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Last weekend my charming assistant/husband helped me film this time-lapse video of yours truly painting a watercolor landscape. He also edited and produced it for me. Thanks, Jonathan! This is my first attempt at filming and isn’t my best landscape ever (the composition could be better) but it shows my painting technique and it’s (hopefully) interesting to watch it all come together. And without further ado, a painting from start to finish:

For the curious, pigments include:

Payne’s Gray, French Ultramarine, Prussian Blue, Sap Green, Quinacridone Gold, Yellow Ochre, Pyrrole Red Light, and a touch of Quinacridone Magenta, probably some other stuff.

Brushes:

Synthetic 1″ flat, Winsor & Newton sable flats in 1/2″ and 3/4,” Raphael Sable round #4, Winsor & Newton rigger

Paper:

Hahnemuhle “Turner” watercolor block, 24×32 cm

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Do mountains matter? Today, 11 December, is International Mountain Day, celebrated worldwide since 2003. The fact that the UN General Assembly has designated such a day would suggest a simple answer. Yes – and particularly for the 915 million people who live in the mountain areas that cover 22 percent of the land area of our planet.

The post Do mountains matter? appeared first on OUPblog.

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Filed under: Brian Tappin, journeys, love, one-tooth dog, sea

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Filed under: Brian Tappin, journeys, love, one-tooth dog, sea

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Are you looking for a fun family trip this summer? Don’t want to travel too far from home? This Land Is Your Land talks about many different landforms all over the United States. Read this book with your children to teach them about the diverse landscapes of our beautiful country, then pack up the car and head to the nearest (or farthest!) destination. Who says education has to stop in the summer?

Coastlines: Perhaps the easiest landform to reach for many, the United States coastline is over 95,000 miles long. Many people live on the coast – about 39% of the country’s population! The coast is a very popular tourist destination, and there are hundreds of beaches for people to travel to. Some of the best family beaches are located in the Outer Banks in North Carolina; Maui, Hawaii; Myrtle Beach, South Carolina; Destin, Florida; San Diego, California; and Ocean City, Maryland. There are beaches in every coastal state, though. Which beach is closest to you?

Mountains and hills: Mountains are also another popular place for tourists, especially those who enjoy activities such as hiking and camping. Some states have more to offer than others when it comes to mountains. For example, the highest point in Florida is only 345 feet above sea level, whereas Alaska’s Mt. McKinley towers 20,320 feet above sea level. However, all 50 states have some sort of forest, lake, or other natural area where camping and nature walks are possible, so even those of you in the flatter states don’t have to miss out!

Plateaus and canyons: In the United States, plateaus are found mainly in the western states, where the Colorado Plateau is. Plateaus provide opportunities for hiking and climbing, and the Colorado Plateau contains the famous Colorado River and Grand Canyon. Many national parks are also in this area, including Zion and Mesa Verde, where you can find smaller plateaus and canyons.

Valleys: A valley is simply a place between mountains or hills, so even states such as Kansas, with very few hills, have some areas that lie lower than others. Beautiful valleys in the United States include the Sedona Verde Valley in Arizona, Napa Valley in California, the Waipi’o Valley in Hawaii, and the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia.

Plains: The plain region of the United States is called the Great Plains, which runs from Texas north to Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, the Dakotas, and eastern Montana. The Great Plains are known for their extensive flat lands covered in tall grass, cattle ranches, and bison. Be careful here in the spring and summer – the Great Plains are located in Tornado Alley, where tornadoes happen most frequently!

Peninsulas: Arbordale Publishing is located near a well-known peninsula –Charleston, South Carolina! Many of the first towns settled in the United States are located on peninsulas, as they provide easy access by water to ships delivering people and supplies. Jamestown, Virginia and Boston, Massachusetts were first built on peninsulas. The entire state of Florida is a big peninsula!

Volcanoes: The west coast of the United States is located in what is known as the “Ring of Fire,” an area where many volcanic eruptions and earthquakes occur due to the movement of the Earth’s tectonic plates. Active, potentially dangerous volcanoes in the United States include Kilauea Volcano in Hawaii, Mount St. Helens in Washington, Mount Hood in Oregon, Mount Shasta in California. While some of these volcanoes haven’t erupted in years, they are not considered dormant, meaning they could erupt at any time. A volcanic eruption would be an exciting sight to see, but be sure to keep your distance!

Islands and archipelagos: The most famous example of an island chain in the United States is Hawaii. Another is the Aleutian Islands in Alaska. Since neither of these are especially accessible to the average Mackinac, Michigan; Whidbey Island, Washington; Mount Desert, Maine; Amelia Island, Florida; and Assateague Island, Virginia. Did you know that part of the biggest city in the United States is located on an island? Manhattan is surrounded by the Hudson River, the East River, and the Harlem River!

Learn more about these landforms in Catherine Ciocchi’s book This Land is Your Land!

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Metinseven.com wishes you Happy Holidays and a pleasant 2015!

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Do YOU need some alone time to write? Would you like to get away to a rustic lodge with just you, your computer, and a handful of fellow writers for some focused writing time? How about a chance to have your meals prepared for you, your dishes washed by someone else and no chores to …

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Lots coming together.  It took a couple days to detail the sky.  Last time, I had used a combo of Cerulean and white for the clouds (see photo in last post).  But, the clouds were too "blue." Afterwards, I went in with a fairly dry brush and added white on it's own to poof the clouds.

Doing the sky in the last couple panels took a while because I had already brought the figures and grape clusters to a greater degree of completion.  Since I really don't want to rework them, I needed to be extra careful going around them.


I also opted to not put clouds behind the figures themselves.  There's already a lot going on in that panel and it would be too busy overall.

After the sky, I went back over the mountains.  It's time for the camera to do it's talking - to make clear any problems (as it always does).  Of course, they are not "done."  There will be layers of shrubbery, trees, and flowers that are so common to the Santa Maria hillsides.  But, those are a top layer and will happen after the lower layers are completed.

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I am visiting my nephew and his family in France. Their home is just on the edge of the small village of Moissin, about 20 minutes away from Geneva. I'm able to make this visit because I had mileage with United—miles I had to use before October 31st or lose them. I hadn't seen my nephew's family for some time, so it seemed a wonderful opportunity.


The flight route was from Sacramento to Chicago, then from Chicago to Frankfurt, then Frankfurt to Geneva. The last leg is an hour long flight, and I had the good fortune to be on the side of the plane that looked out onto the wonder of the Alps. Like Galicia and California, this part of the world has had an unseasonably warm fall. But there has been snow on the highest mountains. Consequently, I looked out onto an endless, white craggy range of mountain peaks with pale blue shadows, peaks that seemed to rise out of an ocean of clouds. It was a scene of white on white. Everywhere I looked there were sharp angles of white, rolls of foamy white, wisps of white, and all of it under a blue sky that was deepening toward dusk. I don't think I will ever forget it—and much to my frustration, even though I had my camera hanging on a strap from my neck, it didn't even occur to me to take a picture! My return flight won't be through Frankfurt, it goes from Geneva to Washington instead, so I won't be able to recoup my loss. But, above, I've made use of two free photos of the French Alps. Imagine these rising out of clouds upon clouds instead above of the scenery you see in the pictures.


As it turns out, a small chapel at the top of a hill in the village of Moissin is one of the pilgrim stops for pilgrims walking to Santiago de Compostela. A road edging the village has the familiar clam shell icon that signifies St. James and the pilgram's road. I must say, having looked at similar si

7 Comments on All Roads Lead to . . . . Santiago. The Santiago Connection., last added: 10/28/2011

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The Golden Eagle said, on 10/27/2011 3:04:00 PM

I hope you're enjoying your trip! It sounds like an interesting place. :)

And I love James Levine.

Richard said, on 10/27/2011 3:27:00 PM

Another long-distance trip. You do get around.

Theresa Milstein said, on 10/27/2011 6:13:00 PM

Sounds like a beautiful trip. Beautifully written post too.

Tanya Reimer said, on 10/27/2011 7:22:00 PM

Oh wow, enjoy yourself, sounds like fun and I so love the photos.

Anonymous said, on 10/27/2011 10:08:00 PM

Liz ain't goin' nowhere for long time!
Ain't no more WISHLIST for that CALIZ EQUEJOY!
And Berriro teamin' with Ada for support in COMEADEN !
That girl RUTH with IRA- PLO?
She a SYLOPA..she the one in SULEA.
She the real PB QUEEN!
Oh ya.
EMPERASS.

Rachna Chhabria said, on 10/28/2011 7:29:00 AM

Great photos, Elizabeth. Have a lovely trip.

Elizabeth Varadan aka Mrs. Seraphina said, on 10/28/2011 3:41:00 PM

Golden Eagle, it is a lovely place. I took some pictures, but forgot to bring my apparatus to download it, so I'll have to wait until my return to post them.

Richard, thanks to mileages points earned when my husband was traveling on business and I went with him a couple of times. It's great to see my nephew and his family.

Theresa, thanks for the nice comments.

Tanya and Rachna, Thanks for the good wishes. I wish I had taken those photos, but I pulled them off the Internet (free pictures). They do give some idea, though, of what I was talking about.

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I simply love Colorado, with its mountains and the W I D E open spaces. There is something about the vast blue sky that gives me a boost. I find that the breaks I take in my day are just as important as working hard in the studio. When I return to my studio I see things differently. My mind has rested and my body is more relaxed.  Yep, I am HIGH on life!!  Even my little cartoons are glad I left and have come back with a good attitude and the ideas begin to flow!

Filed under: Kicking Around Thoughts, The Great Outdoors!, Work is Play....?

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For more Six Words, please visit the folks here ;)

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The quasi-vision quest my dog Manchas and I were to attempt three weeks ago didn't happen. What begins below is my best recollection of what transpired instead.

As an over-60-year-old urban Chicano, I'd concluded my world needed an experience that would shake it up, since I've grown old in my ways, not all of which are conducive to living as one should. Habits, thinking, attitudes and approaches to life have turned as stale and predictable as the regularity with which my body loses hair on its head and deteriorates in places that functioned much better when younger. Those of you who've found yourselves not wanting to get up in the morning, for morning after morning in a row, know what I mean. I normally get up fine; it's plodding through the remainder of the day's reruns that's harder to stomach.

In any case, I wanted to do more than just get "away from it all" or "in tune with Mother Nature"; after all, either of these would have represented staid versions of the usual American Vacation. Taking a step into an otherworld, one not so Euro-American, seemed mandatory, notwithstanding the fact that I'm at best only one-fourth indigenous, supposedly of Yaqui and Tarahumara ancestry. I also recognized the limits of my body and resolve and wasn't about to attempt scaling a fourteener when I'd likely be forced to turn back before reaching its base.

For those unfamiliar with a real--not quasi--vision quest, Black Elk's The Sacred Pipe describes in detail what has been practiced for tens of thousands, on this continent, at least, by various tribes. Whether done as coming-of-age, finding one's animal or spirit, or as a cleansing one's soul, the end result is similar--to emerge changed. There's more to this than I can convey here; read the book.

A few days before we were to leave, I received word that our original scenario had to be postponed until fall, by which time I knew I'd get cold feet, literally and psychologically. So I looked for another mt. And found one. Where specifically is unimportant; what mattered was we would not have to postpone our adventure.

Like all canines, my companion Manchas bears his own mestizaje, in his case dingo via Australian cattle dog. His small red and blue spots are overshadowed by a huge black circle on his back, a part of the Dalmatian in him. (When he was a pup I could have sold him for big bucks as a "chick magnet.") But it's his less civilized parts that get twanged when we've trekked through the northeastern Colorado Comanche National Grasslands or followed the dinosaur tracks of Piñon Canyon in the southeast corner. This time, I opted for a more central location not far from Denver; couple of hours at the most, I thought.

Somewhat resembling the Blues Brothers, we hop into the truck with the bare minimum and head south, down I-25. I've got two packages of unsalted crackers, one sweatshirt, seven cigarettes and a light blanket requisitioned from an airline; Manchas has sufficient food to last him; we'll share a one-quart canteen of spring water and a bird feather wrapped in sprigs of sage, a send-off gift from a friend. Thyroid pills for me, and glucosamine to relieve his hip dysplasia, round out the provisions. The truck dash shines with "Check Engine", something I've ignored for weeks. The gas tank's half-full, but I totally filled the tires. And we're off on our adventure, somewhere without cars, people and the sound of civilization.

As I drive, I'm imagining what I'll need to search for once we reach the mountains, how that perfect mt. might be, possible dangers lurking. Manchas mostly peers out the windows, occasionally licking my elbow to indicate whatever that means in dog. I just finished rereading Wolf & Iron, and at least in wolfese, according to Gordon R. Dickson, an exchange of licks indicates peer acceptance. I'm not about to rise to Manchas's level, so I don't return the gesture. My head's still stuck in finances, job details and house upkeep.

On the opposite side of the highway a stranded motorist peers under his hood; I wonder if his "Check Engine" malfunctioned. Periodically, there's a road sign reading, "Remove all accident vehicles from highway. No exceptions." It reminds me that the last time I could get out of Denver in less than an hour was back in the 70s.

I step on the accelerator and push the four-cylinder, fifteen-year-old Ranger up to 62mph, given that the speed limit is now 75. Those passing me at 85 are unimpressed, I can tell from their sideways scowls. No matter I can get it up to even 68 on a down slope, I keep it steady; it's the most mileage-efficient the old truck will do.

It proves neither quicker nor easier to get away from civilization than to get my mind off it. A highway marquis emphasizes this in neon orange: "Accident at Lincoln exit. Alternate route suggested." Alternate route? There's no way to go south through Colorado unless you head far west into the mountains or a couple of hundred miles east into Nebraska; must be some highway workers' joke, of course. At the indicated exit, there's nada, except another of those signs about moving accident vehicles from the road. "No exceptions."


By now I've looked at the Check-Engine light more than ten times. What am I doing? Why? Sometimes when going faster than 62, it fades off. I try to see if it'll stay off if I keep it at 61 or 63, but I won't go above that. Sometimes it does, mostly it doesn't. But what am I thinking? That if it's off, there's actually nothing wrong with the truck? Duh. But why do I bother checking it at all. Its message won't change to "I was just kidding," or, "You'll be okay until you return home." And what good would it do if it suddenly said, "You have 14 minutes left." Hell--we're on an adventure; there's no turning back. Nevertheless, all during the trip I won't break the habit of peeking at it.

A few miles before Castle Rock, as I think we're maybe past it all and will soon reach our wilderness paradise, comes another marquis. "Accident 14 minutes ahead; keep to left lane." 14 minutes? Is that at 62mph or 85mph? And how do they know it's exactly 14? Ten minutes later, the four-lane superhighway morph-splits into two slow moving right lanes and two left ones choked with 85mph-ers who passed me earlier, now at a standstill. Seems most people followed the marquis' suggestion. Duh. Manchas and I breeze past them on the right.

According to the odometer, almost exactly at the 14-minute marker we do reach an accident site on the opposite side heading north. The first car has a quarter panel chewed up. The second car's whole front end is crushed. The third car, an SUV of course, sits upended, lying on its driver's side. A couple of patrol cars and likely witnesses' cars park at all angles behind the wreckage. Lines of vehicles behind all that move at no mile per hour.

Though I don't know the extent of injuries, I feel lucky and take the Ranger back up to 62, or probably more accurately, I feel smirky because I'm wondering why they're ignoring the "No exceptions" rule. Apparently, multiple-car devastation nullifies it. Conformity is a fleeting vanity; entropy, unavoidable. According to my speedometer, the six-mile lines of automobiles and trucks waiting for civilization to reimpose order will idly wait, long past the time Manchas and I have escaped. But I realize my attitude toward the personal calamity behind us means I haven't left it. Manchas licks the elbow, as if to absolve me.

We finally near Colo. Springs, home of "Focus on the (unborn) Family." I'm always creeped going through here, a place where conservative retirees constitute the local radicals. Books on immigrant rights, bilingual education and global warming are likely catalogued in the town library's fiction section. And home of the Air Force Academy, another bastion of the status quo.

I search for the exit listed in the park directions printout, but there's none. In total I will stop three times and it will take six people to repaint us in the right direction. But we're almost there; it won't be long now. But when we turn west, head into the mountains, we're last in queue for what looks to be a summer concert or something. Stopped at a light, I lean out my window and ask a cab driver why all the traffic. "Nope, no concert; it's always like this." This is the road to our quest?

Finally, finally, we reach a stretch of state highway with fewer cars. The remainder of the directions prove accurate. After turning onto a county dirt road, we pass a Mennonite camping compound where all kinds of Anglo kids romp around--a real vision quest?

In the parking lot at the trailhead, a sign out front of a trailer indicates the "camp host", Colorado's substitute for park rangers. I knock and a young woman with a dog twice the size of mine comes out.
"What's on the other side of this mt. on the left? Are there cabins or is it still park?"
"I have no idea."
"What about this one on the right? We're looking for a spot to get away from it all (sic)."
"I don't know."
"Is that way east?"
"I think so; the parks department didn't tell me a lot about this place."
It's like a comic episode from one of Ed Abbey's books, only not as funny and more pathetic. We've lost so much wealth in this country, we don't even know which way the compass points.

I decide we should check the regular trail first. Two and a half miles, moderately difficult, say the directions. It's fifteen degrees cooler here than down in the foothills, which at the moment sounds and feels great. I pump water for Manchas, to give him his last taste of civilization. We head up the trail. Fifteen minutes into the hike Manchas regurgitates the water and all of his breakfast, which takes several sweeps of my hiking stick to bury. I hope he's just got carsickness from my racing up the mountain curves at forty mph and not dog dysentery from the pump.

A river shadows the trail as we pass about a dozen people heading back. Two old ladies with cross-country ski poles, a family with youngsters--indicating the trail isn't that difficult--young and older couples toting light packs, an occasional loner, usually a fiftyish male, all of them Anglo. Most acknowledge us or at least say, "What a cute dog." I respond, "You should have seen him as a pup."

When the trail takes a hard, eastward curve, we've arrived. No one but us. And the rocks. Calling them rocks is an injustice, or at a minimum, an understatement. The crags have character, a quality of art, a powerfulness to them that almost intimidates, at least me. Manchas just gazes. Earlier, I'd thought scaling the crags might lead us to that perfect spot. I can see now that only a real vision quest would call for mounting these magnificent forms. It's not that they're unscalable, by someone more fit; they're too uncivilized. We will need to find a different spot. Besides, the better-fit probably do climb those crags, and we'd wind up with company we don't need.

Directly across the small valley, the other promontory appears not as intimidating, nor as picturesque, and thus less likely to draw visitors. Rather than trying to climb here, if we go back to the trailhead, I envision we can follow a much longer but less precipitous incline all the way to the top, until we get to where we can look across to the crags. Sounds perfect, and though it will be more strenuous, we should make it easily before nightfall.

Next time, up the mt.

RudyG

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Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy
Author: Jane O’Connor
Illustrator: Robin Preiss Glasser
Publisher: HarperCollins
ISBN-10: 0060542136
ISBN-13: 978-0060542139
Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy is a completely charming story about a little girl with very fancy ideas. Fancy Nancy’s parents have agreed to get a family dog and Fancy Nancy wants a very special dog. Her very fancy neighbor has a posh (another word for fancy) little papillon dog that is tiny, elegant and perfect in Nancy’s eyes. Her mom has her doubts and so it is up to Nancy to convince her that a papillon is what this family needs.

Nancy soon finds out that elegant, posh dogs aren’t exactly that fun when she dog sits for the papillon and encounters lots of obstacles. When Nancy learns after a long day that a fancy dog just might not be for her, she’s very disappointed and sad – to sad to even get very fancy. Her mom has the bright idea of stopping at the pound to see what dogs are available and Nancy finds one with the fancy name of Frenchie.

Frenchie turns out to be perfect for the family and Nancy learns that there is a lot more to being fancy than just looking the part. Jane O’Connor’s humor and wit make this lovely little story something that both little girls and their mommies will love. I love how she sneaks in those big words for little girls to learn. My granddaughter loved the first book and she’s even crazier about this one. I have had to promise her a visit to the pound to find her own posh puppy.

The illustrations are beautiful and marvelously fancy. I love Nancy’s costumes and her sparkly little face. She steals your heart.


Book Description from the publisher:

Fancy Nancy is back! And when her family decides to get a dog, she's certain she can be fancier than ever. After all, a papillon—a small, delicate, fluffy dog—is the ultimate accessory. But her family wants a large, plain dog. How unglamorous!

With Fancy Nancy's trademark humor and warmth, Nancy discovers that real fanciness does not depend simply on appearance but more on a genuine joie de vivre, which is a fancy phrase for having lots of fun.

About the Author:
Since the publication of Fancy Nancy, Jane O'Connor's closet now boasts so many boas, tiaras, and sparkly ensembles that sometimes friends do not recognize her on the street. She still resides (that's a fancy word for lives) in New York City with her family and their canine companion, Arrow.

About the Illustrator:
Robin Preiss Glasser actually wore tiaras and tutus when she danced with the Pennsylvania Ballet for eleven years. Now she happily spends her days in jeans and glasses, drawing such bestsellers as Fancy Nancy by Jane O'Connor and America: A Patriotic Primer by Lynne Cheney. Robin lives in Southern California with her husband, Bob, children Sasha and Benjamin, and their puppy, Boo, whom they still love even after she ate the living room sofa.

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