Wordless Wednesdays--colors of the ocean

Now for those of you who also follow me on Facebook, I did spend last week-end at the ocean. The wedding of a favorite niece and her husband.  The Cape to be precise. How glorious it was. I hadn't been there in years. Still much of it looked as I remembered. Sure our brakes failed on the Southeast Expressway--scary. Though it was not my car and nor my brakes.  I was not driving. They got fixed.   The power went off just as they were ready to lower the car down from the lift. But all of this is another story.

We got there in time. The couple glowed.  My brother-in-law looked happy and proud. I knew my sister-in-law would have approved.  And I got time by the ocean.  Time to absorb the colors. Not the ones that immediately come to my mind. The rich blues and teals. The vibrant greens. No, these were the subtler colors of the clouds and the sand. Light dancing in its own muted form. And yes, perhaps--well I should say probably--a quilt or two.

But first I must share these colors with you--and perhaps in sharing--learn even more. (And you thought I did these posts for you. Nope, I do them for myself.)

OK--this is supposed to be wordless. Or almost wordless.

So here is the ocean. Those horizons. Wonderful and haunting. Yes, just the hint of rain.

 Deep--almost sultry colors of mystery and promise.

Accented of course by the greens. Life itself. On the shore. There should be a poem here. So classic and pure.

I had forgotten the browns and tans of the sand. Again seemingly endless. Forever. The same but always varied. Don't you love the ripples left by the tide departing?

 

The random bits of weed and shells. Arranged with such lack of care until it is hard to crop because that inserts the person into the scene. Is this right or does it spoil it? Hard to say.

The bright sea tomato. An accent. A jewel. Just waiting to be discovered.

And the waves. The story that is there. Force against force. Constant. Eternal. Sometimes so subtle the sky reflects in the waves. Notice the colors. Oh yes, a quilt.

Sometimes with rocks. Another story. Another time.

And then there is a swimmer. Yes, this is a story. Words can be added. A feeling of endless and longing. A power and a statement.

And alas time to leave. So soon and yet so long. Such a feeling inside of completion and mystery. And for you. And the ocean. What is it? What is the meaning?

And how do you incorporate it into your art and your being?

inhaling blue

OK--it is spring. Today the sun shines. The sky is blue. The irises are out in their intricate outrageous splendor. Such wonderful intense colors. So many complex patterns. Such fleeting beauty.  I rush out and try to examine all the subtle changes. The tiny ruffles and flourishes. Can I store these wonderful colors deep within me? Nourish my soul, so to speak.  I try to capture them in clumps. So much color at once--I breathe deeply and yet my mind sees more than my camera does. I try to remember their names. The changes in the details. And yet that is not their essence--at least not for me

Instead I pause before each one. The new ones that have just opened this morning. The ones that are blooming for the first time ever in my garden. The old favorites. Some in clumps so big they flop over. And in my mind I of course--for you knew this would indeed return to quilts--plan the deep deep blue quilt that I must make. The haunting skies that I must try to capture. The quilt that has been teasing me at just the back of my brain. I see just snippets of it--too uncertain to dare begin--and yet I know that today is the day. Today I must sketch and start. I must try to capture it. For isn't this the essence of the blue--the irises that dance for just such a short time? At least that is what I think today.

Consider the dark intense perfection of teal velvet. So rich I could sink into it.

Or the exuberance of mountain lake. So brilliant that the clump dances in the wind even as I take its image.

mountain lake--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

mountain lake--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

The complex colors of Berlin ruby wine.

Berlin ruby wine--siberian iris--Ann Brauer

The delicate clumps of papillon. It takes a year or two to establish and then it just grows and grows.

papillon--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

One of my newer iris--Miss Apple. Oh I do love the colors. So haunting. So special

The promise of tall, dark and handsome. Yes, it blooms just a little later but it is so present when it arrives.

tall, dark and handsome--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

The wonderful colors of in full sail.

in full sail--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

And dare I forget creme caramel. Not blue--but so glorious.

creme caramel--Siberian iris--Ann Brauer

 Oh I could go on and on. But yes, it is time. My "boss" reminds me I have quilts to make. Fabrics to play with. So many things to do. So do you have flowers you look forward to every year? Do you find that the gardens around you inspire your art? What do you think?

beyond first light

OK--I admit it. I love this quilt. First light. So simple and yet so complex. The colors seem to glow with the dawn. My husband you see is a school teacher and after I get him off the work on a winter morning I can hike to a nearby mountain top and watch the dawn break. I love the drama and mystery always different and yet always satisfying.

first light--45 x 45"--copyright Ann Brauer

Yes, I love this quilt. But I don't want to make it just like this one. Not that any two quilts I make are ever the same. Different fabrics. Different moods. I always have to pay attention to what I am doing and each quilt takes on a life of its own. But this time I want to take all that I have learned since making this quilt and make it more gentle. More haunting. Maybe because I just spend a week-end by the ocean and saw the misty dawn rise above the marshes. Or maybe because I have been thinking of mountains a lot. What is it about horizons that affects us anyway?

This time I want to take the feeling--that promise--of the dawn and make it gentler. Even more illusive.  As always I start with what I know. This time it is the gentle song of the earth and the meadows. Haunting colors aren't they? Can't you just feel the softness of the mist?

Then the dawn--again this time I want it subtle. Not the bold colors of first light but soft.  The moments before the sun breaks through when the colors of the dawn are just reflected in the sky.

Gradually the colors will turn to a soft blue/grey. Why do these colors haunt me? Will the blues be the colors I seek? Can I sustain this blue as it stretches up?

Will the blue define the dawn? So many questions. So much to do--one block at a time as I sketch out the quilt? Do you ever work like this? Taking a concept but putting it into a different time. A different place. Changing the mood. Do you ever feel the need to make  a gentle haunting piece? What affects your mood?

patterns, rocks and the ocean

No, it was not a vacation although we tried to think of it as such. But one of those visits that a person simply must do. The aging father-in-law who won't even remember that we were there the next day. Except that he will have had that special moment--a break in his routine--a time of peace and safety--apart from the endlessness of his days. And we know we will have given him some happiness and done what we should.

So with considerable effort, we took him to the ocean. He had been a Navy man after all and later chose to live as near the sea as he could. Sure he could not leave the car. Could not even turn to watch the surfers catching the waves just off shore. But there was that timeless rhythm of the waves crashing against the rocks.

The endless promise of far horizons and distant islands that held memories of past visits. As he sat watching entranced by the motion of the waves, I was drawn to walk on the beach itself. I had to walk closer to the water. I had to get that moment of sustenance.

I simply must walk along these rocks. All the same size. Layered and arranged by waves of storms past.

Why am I drawn to these patterns? So many colors and variations. I want to hold and study each one of them.

Something so universal and calming. My eye focuses on the black rocks that seem to define the space.

I find the magic of this circle--was it the nest of an ocean going bird long abandoned? The play of a child? It was not made by happenstance. There is only one of them that I see. But it clearly is there. So many mysteries.

Soon it is time to turn back. The father-in-law needs to be returned to what is now his home. He tires easily and supper comes early these days. But still I feel comforted by the rhythm of the ocean. Soothed by the endless variations of these stones. Their seeming permanence and substance as stories become unspoken.  And since making quilts is what I do, I ponder the patterns of these stones and the piecing and stitching  of quilts. I wonder how I can capture this feeling in a quilt. Why are we so enchanted by these rocks? Why do they reassure me? What do you think? Does this ever happen to you?

in-laws and the colors of the ocean

Ah in-laws. An experience in patience and understanding. Kind loving people all trying so hard to help the aging. The aging trying to retain their pride and independence.  So many subcurrents swirling in stories that only reveal parts of themselves each time they are told. The emphasis changing as the mood changes and the audience changes. Events remembered only in the mists of the past. I watch and assist--trying to capture threads of solid ground and truth.  The rhythms of the stories. The search for truth. Stories that I as an outsider--but also family--hear and try to find the meaning of.

I come from a small family. Grounded in the prairies of the Midwest. I can express the power of the sky and the strength of the dirt. This I know intuitively.

But the house of my in-laws is on a river by the ocean. There are many siblings. Many stories. This is not the bright vast ocean of the summer. Blue and endless. Dreams and hope. Light dancing off the waves. Promise and sureness. Understandable.

But the ocean of April--misty.  Fog clinging to the shore.  A slight chill. The sound of the waves on the shore. Harder for me to absorb but still beautiful. An occasional fisherman anchoring the space between the water and the sky.

Distant shores hint at a solidness and hope.

It has been a long slow spring. The salt marshes still taupe with last year's growth. Pools of water stretching out and waiting. A snowy egret in the distance.

The sound of the tide swirling out. Slowly. This is Rhode Island. The tides not high and dramatic like Maine but constant and gentle. There is a quilt here in this softness and mystery. These colors both so soft and so complex. Soothing but deep. There is a quilt in these stories.

But how to capture it? How to capture the mood and the feeling. The sadness of the aging. The swirling stories of families. I pull out my fabrics. The gentle greys and taupes. The dusty greens and blues. Soft colors. Calm colors. How to do this?

And you--what inspires you and the ocean? How do you capture the colors of the fog and mist? This intense quiet and stillness.