Potent warning... that's a poison ivy vine, as thick as my arm, growing up a cypress tree by the old mill pond at Cedar Rock Park.
Poison ivy is actually quite lovely in the fall, especially in the mountains, where I took this second photo weeks ago.
And today I feel these photos fit. Elusive beauty that leaves me with an itch for weeks. Blocked and forbidden by poisonous plants. I looked at my two paintings and felt like either running away or shredding them. So I put them away, knowing I would want to enjoy them later and resisting any temptation to mess with them now, and I turned to that watercolor abstract.
I got out the black. And then I started to feel it, and I put on a mess of blue and ivory with the black. Once it was enough of a mess I left it in disgust and did other things.
Later, though, I looked at it and couldn't see how I missed the blue rider, the blue horse. A present from Germany? From the past? From an artistic heritage I feel is mine in some way? A method I rejected in art school; I reviled and ridiculed it.
I finished the painting. I claim a place in that hunt. I, too, am an Expressionist.