A Puffin Perfect Yuletide to you
December 20, 2020
The Atlantic Puffin spends almost all of its life in the water, coming ashore only once a year to breed, usually to the same nesting spot which the male prepares. Then, laying a single egg, they both attend to hatching it –the newborn called a ‘puffling’ — caring for it until one night it will fledge. Once on its own, it remains on the sea for up to five years before finding a mate and finally returning to land to then breed.
They mate for life, though interestingly, do not stay together while on the open sea–which is two-thirds of the year–but only get back together when breeding time (usually April) occurs. Once August comes, they go their separate ways.
Their nickname is ‘the clown of the sea’–not purely due to their clown-faced features–but because although they are very adept fliers (reaching speeds up to 88km/hour), they are clunky when taking off and clumsy when landing. Their bright orange feet run haphazardly over the sea until finally getting them airborne, and on landing the puffin will often tumble and roll and pratfall across the surface of the water.
So, yes, this Christmas Puffins will be floating around the North Atlantic separated from their lifelong mates, managing to rustle up something for dinner, while on shore we’ll likely be left doing the same. Even so, together we’ll find a way to make the season bright.
source: https://www.nordicvisitor.com/blog/5-things-may-not-know-puffin/
All Hallow’s Eve
October 31, 2020
A reposting of a watercolour with an All Hallow’s Eve feel and flavour . . .
[available for purchase]
As evening grows deeper, they gather together to stand watch through the autumn night.
by Lance Weisser
[sold]
Autumn Wood
October 18, 2020
Painted thirteen years ago, this little watercolour conveys my personal appreciation for the moodiness every Canadian Autumn brings….
When it’s all about sky….
August 1, 2020
Lately here in Kamloops, British Columbia, we’ve been treated to cloud Cirque du Soleil. Each time I step out on our deck, there’s another stunning performance in progress:
As a student of watercolour, the challenge of painting skies on location doesn’t come from the medium itself because all it amounts to is sloshing water-tinted pigment over paper.
It doesn’t get more immediate than that.
Clouds are suspended water vapours being moved about by the atmosphere and wind. So a marriage made in heaven–immediate subject matter matched with an immediate medium, yes?
Um, well, maybe for some…. It takes a lot of confidence, deftness and elan to nail a quickly changing sky, and those aren’t exactly my gifts.
What helps move my senior’s ass is panic-induced adrenaline, like the time I brought all my equipment down to Kitsilano Beach in Vancouver. Perched in my umbrella-shaded lawn chair, sipping iced tea, leisurely sketching the Vancouver skyline, I noticed the sky dramatically changing from a fluffy blue to an angry charcoal.
After lugging everything from the parking lot to the shore, I wasn’t about to give up my precious spot for a little weather. Prudence did step in, however, and whisper in my aging ear that I had only minutes to accomplish what I’d been taking hours dallying over.
And then the rains came down, bruising the top of my umbrella, the beach crowd scattering, wind whipping the waves. As the saying goes, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’, I finally found my spine and went for it, drops pelting my paper, gusts throwing up sand.
The Returning of Hot Days
July 25, 2020
I live with my husband, Raul, on a residential street that backs onto a mountain ridge which eventually meets up with the Lac du Bois Grasslands protected area . About half of our backyard is the sage and tumble weeded rise itself, and below it a manmade terraced section for growing our vegetables. Coyotes yip erratic bark-like shrieking at 2am, while morning Mule Deer come down to nosh on Raul’s tomatoes. Families of Chukar Partridges venture down as well, their clucking and chukking exploding into a fearful feathery cloud when surprised.
But the deer? If their brunching is interrupted, they continue sampling tomatoes, dropping one to nibble another and dropping it for then another, slightly raising their heads as though eyeing the intrusive buffet busboy, checking to see if I’m there to replenish the salads. And only when physically confronted by threatening rudenesses will they disdainfully bound up the slope, staring down just beyond reach, waiting for the vulgar help to leave so they can have a little chat with the maitre d’.
Kamloops, British Columbia, (“Kamloops” is the anglicized version of the Shuswap word “Tk’əmlúps“, meaning “meeting of the waters”–the North and South Thompson join to become the Thompson River) officially has the hottest and driest summers in Canada, with the hottest recorded temperature of 41.7C (107F), with the coldest being -38.3C (-37F). The humidity is almost always between 20-40%, and so is designated as part of the desert region extending up through the interiors of Oregon and Washington States.
This week promises to be our first of the season hot weather, with temperatures in the mid to high 30s (93 – 97F). Up until now, we’ve had unseasonably wet and moderate days, with almost zero instances of wildfire, our greatest seasonal hazzard.
Cloud Studies
July 21, 2020
Sometimes there’s a need to trample on whole bunches of internal dos and don’ts, accumulated over years of anal retentive watercolour practices.
‘Don’t premix washes–glaze one pigment over another right on the paper’; ‘Don’t soak the paper in the bathtub and then stretch it on a stretcher–it removes the lovely sizing’; ‘Don’t get obsessed with detail–be expressive’; ‘Don’t use opaque white’; ‘Don’t use so much masking fluid’; ‘Don’t be so timid’; ‘Don’t paint today–you aren’t centred’.
Lordy. I went to the sink, grabbed a kitchen sponge and some dollar store poster board.
For all who might be equally plagued by a mental build-up of watercolour dos and don’ts, have a look at this example of watercolour exploration and artistic daring:
Sky Positioning and Treatment II
July 1, 2020
Just as choosing to place one’s subject matter in front of bright sky produces remarkable effects as in the work of Joseph Zbukvic, so also can equally-remarkable effects be achieved when making the sky itself the subject.
An almost unparalleled master is a lesser known watercolourist than the celebrated J. Zbukvic, but a truly exquisite painter of both sea and sky, the Russian Sergey Temerev:
Here is a video of him at work:
Now, those are clouds.
Sky Positioning and Treatment
June 29, 2020
If one were to try and name the No. 1 watercolourist on the planet–or at least the most popular and followed–it would be safe to claim it is the Australian, Joseph Zbukvic:
The word ‘master’ understates the enormous talent and skill Joseph Zbukvic exudes from his artistic fingertips as he transforms a sheet of white paper into whatever his mind fancies.
Taking a moment to view these examples of his prodigious output, one thing might stand out to us when it comes to focusing in on, and studying Mr. Zbukvic’s skies:
Joseph Zbukvic’s signature artistic decision is at odds with a great many of his colleagues, because he takes the daring approach of nearly always rendering his subject matter facing directly into the sun.
This has the effect of placing everything of interest–whether it be buildings, people, horses, boats, vehicles–more or less in silhouette, backlit and often somewhat mysterious. Making this choice provides any artist with a great deal of painterly latitude simply because, whatever we might be trying to view while looking directly into the sun, is going to be greatly lacking in detail. Looking into the sun, we see general shapes, outlines of things, and blurred, obscured objects and people.
Placing everything in front of direct sunlight means one doesn’t have to attend to minute detail. It means there will automatically be contrast, exaggerated shadow, enormous differences between light and dark, and all the drama a watercolourist needs to make a painting ‘pop’.
If one does a search of YouTube watercolour instruction these days, you will find a great many Zbukvic devotees, with their subject matter silhouetted against a bright sky. It has now become almost the de rigueur approach for aspiring watercolourists.
What is sacrificed by placing all subject matter in front of direct sunlight?
Skies.
All the luscious drama of cloud formations and subtlety of light which plays in, around and between the loveliness of clouds is the price one pays. Viewing Zbukvic’s work makes that seem worth it, at least for him.
However, as influential as some artists are, and deserve to be–for those bettering their skills, it is always important to remember that variety still remains the spice of life. All painters have their own unique painterly story to tell, in their own unique manner–and not all paintings need to be looking directly into the sun. I suspect Mr. Zbukvic would be the first to agree.
Cloud study
June 21, 2020
The problem is, clouds can look terribly dark, yet the prevailing wisdom by learned painters is the caution that regardless of how dark the sky might appear, it is the lightest component of any landscape painting–except in rare cases like snowscapes, or some seascapes.
The temptation, at least for me, is to go about trying to recreate that memorable sky full of drama by mixing up a bucket of what might best be described as ‘peat bog grey’ or ‘burned frying pan umber’ and sloshing it onto the top of the picture.
The end result is a landscape where anyone deigning to walk would be greatly at risk–paintings where interspersed throughout should be little yellow triangular signs reading: WATCH FOR FALLING CLOUDS :
The other prevailing wisdom by a great many worthy painters, is that if one’s painting is featuring clouds, then whatever else is depicted ought to be kept rather simple and relatively free of detail. Conversely, if the focus is on whatever is happening below the sky, then the sky itself should be left unassuming and merely supportive. The above painting is a good case proving that point.
Aerosols
June 19, 2020
‘. . . in meteorology, a cloud is an aerosol consisting of a visible mass of minute liquid droplets suspended in a planet’s atmosphere . . . ‘ [wikipedia]
Watercolour is absolutely the perfect artistic medium for tackling the effervescent quality of–ahem–aerosols.
It being a rather challenging subject, more paintings featuring clouds are about to be attempted, and the results posted here in days to come.
Yay! Aerosols!
Sibelius Park detail…..
June 11, 2020
Trying to fit a very rectangularly-wide picture inside the borders of a wordpress blogpost forces one to shrink it to fit. So here is the completed painting, divided in half in order to provide more up-close detail:
Your many comments through this painting progression series are such a tonic and encouragement. Your blogs are a daily boost to my spirits, and certainly to all who read them.
Painting Completed: Jean Sibelius Square Park, Toronto
June 10, 2020
The Finnish composer, Jean Sibelius ” . . . is widely recognized as his country’s greatest composer and, through his music, is often credited with having helped Finland to develop a national identity during its struggle for independence from Russia. . . “
Quite probably, his most recognizable contribution and gift to us was ‘Finlandia’, the tune from which many of us have come to know as the melody for the well known hymn, ‘Be Still My Soul’:
Music is, for me, like a beautiful mosaic which God has put together. He takes all the pieces in his hand, throws them into the world, and we have to recreate the picture from the pieces.
~ Jean Sibelius
The visual objective in this commissioned project, was to infuse the painting with the mood and the tenor of those 1970s years when I and my dear friend, Doug Todd, were living near The Jean Sibelius Square Park in The Annex of Toronto.
Those were challenging years, when we were actors in the ensemble known as Creation II, living communally in a large Victorian red brick Annex house. The experience permanently altered our lives, as what began as an altruistic experiment in communal living and performing, gradually descended into becoming a cult.
Therefore, this painting is meant to embrace the feelings of those times, and bring back the memory of a one acre oasis in the midst of spiritual confusion and personal ambivalence.
The completed work depicting a drizzly November morning, includes the emblematic red brick Victorian homes which surround the square, and a pair of Toronto’s ever-present pigeons to help bring animation to the solid silence of the memorable and remembered Jean Sibelius:
watercolour on treated art board
commissioned by Douglas Todd
by Lance Weisser June, 2020
[note: the rectangular size of this painting, 7″ x 13″, is preventing it being inserted here without undergoing distortion.]
When one reads about the long life of Jean Sibelius and how he had such a strong affinity for nature, for Autumn and Winter in particular, and was, after all, a Finn, whose country embraces the colder months, it seemed fitting to depict Sibelius Square in November. His biographer wrote this:
“. . . Even by Nordic standards, Sibelius responded with exceptional intensity to the moods of nature and the changes in the seasons: he scanned the skies with his binoculars for the geese flying over the lake ice, listened to the screech of the cranes, and heard the cries of the curlew echo over the marshy grounds just below Ainola [his home, named after his wife]. He savoured the spring blossoms every bit as much as he did autumnal scents and colours. . . “
The distinctive, late 19th c. Toronto architecture of the area known as The Annex is unabashedly Victorian, boasting ‘some of the largest collection of Victorian houses in North America.’
‘During this period Toronto also developed some unique styles of housing. The bay-and-gable house was a simple and cost effective design that also aped the elegance of Victorian mansions. Built of the abundant red brick, the design was also well suited to the narrow lots of Toronto.’ [wikipedia: The Architecture of Toronto]
In The Annex, however, there was an elegance reserved only for those who could afford it. ‘Built by the city’s wealthy and mostly found in the neighbourhood they are named after, these houses contain diverse and eclectic elements borrowed from dozens of different styles. These houses are built of a mix of brick and sandstone, turrets, domes, and other ornamentation abound.’ [ibid.]
In this painting, some decisions had to be made as to whether it was going to be about the houses surrounding The Jean Sibelius Square Park, or about the monument dedicated to the composer, or about the overall mood of late Autumn and how it informs the architecture, the park and what Sibelius himself loved about November.
The Finnish composer (seven symphonies, including ‘Finlandia’) is memorialized in a tidy little one acre park in The Annex area of Toronto, Canada, nestled on four sides by its red brick house neighbourhood.
The Vancouver Sun’s long-serving investigative reporter and author, Douglas Todd, [https://vancouversun.com/author/douglastodd2/page/2], commissioned a watercolour of this familiar setting he and I knew well when living nearby while in a theatre company commune in the mid-1970s.
A striking memorial was donated by Toronto’s Finnish community in 1959 and the park–originally known as Kendal Square–was renamed Jean Sibelius Square Park. In 2010, the park was officially reopened after a major redesign equipped it with an extensive playground and enhanced outdoor skating rink.
Approaching this watercolour commission, it seemed most appropriate to laden it with a 1970s feel–visually allowing Doug and my memories of Sibelius Park to surface and suffuse the painting with an autumnal feel.
A decision has been made to sacrifice accuracy to the bringing up from deep memories a vision of what we both recall and felt about this little space–this oasis from the complicated goings-on within our nearby commune. And we both remembered it being nearly always empty of people, strewn with fallen leaves, lit by street lamps, smelling slightly of wood smoke from the chimneys of the surrounding substantial, Victorian brick homes of the established Annex community.
Therefore, the end result will disappoint anyone currently familiar with Jean Sibelius Square, and its revitalized, playground-dominated landscape, as well as those who may live around it. None of the actual homes will be depicted, rather homes springing from our memory of those homes are being brought to the surface.
butterfly bouquet
May 10, 2020
A very Happy Mother’s Day, whether your little ones are the human variety, now fully grown, or the canine or feline variety, or whether your cared for charges are swimming in aquarium or pond, or preening their feathers, know you are loved, and enjoy your day in the sun.
watercolour, 5″ x 7″, Arches 140# Hot Press Paper
by Lance Weisser
SOLD
Conjuring Up Wales
May 5, 2020
How does it go again? Oh yes….
I never saw a Moor —
I never saw the Sea —
Yet know I how the Heather looks
And what a Billow be.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
I’ve not travelled a great deal. My idea of an exceptional journey would be choosing some smallish city or large village, renting an apartment over a shop for a month, then spending each day walking with my portable watercolour kit and folding chair to a different, yet close spot and becoming very familiar with it through drawing and painting and observing and experiencing–everyday a new, yet local viewpoint–getting to know one place well.
Not for me, these cruises or bus/rail excursions, trying to glimpse way too much, too quickly, itinerary-driven and herded about. It’s the visual equivalent of wanting everything at an all-you-can eat buffet–determined to defy the limitations of one’s plate by having it all.
Re-reading this paragraph, it comes off as pious and rather haughty. Truly many would find my notion of travelling more than just a little boring, and yes, possibly a recipe for loneliness. In any case, for all my grand proposing, I’ve never actually done it!
I do most of my travelling via imagination. So, here’s how I conjure up Wales:
watercolour, 7″ x 12″, Arches #140 Hot Press Paper
by Lance Weisser
($150/matted, email: weisserlance@gmail.com)
Seriously Shirley
April 23, 2020
watercolour 5″ x 7″ on Bockingford Paper
by Lance Weisser
SOLD
“Surely you can’t be serious.”
“I am serious — and don’t call me Shirley.” [movie: ‘Airplane’ with Leslie Nielsen]
Seriously, here’s where the Shirley Poppy gets its name:
“. . . Shirley Poppies are actually not a distinct species, but rather a strain, or even more correctly, multiple strains of the species P. rhoeas which have been selected for a colour break from the wild species. Rather than completely red, the first strains were carefully selected for their pastel colors so stylish in the late 1800’s. The name Shirley Poppies comes from where the first strain was developed, in the village of Shirley, in the United Kingdom where the vicar of a parish in the village made the very first selections, thus, isolating the first strains from wild poppies. Since then, all Shirley Poppy selections have originated from that first selection, and many are still grown today. . . ”
[source: http://www.growingwithplants.com/2012/07/shirley-poppies-step-by-step.html]Peace
April 12, 2020
A bouquet of Peace roses on Easter Sunday, offering up peace of heart and mind during these uncertain times of isolation ….
watercolour, 7.5″ x 10″, Arches #140 Cold Press Paper
by Lance Weisser
SOLD
The Peace Rose was developed/cultivated from a seed the size of a pinhead in Lyon in 1935 by the French commercial rose-growing family, the Meilland’s, and introduced simply as ‘3-35-40’. Attracting much attention for its beauty at a rose convention in 1939, France was invaded by Hitler and the Meilland properties seized and used for food production.
In desperation, the Meilland’s smuggled ‘3-35-40’ out of France in a diplomatic satchel to The United States, where, in 1940, it was submitted to The All-America Rose Selections (AARS) for a three year testing. Based on the success of this testing, a launch date of April 29, 1945, was chosen to coincide with the Pacific Rose Society Annual Exhibition in Pasadena, California.
‘3-35-40’ still did not have a real name. Then, April 29th, 1945, its official launch date, coincided with the fall of Berlin and the declaration of a Europe-wide truce.
At The Pacific Rose Society Annual Exhibition, two doves were released and ‘3-35-40’ was christened by The AARS via this statement:
“We are persuaded that this greatest new rose of our time should be named for the world’s greatest desire: ‘PEACE’.“
The new rose ‘PEACE’ was officially awarded the AARS award on the day that the war in Japan ended, and on May 8, 1945, with the formal surrender of Germany, each of the 49 delegates to the newly created United Nations were presented with a bloom of “Peace”.
“As for the Meillands, whose rose farms and family assets were destroyed by World War II, the commercial success of “Peace” enable the family business to recover and subsequently continue to develop new, beautiful roses. In what might be a moral to a parable Francis Meilland, who died in 1958, wrote in his diary:
‘How strange to think that all these millions of rose bushes sprang from one tiny seed no bigger than the head of a pin, a seed which we might so easily have overlooked, or neglected in a moment of inattention’ . . . “
visual metaphor
March 28, 2020
When I look through past work for one which visually sums up how things feel internally during these protectively distant and very strange strange days, this is the one….
watercolour, arches #140 cold press paper, 14″ x 11″
by Lance Weisser
SOLD
Here in the Southern Interior of British Columbia, Canada, our Interior Health Authority’s policy is to refrain from revealing the precise location of any pandemic cases. This causes a certain incongruity in our city of 97,000, where there remain no official instances of anyone at all having contracted the virus.
Interior Health will only generalize by revealing ‘x’ number of cases in the whole of the Interior as new ones come to light. So citizens speculate as to which of our cities, towns, and rural situations are being most affected, or, possibly being affected at all. No one really knows.
This has created a two-meter-apart sharing of rumoured cases: ‘did you know ________ isn’t well?’; ‘they say __________ senior’s residence is under lockdown’. Yet when I stand looking out our front window, all I see are neighbours doing uncharacteristic, and very fastidious yard cleanup–and couples and dogs I never knew existed strolling in isolated threesomes, as though on holiday.
For all our apparent imperturbation, there’s a newly-felt internal jolt when hearing an ambulance making its way towards our nearby nursing home–something not unusual, something not out of the ordinary–but now, in these times, a jolt nonetheless; an unexpected, yet telling one.
Our dog groomer phoned to say she’ll still do our bichon, but to call first and then put him outside the door. I put $50 in a note of thanks, inside an envelope. Punching two holes and stringing yarn through and then around Elmo’s neck, I pushed him at her. She waved to me with surgical gloves through the screen–and it came to me how even if I put $50 in an envelope and tie it around my own neck, no one in our city is allowed to groom me.
I learned the art of denial in early childhood. While I labour away at mastering watercolour, when it comes to denial, I soar: that was mastered long ago. Slowly, the onion-skinned layers of pretending and pretension are exposing important vulnerabilities within: that social distancing demands creating innovative intimacies–reaching towards those who have no picture windows, impassionately observing couples walking dogs and neighbours trimming hedges–searching for ways to help others mitigate what is becoming a knot of fear over detecting a problem breathing; wondering if their lost job will be forever lost; literally unable to remain at all calm.
In other words, I either rise to the occasion or I don’t. And I don’t think I am. It’s made a little more difficult when, as citizens, we don’t even know what the occasion actually is. But at least I can donate online to the Food Bank. At least I can consciously stop myself from denying that this is a time to mobilize and discover where help is required and try to fill it.
The above painting is entitled ‘Distant Light’. It could just as easily be named ‘Present Darkness’.
The challenge is for me to help stop the one from becoming the other.
'Serenity now'
March 23, 2020
…..remember this? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ow_9MglZrhs
So now we’ve all been plunged into Seinfeld rerunland.
watercolour, Arches 140# Hot Press Paper, 16″ x 14″
by Lance Weisser
$150.00 (in 3″ mat)
$200.00 (matted and framed)
shipping not incl.
inquiries: weisserlance@gmail.com
Grass-fed and rather contented….
March 21, 2020
Although centrally located–and well within the city limits of Kamloops (pop: 97,000), British Columbia, Canada–we nonetheless hear cows bellowing distantly from the mountain range across the way from our house. This is cow country–beef cows–Herefords–grass-fed, and let out to pasture once Winter is past. Sitting out on our deck, I can just make out these tiny dots–Herefords most certainly–moving slowly across the great expanse of what is locally known as Strawberry Hill.
watercolour (detail of larger work), Arches Cold Press 140# Paper, 7.5″ x 14″
by Lance Weisser
During these unusual and routine-disrupted days, when everyone seems mildly ajar, pretending all is still fine, yet wondering what the heck to do with themselves, I find it reassuring to watch cows do nothing all day but search out grass on Strawberry Hill.
(And I’m sure many of you reading this have become even more thankful you have pursued painting or photography or writing as a mainstay in your life. These solitary-type endeavours are certainly now helping to anchor us amidst days of remarkable change and confinement.)
That lovely time of year…
March 20, 2020
A number of years ago I was commissioned to paint a bird watercolour by two sons for their mother for Christmas. Not that familiar with birds, nor familiar with what their mother preferred, they only said, ‘she really likes them’, and so left it to me to choose.
Even now I somewhat cringe inside for having chosen what I did. And I still can’t quite explain why I did–I just did–though I think it is because baby birds are so vulnerable and almost the epitome of innocence.
However, a baby N. American Robin….
watercolour on Arches 140# Cold Press Paper, 7″ x 5″
by Lance Weisser
SOLD
……is one very ugly little bird, lol.
I never did hear back whether their mother liked it or not, which kind of spoke for itself. But, ugly or not, these little Robins don’t stay that way long as they go about discovering along with us, the joys of new life, renewed warmth, and gardens full of delightful tastes, smells, and colour.
It’s All In The Name
February 21, 2020
While some drivers get distracted by eating or talking–or what the latest fight in the backseat is all about–I, in my dotage, am beyond all that. Those distractions are way too sophisticated for me because I get distracted by street names. If they ever have to use the jaws of life on me it’ll be because I was mulling over the origins of ‘Puhallo Drive’ or ‘Sahali Terrace’.
The same goes for the names of birds. ‘Where does ‘Junco’ come from?’, I’ll ask out loud to an indifferent spouse. (It originally means ‘bush’ or ‘shrub’, which is where they hang out.) ‘And what’s with the name Grebe?’ (No one–much less my spouse–seems to know its name’s origins–just that it’s a diving waterbird.)
So it was with a bit of embarrassment that I discovered the reason Barn Swallows, Tree Swallows, Cave Swallows and Cliff Swallows are called ‘Swallows’
watercolour on Arches Hot Press 140# Paper
3.5″ x 5″
by Lance Weisser
SOLD
It’s because….
…..they ‘swallow’ alot of insects.
Where Green Reigns Supreme
February 10, 2020
In watercolour-land much discussion takes place over how one goes about dealing with an abundance of greens in a given landscape. Summer landscapes abound with green, all of them different in hue and tone and degree. The old school adherents council the need to create greens from the various blues and yellows available on one’s pallet–that using those pre-mixed greens directly from tubes will only clash.
So if one is using Cobalt Blue for one’s sky, for example, using it with a Raw Sienna or New Gambodge for a foliage green will integrate it, anchor it and serve to unify the painting, as long as one then also uses the Raw Sienna and New Gambodge in other parts of the painting as well.
There are, however, such a huge variety of pre-mixed Greens being offered, it is almost too tempting not to use them, or at least borrow from them when mixing a blue and yellow, as was done in this little sketch of a Bulacan yard, Philippines. My spouse, Raul, is from there, and I stayed for a month each time over three years, a place so fresh and lush, it is a virtual and visual smorgasbord of every green there is.
watercolour sketch, 5″ x 7″ on ordinary card
by Lance Weisser
Lovers of a Good Fire
February 6, 2020
Pinus contorta latifolia (Lodgepole Pines), are everywhere in British Columbia and Western N. America. They provide the forest industry with most of the logs used in sustainable logging operations. And their natural regeneration is brought about by periodic, seasonal fire.
“. . . some forest plants lay dormant under typical or ‘normal’ forest conditions; lying in wait to germinate or disperse after a fire provides an open canopy and abundant light. Seed banks stored in the soil (snowbrush) or forest canopy (lodgepole pine) provide ample seed for regeneration. . . ” [Dr. Dan Binkley, professor in Colorado State University’s Department of Ecosystem Science and Sustainability]
It’s all about the cones. Under normal conditions the Lodgepole Pine’s pine cones are sealed shut, but fire melts the natural sealant and opens the cones, releasing the seeds.
watercolour, 12″ x 14″, Arches Hot Press 140# Paper
by Lance Weisser
[sold]
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