I've been playing with the idea of writing little "slice of life" type stories for my paintings. The typical write ups for paintings feel very unnatural to me, and I think this is a more genuine way for me to explain my art than trying to sound smart and artsy. The idea will be to include a copy of the story printed out with the original painting.
I started a series of 12x12 paintings last week called "Welcome to the Lodge" and they immediately started taking the shape of characters (or caricatures maybe....). So, this weekend, take the opportunity to get to know Mr Johnathan Beaver.
The lake was still - soft ripples on the surface betrayed the location of the occasional fish risking a peak for some floating delicacies. The loons paddled lazily about, letting out the odd haunting moan. And in the air the mosquitos were buzzing about waiting for their victims to come out to the dock to ruin their peaceful morning coffee.
Johnathan peered out of his lodge and surveyed his surroundings. He knew better than to be fooled by the stillness. Beneath the lake's serene facade lay a tension.
All he wanted was to go out out get the spring maintenance done on his lodge. There were a couple of areas that needed patching up and he just needed a few hours of blissful, uninterrupted labour to finish it up.
The coast appeared clear. Johnathan knew that he couldn't be sure, but if he didn't start soon it was going to be another day lost.
He ventured out of his lodge, making sure to stay low, just peering up out of water as he swam for the shoreline to gather supplies. As he scampered up into the treeline he relaxed a bit. This was his happy space. He strolled casually from tree to tree, inspecting for thickness, health, and the je ne sais quoi that would qualify the lucky timber to be part of his masterpiece.
Then disaster struck.
"Johnny!" came the "friendly" shriek from behind him.
Johnathan cringed. He could only blame himself. He'd been standing still too long admiring a sapling that was showing promise for the "forever lodge" he and Mrs Beaver had been fantasizing about building. Now he'd been caught by one of his neighbours and he knew he only had a matter of moments to make sure he didn't lose his whole day to this one mistake.
"Hello, Trevor," he answered flatly as he turned around. Mrs Beaver would be disappointed with his tone, but appeasing the neighbours was more her thing than his and she wasn't here to rescue him from this conversation so she'd just have to deal with any community mutterings about his antisocial behaviour.
"That one's a bit young, don't you think?"
"I'm not going to use it - I'm just browsing." He hated when Trevor commented on his choices - he had neither the time nor inclination to explain his long term plans but also hated the idea that any of his neighbours might have ammunition to question his competence.
"Ahhh - well I'd suggest browsing over that way. Some nice materiel over there. Do you want me to show you?"
The insolence.
That was all Johnathan needed to sap any pretense of neighbourly conversation. "No." He answered and turned away. He waddled back to the water, immediately submerged himself so he couldn't hear any potential goodbyes from the shore, and re-entered his lodge.
He'd try again tomorrow.