Part 3. The Golden Mean
In last week’s blog I drew a wildflower, Indian paintbrush. This week I finish the last of the brushwork. With the stems, leaves and flower heads in place, I stroke in very dark grey for the base, which is a tangle of old leaves, crowded stems, and debris. While I have the dark shade on my brush I add shapes at the base of the plant to indicate a few rocks, dry earth, and a few lines of dry grass. This will balance out the design and anchor the plant to the earth. Dark squiggles on the right delineate shadows of stems on bare earth and indicate the contours of the ground.
I set the sketch in the sun to dry. The children are calling from the creek, something about a snake. I walk down to see what’s going on and find a large garter snake among the marsh grasses along the water’s edge. Impossible as it seems, the snake has caught a small fish, a few inches long and about an inch in width and is slowly swallowing it. The snake’s mouth is stretched impossibly wide, and the fish is halfway down its throat. We are all astonished, mesmerized in fact. The process of swallowing is very slow. We finally decide to let the snake enjoy its dinner in peace, and we move further upstream. Life goes on.
When I return to my drawing I reach for my Rapidograph pen (https://www.dickblick.com/) to ink the lines. The pen has a dependably fine line flow, and I use it to define stems, as well as certain edges of leaves and bracts. I am careful with outlining. I don’t want this to look like a coloring book. The whole plant is a bit fuzzy, so I add details of small hairs along portions of the plant to suggest the fuzz, again not too much. Too many fine hair lines would make the plant look heavy when actually it needs a light, airy touch. For the rocks and grass beneath the plant I ink a few contour lines that give shape and importance to the
My drawing is nearing completion, so I stop and rest. After a break I will see things differently and can better tell what is needed and which lines to correct. Right now summer warmth is spreading into my bones, and the cool creek beckons. Satisfied with my work, I pack up my art gear, fold my stool, shoulder the canteen, and head down to the water. A wisp of breeze disturbs the dry grasses and the Indian paintbrush. A quiet joy fills the air. I scrabble down the hill to the dirt track, finding footing between sage and rocks. I pause about halfway down and sense that a certain peace, that elusive element of well being, now seems to permeate our corner of the canyon. The world seems right—the afternoon sun, the children playing, the freshening air, the sound of the creek, a community of life, everything works together in a harmonious balance. I seem to be witnessing a “golden ratio” moment right here.