting is complete.
And finally, in response to a request from Bob Crotchett, one of my avid blog readers, I shall leave you with a link to Tom Waits singing “The Piano has Been Drinking”, which I hasten to add has not been the inspiration for any of my paintings so far.
Mix – Tom Waits: The Piano Has Been Drinking -1977YouTube
Without studio distractions
The Peranga landscape
I’ve been painting more birds, seeing as they are so kind as to pose for me in the frangipani trees that border Roland’s verandah. They watch us and look forward to bread and tidbits; and we watch them because they’re so beautiful in the frangipanis and at home with us on the verandah. The tameness of the wild birds makes us feel special.
The goanna that lives in Roly’s garden enjoys the variety of delicious meats (slightly old but not rotten) that are put out for him although he prefers to sneak out on his hunt for food under cover of nightfall. If I should spy him in daylight, and follow with my phone camera, he gets shy and hightails it to the trees at the end of the garden.
The monster catch was mine a couple of days ago. He showed no fear. No wonder. At only six inches long and ugly as hell the catfish seemed to enjoy his foray into the world above water, sure in the knowledge that no-one would want him except for the mandatory photograph taken by the victor.
The galahs on our local golf course were more interested in the worms that came to the surface after the rain than the two cyclists who were thrilled to come across them. They might end up on canvas one day… if ever I can get close enough for a decent shot of them.
Many of you will disagree that love is “for the birds”, assuming that you understand the term to mean worthless or trivial; however, if you met the birds at Belivah (our friend Roland’s district in Brisbane) you would see that I’m not knocking love at all. Peter and Pauline Scaly-Breasted Lorikeet are a couple wildly “in love” and they do everything together. They fly upon my knee (sonny boy) for a breakfast of bread; they hang about on the verandah when I’m painting (and almost get under my feet); and they wait patiently outside the screen door from the kitchen until someone decides to feed them. And when they’re not dining or seeking attention from the residents they sit in the frangipani trees and exchange sweet nothings in each other’s ears.
It’s no wonder I had to paint them. This could be the start of a new series. The smaller painting – a Christmas present for Mason (and much quicker to paint) – depicts a brightly coloured Rainbow Lorikeet, of which there are up to fifty or so who visit Roland’s feeding table every day.
“Just thought I’d call to ask how everything is going, Sally,” said my friend Janine from Maroochy River (where I house sat recently).
“Oh, I’m fine,” I replied, “but I’m glad you called because I was going to call you. I’m afraid the painting of Molly isn’t very good.”
“I’m sure it’s alright Sally. You’re so good at painting animals. So long as we can recognise Molly’s face it will okay,” Janine was optimistic.
“No, I don’t think so. There aren’t enough pixels in the photograph and it’s too dark. I had to lighten it and then there wasn’t any colour left. Can you send me another photo of Molly?” I asked despondently. (I didn’t add that, to make matters worse, the printer at Roland’s place had run out of coloured ink!)
“Oh my goodness!” Janine gasped, “she’s a bit too old now. I’ll have to see if Mum has one on her mobile and I’ll send it to you.”
So that’s how we left it and I stopped painting frangipanis to look at the result of my failed attempt at painting Molly. I had spent two afternoons on the tiny painting to no avail – it didn’t even look like a dog to me – rather more like a koala!
I took the painting inside and propped it on the kitchen worktop where Roland joined me in appraising the unfinished painting.
“Maybe I can fix it up – perhaps if I alter the nose and lighten it,” I suggested.
“Yes, I think that might do it,” encouraged Roland, “and a bit more light under her nose. Truly though, I don’t agree with you that it’s like a koala. I can see it’s a dog.”
“Well maybe it’s not so much like a koala now,” I conceded, “but it bears no resemblance to Molly the dog, as far as I can make out from that dark photo Janine sent me. No, it’s more like an old man.”
“What rubbish!” Roland disagreed.
“But I’ve seen little old men that look like that!” I expostulated.
“That’s just because you live in Dawlish,” our old friend said dryly.
It took a second or two to consider what he had said and then I burst out laughing. To tell you the truth I’m still giggling to myself as I write this.
And if you’re wondering about the Little Richard song….
from The Essential Tracks
 |
Play “Good Golly Mis…” |
Good golly Miss Molly, sure like to ball.
Good golly, Miss Molly, sure like to ball.
When you’re rockin’ and a rollin’ can’t hear your momma call.
Good golly Miss Molly, sure like to ball.
Good golly, Miss Molly, sure like to ball.
When you’re rockin’ and a rollin’ can’t hear your momma call.
From the early, early mornin’ till the early, early night
You can see miss Molly rockin’ at the house of blue light.
Good golly, miss Molly, sure like to ball.
When you’re rockin’ and a rollin’ can’t hear your momma call.
I am going to the corner, gonna buy a diamond ring.
When she hugs me and kiss me make me ting-a-ling-a-ling
Good golly, Miss Molly, sure like to ball.
When you’re rockin’ and a rollin’ can’t hear your momma call.
SONGWRITERS
JOHN MARASCALCO, R. BLACKWELL
PUBLISHED BY
LYRICS © PEERMUSIC PUBLISHING
Read more: Little Richard – Good Golly Miss Molly Lyrics | MetroLyrics