Watercolor and a Poem

This watercolor was a demonstration for one of my class.  The lesson was pretty simple.  I wanted to achieve rich darks, that were very translucent and then I wanted to get well times scrapes using a pen knife. It is hard to produce this level of dark colors if you rub them into the paper.  Also stay away from the dark staining colors they don’t scrape or lift very well.   I never expected it would lead me to this poem about how confusion and frustration can lead to so much lack of focus.  Enjoy

12×16 watercolor on 300lb paper

Hitchcock

shallow boat floated
lightly over reeds turning
gold with the season

early morning rain
liquid pearls sparkle brightly
mirrors to the soul

golden leaves flutter
helicopters in breeze
cake flowers on ink

darkness shrouds return
the path vanishes
night smothers the way

After hours of winding my way through channel after endless channel, I realize I have no idea which one will lead me back to camp.  Every curve, tree and jetty looks exactly the same and all lead me to another level of confusion and nervousness.  I stroke with a furious intensity, the paddle more of a hammer than a means of propulsion. Water splashes on my pants, soaks my arms and begins to cover the bottom of the canoe.  I lose all my senses, my connection to the river and the beautiful world around me, there is no beauty just a slowly descending dark fearful dread.  I move with a manic energy hoping that with enough speed and determination I can will myself back to camp. Around every bend I expect to see the familiar, the friendly; a warm fire, smiling friends, and the comforts of the camp I left earlier this morning.  Maybe I should have left a trail of bread crumbs or notched a few trees to help guide me back to where I started, my personal arrogance has again led me astray.  Absentmindedly, I start to hum the theme from Gilligan’s Island and break out in total belly laughter; really whats the worst thing that can happen?  I breath. Over to my left I see a Great Blue Heron, and out of the deep shadows a frog splashes, and a bass moves in, just a flick and wrinkle on the surface. Counting my breath, I relax, focus and center myself.  I think I smell coffee and a campfire; I go left with a positive cadence stroke.

Watchful Blue heron lurks
head a miners hammer cocked
bass swims unknowing