Monday, November 30, 2015


     This story was passed down from ancient China. An emissary of the emperor visited a famous painter one day. The emperor desired a painting, the emissary told him, asking him whether he could paint a rooster for his majesty. The painter replied that he could do so, but it might take him awhile, for a good picture needed time. Now, the emissary knew that the emperor was not blessed with much patience, so he granted the painter two weeks to paint the rooster. When the two weeks had passed, he appeared again. “Where is the rooster?” he asked the painter, who replied that he was working on it, but the picture was not yet finished. The emissary cursed, but granted the painter another week, since he was aware that the painter was a great master of his craft. For his part, the painter vowed to finish the rooster in time. However, when the week was over and the emissary appeared again, the picture was still not completed. The emissary ranted and shouted, but nothing helped. The painter demanded yet another week to work on the rooster.

     Now, the emperor was not accustomed to waiting, and when the week had ended, he arrived in person, accompanied by his royal household, to visit the painter. He inquired whether the rooster was now finished. The painter lifted his face and responded: Yes, indeed, the rooster was now finished. And before the eyes of the perplexed emperor, he took an empty sheet of paper, picked up a brush and painted a rooster for the emperor. The emperor was speechless. He barked at the painter: Why did he allow his emperor to wait so long for something that he could paint here and now, at the drop of a hat? The painter remained very calm. He crossed his studio and opened a door to a rear room. And, as all present looked into the room, they could see a space as large as the painter’s studio that was full to the ceiling with weeks’ worth of sketches, attempts, and drafts for the emperor’s swiftly painted rooster.

This story has a great deal to do with watercolors. Watercolor involves techniques that require some time to fine-tune. It does not, however, take much time to actually paint with watercolor; it is a very fast, immediate medium. Nevertheless, no matter how little time it takes to paint, it’s important to take the time to practice and get the hang of the techniques. To be frank, this may not be the advice people expect from a watercolor instruction book, which, by nature, attempts to help readers achieve rapid, dramatic results. However, the Chinese master’s watercolor technique has great potential. And since even the greatest Chinese master was not made in a day, we’ll just start out on our way together— as swiftly as possible.

From the beginning of Felix Scheinberger's Urban Watercolor Sketching: A Guide to Drawing, Painting, and Storytelling in Color.
A wonderful book!

You could exchange painting of a rooster to song about a rooster and the story still rings true........................................

Sunday, November 29, 2015

From my need to paint file.
Ginkgo tree located in Gu Guanyin Buddhist Temple in China.
These pictures with brighten this damp dark Sunday morning.
Hope I have enough yellow.......

Saturday, November 28, 2015

From the I wish I would of thought of that file.

Artists love getting new supplies. From neon pigments to brush tip markers. The art market is exploding with innovative stuff.
Lots of new stuff to buy and try.

Minutes after chain sawing the Fort Knox strong plastic package off. They start testing with reckless abandon. Getting a feel for the new.

Why not save and show?

I have thrown away enough for a show that would fill NYC.

Pretty cool.

From the I did think of it file.

But wait. How about those first few minutes with a new guitar, amp or pedal? Why not press the red record button and let 'er roll while fingers explore new sonic universe. I know I tend to jump around the fret board with reckless abandon. Could be on to something, maybe.

Friday, November 27, 2015


Museum ‘Bans’ Cameras And Asks People To Sketch Artwork Instead

Posted on November 23 2015 at 20:45 pm
Profile photo of Lewis Potton
Lewis Potton Administrator

Are you bored of people constantly blocking your view in museums because they are trying to line up the perfect photo? Well I am.
Thankfully though, the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam has taken steps to stop this – asking visitors to leave them at home and sketch the artwork at the museum instead.
“In today’s world of mobile phones and media a visit to a museum is often a passive and superficial experience,” they write on their website. “Visitors are easily distracted and do not truly experience beauty, magic and wonder. This is why the Rijksmuseum wants to help visitors discover and appreciate the beauty of art and history through drawing.”
“You don’t even have to be able to draw because this is not about the final result, but rather about looking at what you want to draw. When you do this, you begin to see things you never noticed before. You see proportions, details, lines… you get closer to the artist’s secret.”
The wonderful museum in all its glory
Here is a little taste of what you can expect to see here from now on…
It brings the art to life and changes your perspective
I’m all for it if it stops droves of fellow tourists from snapping away
You don’t have to be the next Picasso to be able to draw the art
In fact I think it will help children get more creative and think about the art differently
At their Big Draw event, which was held on the 24th and 25th of October, they even handed out sketch books and pencils to visitors who wanted to draw
I think it’s a fantastic idea personally. Fingers crossed it gets rolled out by more European museums
Next time you’re in Amsterdam, make sure you pay them a visit
As a lover of museums, and all they’ve got to offer, I’m really happy that the bumbling tourist will now have to appreciate the art more. Gone will be the days of ducking flashes and zoom lenses, and hopefully we’ll all get to understand the culture that little bit more.

from Viral Thread

Thursday, November 26, 2015

Happy Thanksgiving!

Short clip of Johnny Cash from his TV show.

Johnny pours his soul into everything he does.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Thanksgiving It Sure Is Great To Be Home  
Walt Sample

July Johnson bowed his head and prayed
Lord I’m lost please show me the way
He promised June and Jimmy and baby Jolene
He’d be home in time for Thanksgiving

Snow storm came on sudden laid a blanket of white
Montana pines looked like angels all alike
July sat in his saddle shiverin’ for a sign
Suddenly he saw a glow at the end of the tree line

He nudged on big Toby and rode toward the gold
Knowing that the light would lead him home
The Lord is my Shepherd July Johnson said
When he saw his log cabin just up ahead

Thanksgiving it sure is great to be home
Thanksgiving thank you Lord for guiding me home

Toby hee hawed June swung open the door
Jimmy was playin’ with Jolene on the dirt floor
July started cryin’ when he saw his family safe
Kissed June hello said he was guided by faith

Thanksgiving it sure is great to be home
Thanksgiving thank you Lord for guiding me home

Thanksgiving it sure is great to see the family
Thanksgiving thank you Lord for my family

It sure is great to be home

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

So, a horse lover thinks her pal is talented-

and in a nice subtle way she has started a competition.

I mean the short instrumental was OK I guess.

Not that great of a melody. Nothing that special.

The bale has been tossed in my barn.

First thing-

Get Toby a proven celebrity guitar teacher.

Hope he doesn't teach him any bad habits.

No smokin' in the barn!

Toby needs a guitar tailored just for him.

Fender was nice enough to interview Toby and build a model that

suited all of his tonal needs and different styles he plays.

Maybe I could build a studio in the barn

and get volume 2 in the can.

More later.

Whats that smell coming from the barn.....

More sweet feed.....

Apples.....sugar cubes..........

Come on guys quite eating and get to work.....

Monday, November 23, 2015

Say It 
Joyce Sutphen

Say that it is the continuous life
you desire, that one day might stretch into
the next without a seam, without seeming
to move one minute away from the past
or that in passing through whatever comes

you keep coming to the faces you love,
never leaving them entirely behind.

Say that it is simply a wish to waste
time forever, lingering with the friends
you’ve gathered together, a gradual
illumination traveling the spine,
eyes brimming with the moment that is now.

Say that it is the impulse of the soul
to endure forever. Say it again.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

The children seem anxious as the couple's gaze grazes on them.

The man's elbow is cocked. A surefire tell.

What message was Monet sending?

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Tune in today at 1 pm eastern standard time.


Doug Irwin

will be featured on 

The Folk Show

Doug will send his wit and wisdom to our eager ears.

And hopefully share some songwriting tips!

Don't miss it!

If you do, you can go to WPSU and listen to an archived show.

Fred Neil really sends a feeling with these lyrics.

Harry Nilsson delivers the emotion superbly.

Everybody's Talking At Me
Fred Neil

Everybody's talking at me
I don't hear a word they're saying
Only the echoes of my mind

People stopping, staring
I can't see their faces
Only the shadows of their eyes

I'm going where the sun keeps shining
Through the pouring rain
Going where the weather suits my clothes

Banking off of the northeast winds
Sailing on a summer breeze
And skipping over the ocean like a stone

I'm going where the sun keeps shining
Through the pouring rain
Going where the weather suits my clothes

Banking off of the northeast winds
Sailing on a summer breeze
And skipping over the ocean like a stone

Everybody's talking at me
Can't hear a word they're saying
Only the echoes of my mind

I won't let you leave my love behind
No, I won't let you leave
I won't let you leave my love behind

Friday, November 20, 2015

Some mornings you need a loud dose of Jethro Tull to get the paint flowing.

With You There To Help Me
Ian Anderson

In days of peace
Sweet smelling summer nights
Of wine and song;
Dusty pavements burning feet.

Why am I crying, I want to know.
How can I smile and make it right?
For sixty days and eighty nights
And not give in and lose the fight.

I'm going back to the ones that I know,
With whom I can be what I want to be.
Just one week for the feeling to go
And with you there to help me
Then it probably will.

I won't go down
Acting the same old play.
Give sixty days for just one night.
Don't think I'd make it: but then I might.

I'm going back to the ones that I know,
With whom I can be what I want to be.
Just one week for the feeling to go
And with you there to help me
Then it probably will.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Holiday Inn
Bernie Taupin
Elton John

Boston at last and the plane's touching down
Our hostess is handing the hot towels around
From a terminal gate to a black limousine
It's a ten minute ride to the Holiday Inn

Boredom's a pastime that one soon acquired
Where you get to the stage where you're not even tired
Kicking your heels till the time comes around
To pick up your bags and head out of town

Slow down Joe, I'm a rock and roll man
I've twiddled my thumbs in a dozen odd bands
And you ain't seen nothing till you've been
In a motel baby like the Holiday Inn

Oh I don't even know if it's Cleveland or Maine
With the buildings as big and rooms just the same
And the TV don't work and the french fries are cold
And the room service closed about an hour ago

give it a listen-

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Montezuma Cypress

 The Tule Tree

The girth of the trunk is 190 feet.

The diameter is 37 feet.

The tree is near Oaxaca, Mexico.

Local legend, the tree hugs you

you don't hug it.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

At the Sparkle Laundromat on Rice Street
Greg Watson

The teenagers are bored, having nowhere else to go, not
wanting to go home to the drab familiarity of housing projects
and apartment complexes. We too are directionless, but
directionless in the same place and time—between jobs,
between loves, between ambitions; we are loitering without
intent. Hank Williams echoes from a small dusty speaker,
quarters tumble from the change machine, pool balls click with
soft indifference. The ceiling-high windows are veiled with
steam, impossible to tell at first glance if it is summer or winter,
daylight or evening. There is no stampede of years here, no
memory rushing in either direction, insistent on its own
inherent beauty—only the rhythm of machines in cycle, that
constant turning without arrival. We could come back decades
from now, pick up where we left off, wait it out for one more
song before returning to the world again.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Good morning!

Of course it depends on the time you are reading this. It is an early one for me. Lots to get done today.

Couple of new Doug Irwin songs in Barangie Hall.

Check 'em out.

The Bridges That I Burn

Where You Been

Great stuff.

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Anne Sexton 

They work with herbs
and penicillin.
They work with gentleness
and the scalpel.
They dig out the cancer,
close an incision
and say a prayer
to the poverty of the skin.
They are not Gods
though they would like to be;
they are only human
trying to fix up a human.
Many humans die.
They die like the tender,
palpitating berries
in November.
But all along the doctors remember:
First do no harm.
They would kiss if it would heal.
It would not heal.

If the doctors cure
then the sun sees it.
If the doctors kill
then the earth hides it.
The doctors should fear arrogance
more than cardiac arrest.
If they are too proud,
and some are,
then they leave home on horseback
but God returns them on foot.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

Yeah, it's corn pickin' time. Shouldn't pick until you have two frosts. Then it is prime time! 

Long story short.

Plan one. I had dump truck loads delivered and dumped in the open barn. Worked out fine except I had to fend off crows, turkeys, squirrels, raccoon and deer when I went to get some to feed the herd. Plus, the empty ear population was exploding. 

Plan two was picking up loads in my F-150 and then shoveling into the makeshift crib. Killed my back. 

Plan three was pulling a corn wagon from the field to the crib and using the bottom shoot to load the crib. Well friends, pulling a loaded corn wagon up and down winding rural switchback roads was a horrible experience! 8000 pounds of corn in nothing more than a dumpster with wheels is a white knuckle nightmare. Never again.

Plan four. Put a loaded corn wagon on a fifth wheel flatbed along with a generator and a electric loader. Back and knuckles seal of approval. 

Corn Picking 1956 - Afternoon Break
Tom Hennen

I needed a heavy canvas jacket riding the cold red tractor, air
an ice cube on bare skin. Blue sky over the aspen grove I drove
through on the way back to the field, throttle wide open, the
empty wagon I pulled hitting all the bumps on the dirt road. In
the high branches of the aspens little explosions now and then
sent leaves tumbling and spinning like coins tossed into the air.
The two-row, tractor-mounted corn-picker was waiting at the
end of the corn rows, the wagon behind it heaped so high with
ears of corn their yellow could be seen a mile away. My father,
who ran the picker, was already sitting on the ground, leaning
back against the big rear wheel of the tractor. In that spot out
of the wind we ate ham sandwiches and doughnuts, and drank
hot coffee from a clear Mason jar wrapped in newspaper to
keep it warm. The autumn day had spilled the color gold every-
where: aspen, cornstalks, ears of corn piled high, coffee mixed
with fresh cream, the fur of my dog, Boots, who was sharing
our food. And when my father and I spoke, joking with the
happy dog, we did not know it then, but even the words that
we carelessly dropped were left to shine forever on the bottom
of the clear, cold afternoon.

Friday, November 13, 2015

I am marking trees today to be cut and harvested for lumber. This song came Rushing through my head like a buzzing Stihl 450 chain saw. I have dozens of white and yellow pines that were topped by the severe ice storm a few years ago (killing then from the top down) and dozens of white and red oak that have reached full maturity and are dying from the bottom limbs up and getting hollow inside. I hate to do it but I feel it is better to use the resources than let them fall and rot away.

The Trees
Jarvis Branson Cocker, Alex Lifeson, Stephen Patrick Mackey, Candida Doyle, Joyce Kilmer, Geddy Lee, Mark Andrew Webber, Oscar Rasbach, Neil Peart, Nick Banks

There is unrest in the forest
There is trouble with the trees
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas

The trouble with the maples
And they're quite convinced they're right
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light
But the oaks can't help their feelings
If they like the way they're made
And they wonder why the maples
Can't be happy in their shade

There is trouble in the forest
And the creatures all have fled
As the maples scream 'Oppression!'
And the oaks just shake their heads

So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights
'The oaks are just too greedy
We will make them give us light'
Now there's no more oak oppression
For they passed a noble law
And the trees are all kept equal
By hatchet, axe and saw

Check it out-

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Veterans of the Seventies
Marvin Bell

His army jacket bore the white rectangle  
of one who has torn off his name.  He sat mute  
at the round table where the trip-wire veterans  
ate breakfast.  They were foxhole buddies  
who went stateside without leaving the war.  
They had the look of men who held their breath  
and now their tongues.  What is to say
beyond that said by the fathers who bent lower  
and lower as the war went on, spines curving  
toward the ground on which sons sat sandbagged  
with ammo belts enough to make fine lace  
of enemy flesh and blood.  Now these who survived,  
who got back in cargo planes emptied at the front,
lived hiddenly in the woods behind fence wires  
strung through tin cans.  Better an alarm  
than the constant nightmare of something moving  
on its belly to make your skin crawl  
with the sensory memory of foxhole living.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Walt Sample

Good morning my name is Mr. Sunshine
Good morning wake up and smile

Hand in hand let’s stroll along the cabernet vines
Checkin’ ‘em for ripeness laughin’ away our time
‘Cause tomorrow is a promise that one day won’t be kept
We gotta’ slow down smile cherish every breath

Good morning my name is Mr. Sunshine
Good morning wake up and smile

Why don’t we saddle up Sammy Joe and Ed
Ride ‘em all the way to old man Tucker’s shed
‘Cause tomorrow is a promise that one day won’t be kept
We gotta’ slow down smile cherish every breath

Good morning my name is Mr. Sunshine
Good morning wake up and smile

Eat a picnic lunch enjoy the brand new day
Listen to the robins sing hear what they have to say
‘Cause tomorrow is a promise that one day won’t be kept
We gotta’ slow down smile cherish every breath

Good morning my name is Mr. Sunshine
Good morning wake up and smile

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