Author: virginiacmccoy

Smiling Girl

A while back, I used the same reference photo to make a mess. I had wanted to just slap paint on a canvas and have fun. I came up with this:

The poor girl who was chosen for my happy mess, is actually quite beautiful. That is why I had her photo handy. Well, I finally got around to doing a real portrait. I started it many months ago, got the underpainting done, and moved on to other things. I recently pulled out that underpainting and finished it. I wish I had gotten a photo of the underpainting, but I didn’t. So, here is my feeble attempt at a relatively good portrait of this girl.

There are only two styles of portrait painting; the serious and the smirk. — Charles Dickens

Sketchbook: Misty Morn

This is a little graphite study on values.

I am never at my best in the early morning, especially a cold morning in the Yorkshire spring with a piercing March wind sweeping down from the fells, finding its way inside my clothing, nipping at my nose and ears. — James Herriott

The Scream

A screech of pain and desperation,
Sounds harsh upon my ear.
I look up from reading, wide-eyed
My spine a-trickle with fear.

The sun is slanting as it sets,
The cicadas are filling the air.
The smell of late summer and
Clover are wafting everywhere.

Up from my book, to investigate,
The hound wanting to go.
So, we embark on a journey,
Wondering what it will show.

As we begin, a raptor flies
From a locust, tall and spare,
To the maple by the back porch.
“What is he wanting there?”

I do not begrudge a hawk his meal,
The Lord provides for all.
Including a beautiful, noble bird
Made blood-thirsty by the fall.

Once we are spotted, the hawk returns,
To the perch he had left before.
We hear another startling screech,
But then there is no more.

I wasn’t permitted to know the story,
The tale of a sound so haunting.
There was none there, who knew to tell
Of that scream so fearfully daunting.

Was it the bird or his victim?
It was difficult to tell.
Though the sound is fading, I know,
A hawk’s victory is a prey’s hell.

Copyright 2020 Virginia C. McCoy

(I don’t want to insult anyone’s intelligence, knowing yours is probably far greater than mine, but to read the following limerick correctly, you must pronounce “distress” the same as “mistress”. Just sayin’… LOL!)

There once was a doggy so furry,

Who flew down the stairs in a hurry.

He knocked down his mistress,

And caused a great distress,

In addition to quite a little fury.

— Virginia C. McCoy

(No-one was actually hurt in the creation of this poem. So far, said furry doggy has not knocked the mistress, or master, down the stairs.)

Blue Vase

This is oils on stretched canvas, 11×14. I recently got this vase at a thrift store specifically for painting. The dark blue is shiny and the bottom teal is rough. I thought it was a very pretty vase.

I also thought that I would show the setup. I don’t normally like showing my reference, but maybe it will help someone to see that for most painters, you don’t get a photographic likeness. I used to actually get very stressed out and depressed when I could not do that. But, I am now settling into the fact that most do not and that art is the interpretation of a subject, not an exact replica. Even artistic photographs are not exact replicas, they usually are more beautiful than reality. So, this is what I painted from:

I love painting still lifes because there’s a feeling of musical, flowing experience. The drawing doesn’t matter as much – what you’re really after is a feeling of clarity and beauty. — Jacob Collins

Poetry: A Smashed Flower

I stop walking and lower my foot,
As I look at the sad remains
Of what was once a lively bloom,
Now one with the concrete plane.

The petals have been ground to just color
Disconnected from the stem.
The center is spread as if reaching
To gather the petals again.
The stem has shared its life juice
With the ants so prudently busy.
Though sad, in a way, and lonely,
There is still a peaceful beauty.

The petals of yellow, recklessly spread
‘Round the center of orange and gray.
The stem of green, leaking pale sap,
Is pretty, in its own way.
I walk away from that smashed flower,
Pondering on its fate.
I hope I can learn the lesson it gives
Before, for me, it’s too late.
There will be various trials and tests
In this uphill climb of life.
May I give beauty for smashes and pain,
Making peace in all the strife.
The Lord Almighty, the Great Shepherd,
The One who patiently leads me
Through the dark valley, by the still waters,
His beauty he’ll lovingly give me.

By Virginia C. McCoy

copyright 2020

Waiting for Daddy

I am still working on my blog(s), but I don’t know what I am doing and I don’t know if it is working for everyone. I hope you all can get on here…

This is my latest watercolor. It is 10×13.75. The photographer said that she was waiting for her daddy, who was a surfer, to return. So cute! I did not do her justice, but I think my painting is still a little bit cute. LOL!

I smile because you are my father. I laugh because there is nothing you can do about it. — Anonymous

Yellow Thatched Cottage

Thank you to those who have said that they would be willing to deal with a password for my website. I appreciate the support. It gets lonely, sometimes, posting with no idea if anyone sees what I post. LOL!

Anyway, here is a little thatched cottage that I thought was pretty and I gave it a try in watercolors. It is in my sketchbook.

Many miles away there’s a shadow on the door of a cottage on the shore of a dark Scottish lake. — Sir Walter Scott