Wee Collage - and a poem for summer

3x3 inch collage, watercolor, altered papers, mulberry paper

Recently I attended a workshop that promised to be about combing watercolor and collage.  In the catalog the instructor used a bright, simple and contemporary looking illustration, and I hoped that he would demonstrate more of the same.  Alas, he did not.  Instead he painted rather conventional landscapes, then crumpled and attached colored tissue paper using half and half Elmer's glue and water.  I stuck with my Yes! paste so that I could go back into the collage with more watercolor and there wouldn't be an area that would not accept paint.

There were quite a few absolute beginners, both to painting and collage in the class, so he spent lots of time talking about basic composition and color mixing.  To be fair, I know how hard it is to have people of lots of different experience in a class, but I hoped for some new information for myself.

3x3 inches, watercolor and cut paper 

I enjoyed having three days to work nonstop on experimenting with watercolor and collage, so that was good.  I didn't feel particularly inspired, and I really didn't learn any new techniques, which wasn't so positive.  I have to say that other art bloggers on the internet and information I have gleaned from reference books helped me more.

3x3 inches, watercolor and cut paper

It's hard to believe that the solstice has already passed, and days will begin getting shorter again.  Still, everything is blooming madly in my little corner of the world, and the mosquitoes are out in force, so summer must be here.  On hot days I like all my cool shade, but sometimes I wish I had a sunny area for growing vegetables and drying sheets outside.  Hence the poem:

A Sweet Breath
by Jolene Hansen in the 2010 Wisconsin Poets Calendar

I love to hang the wash outside,
feel the sun in the morning,
smell the roses and the basil in my garden,
feel the thythms as I bend, shale and pin,
watch the shirts flap as the wind catches their tails.

And remember my mother, arms laden
with sheets stiff and disciplined by the wind,
and me, sliding into bed between the sheets,
the scent of lilacs slinging
to the sweet breath of laundry dried outside.