Observations while walking the dog

You learn the most unusual things while walking the dog.  Today, for example, I learned some lessons in observation.  If you are already an artistic type, you might consider this post so simplistic as to be laughable.  That's okay--laugh away.  I'm happy for what I learned.

First of all, you should know that I am not a particularly observant type.  In fact, I'm precisely the opposite.  I one of those people you hear of who has no sense of what's around them because they walk in words.  I don't notice dirty dishes as I walk past them.  I can look in a room that is filthy and notice nothing except the thing that I'm looking for.  It used to bother me, but I've come to realize that this lack of spatial observation is due to my personality.  I don't think in pictures; I think in words, at least most of the time.  

That changed for a while yesterday.  My friend Roseann invited me to her house for tea.  Roseann is an artist, and her house was full of art--both hers and others.  One of the biggest pieces was of a mountain lion.  It was realistic enough to be a photograph, but to me it was not nearly as impressive as others that she had.  Some of the most impressive were pieces that she herself had done.

One work that impressed me called "Snow Dancer".  The photograph here doesn't do it justice.  It was alight with movement and color and light, and it seemed that the horse was inviting you to play in the snow with him. 

Roseann had invited me to her studio because I'd expressed an interest in her folklorico art, but that was not the most precious part of her collection, at least not to me.  There were some paintings of a child--a beautiful redhaired child playing with ribbons.  She tells me that they're not really sellable here, but I find that incredible.  They are so full of life and motion--and light.

But wait, we must go back to the park.  As Frank the Pug and I walked, my eye was caught time after time by various things.  First the Catalinas.  The mountains are so striking--rugged and bare and beautiful.  I continued to the park, though.  It is a Saturday tradition that Frank and I follow religiously.  He becomes very grumpy when it doesn't happen.

At the park, Frank takes his time.  He observes.  He is a sensual observer, of course, as are most dogs.  He takes it slow, nose to the grass, the shrubs, the tree trunks, the weeds.  Who has been here?  Is he a friend? Is he a threat?  And of course, no visit is complete without leaving his own calling card to add to the mix.  And so we walk, we stand, we walk, we stand, and we savor the moment.  Each moment leads to another moment, and the whole-for him-is a time of pleasure and expectation.

Not so much for me.  I often bring my phone, not to take pictures but to play games.  No phone today, though.  I have made it a point to keep my eyes open and heart free on these walks.  And today I saw two things in particular that have given me inspiration.

The first was a pine cone.  It was not in the tree, as this one is.  It was laying on the ground.  But like this one, it was just beginning to open.  Now when I do draw, I love designs.  I hadn't realized before how full of shapes a pinecone is.  Triangles upon triangles, wedges, light, shadow--and it all changes when you put it upside down!  Aside from all that, how amazing that the tiny cone resembles in so many ways the tree from which it came!  I brought it with me and hope to get up the courage to try to draw it (and try and try until I'm satisfied).

The second thing that caught my eye was this weed (at least this is as close as I can come to it).  It seems like nothing, doesn't it?  But the lines coming out and up and down, straight and bending gracefully--that made me wonder if I could possibly match what I saw.

So anyway, that's what I saw on my walk today.  Now it's up to me--do I attempt or do I go back to my visual sleep?  Time will tell.