At this point of winter, my art begins to reflect the warm days of August more than the cold days of January. You know those days that seem to last forever and the shadows down underneath the lily pads are thick with sunnies, bluegills and the crappies can be found down amongst the sunken tree branches. I enjoy making my acrylic paint mimic the warm and fluid undertones and highlights that oil paints might bring with them.
Acrylics dry faster than oils and it takes the right finishing technique to give them the depth and age and authenticity that even the viscosity and colors oil paints deliver. Luckily the fish decoys that I create are meant to be in the water and they come to life even more when submerged. My intention is to blend old school, antique elements and vintage design shapes and features with my own paint styles. When it works out the way I imagine, there’s a new one of a kind fish decoy or lure in the world where just a short time before there was just a piece of white cedar and an old tin can.
These are some of the things that keep me going when it gets dark at 4:30 p.m. and just the clothes you have to wear to stay warm weigh another twelve pounds. Not to mention when the plastic of the car’s window scraper breaks at the first resistance during the singular job that it is designed to do or any number of random plastic car parts, storm door handles, garbage cans or ski equipment snap just from the fact that that’s what happens at 20, 30 or 40 below zero without windchill factors. I think that the creation of something new, something that won’t be duplicated or reproduced delivers the promise of spring a little bit early.
For myself, this is important because we’ve already experienced some of those sunny, melty days in the near forties where we are pushing around more slush water than snow and it just smells like the actual break of winter has already happened. We know that isn’t true, we know that there’s much more freezing and thawing and snowing and shoveling ahead, but it is hard not to have hope on one of those shirtsleeve days sweating in the strong sun with the unmistakable scent of late March on the wind.
It is a strange place not to hibernate in for a full six months plus. But each new day delivers just that, a new day. The sun shines differently, or it doesn’t shine at all. The snow falls differently or blows all day from the north to refill the streets and sidewalks anyway. Underfoot the snow and ice crunch and slide differently.
The birds sing the same songs, but not everyday. Books even read differently when a thick blanket is in play.
I do feel a little remorse for those dog days when you are bobbing up and down on the water, fishing line between fingers, anticipating the bite, dipping your ball cap into the water and putting it back on, letting the lake water run down your back. When, after fishing, you jump in and your toes go first through the thermocline and then, if you sink like the big stone that I am, your whole body touches the numb cold of Winter. The irony of that kind of day is that I’d feel some regret to be missing out on the cold of days like this January.
A little Yellow Ochre, some Burnt Umber, Cerulean and Cobalt Blues, Viridian Green, Vermillion Red and Titanium White and Mars Black and two or three brushes and I can make my own summer, I can create a new day. Or at least a couple more fish.
Hmmm, reminds me a little of a story I once heard about a couple of loaves of bread and a few fish changing everything and even providing leftovers after providing a much needed meal for a huge crowd. Discovering that faith is also something that we can have in ourselves can make a difference. Not such a stretch. We were created to create. It’s no small wonder that doing what we were made to do can change our outlook and improve on the foundation of our days. Even if they are shorter for the time being.
