July is the season of botanical abundance, in the garden, in the fields, and along the roadside. My daughter chose these wildflowers for our botany drawing today.
Kathy
Colen
Category: Sketchbook
Independence Day
My favorite parades are not those of the professional gigantic floats and inflatable cartoon characters, but the small-town variety featuring decorated bicycles and the local fire truck. Especially if there are participants expressing themes so personal and local that they are perfectly incomprehensible to an out-of-towner.
Melinda
Carrie
Leisure
Here are cows I sketched on an early morning walk. The lovely and generous cow works hard all the time, transforming grass into milk, butter, and ice cream. Yet she always looks like she’s on vacation.
Whenever I encounter this poem, I receive it as a gentle reminder of the value of cow-ness. I post it here in honor of its author, William Henry Davies (1871-1940), whose birthday it is today.
What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty’s glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this is if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.—William Henry Davies
Louis XIV
Well, not THAT Louis XIV. This one lives in a henhouse on the grounds of Thyme in the Country, a lovely B&B in Hudson, New York, where we enjoy visiting the cows and poultry, strolling around the pond, and admiring the organic vegetable garden. He’s probably happier than the original Louis.
Hannah
Camille
Half-Birthday
A trip to the Mall with my daughter, who invariably offers thoughtful commentary on her surroundings, whatever they may be.
I post this sketch in honor of her half-birthday today. Long ago, when the children were tiny and each week seemed to mark another milestone, we developed the habit of celebrating their half-birthdays every year, as if they weren’t already sufficiently doted upon… But it’s a modest celebration, with a candle in a pancake, a little package beside the plate, and a rousing round of “Happy Half-Birthday.”
Ruthie
Boat-builder
Tomorrow my husband is scheduled for heart surgery. Here he is a couple of years ago, reading a boatbuilding book, because until his heart problem was diagnosed he was (when he had time) in the process of building a small wooden boat and restoring another. I am trying not to be anxious, and we are all hoping surgery will go well enough that he can eventually return to this project he so loves. Please send your good thoughts and healing wishes his way.
Dorothy
Stonehenge
I hate to tell you how old this drawing is—it dates from my freewheeling pre-parenthood days. But I selected my sketch of the ancient stone calendar in honor of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, a day on which you have the greatest amount of daylight to deck yourelf and your doorway with flowers, bathe in the local river, build and leap across a bonfire, and any other of various joyful means to celebrate light, fertility and the perpetuation of life. Happy Summer!
With My Father
From a long-ago and somewhat yellowed sketchbook, when my son was about four, sharing a straw hat with his Daddy on the beach. Happy Fathers Day, all you fathers out there.
With my father I would watch dawn over green fields.—Kobayashi Issa
Evan
Romy
Glimpses of Monticello
No photography is allowed inside Jefferson’s house, and the brisk cheerful guide hustles us along rapidly from room to room, because close at our heels is the next of a long, long series of tour groups. So I sketch like crazy.
Little Mountain
When Thomas Jefferson finally retired from public life to his beloved Monticello, a steady stream of visitors made its way up the hill to visit and pay homage. Debts led to the property’s sale upon his death in 1826, and the house fell into a sad state of disrepair. It was rescued at last by admirer Uriah P. Levy and his nephew Jefferson Monroe Levy and, later, the Monticello Foundation.
I wonder what Jefferson would make of the fact that the procession of admirers continues today, bearing digital cameras to record his gardens, his architectural innovations, his books and tools and inventions. None of us, however, is invited to stay for a month or so in one of the guest rooms. Unfortunately.
Dawn and Emily
Ian
Benjamin
Marion