Hydrangea surprise. . .

June Hydrangeas . 12" x 12" . oil on panel

I moved to North Carolina from Florida in the dead of winter - at Christmas, in fact.  My new rental house yard was in a beige/gray dormant stage and frankly, it was the last thing on my mind as the move had been an enormous task in and of itself - not to mention the abundance of arduous emotional aspects weighing on me like the heaviest of wet blankets. 

Truthfully, I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and take a long nap.  

But life goes on. . .a house needed setting up, a studio readied for work (a transition to oil and portraiture was on the agenda) and CHRISTMAS!  Bing, bam, boom, it all got accomplished and in hindsight. . .well, it's just hindsight.  I am fresh out of profound observations, except perhaps that we truly NEVER really know where our "script" will lead us. 

Imagine my surprise and utter delight at my first spring here - suddenly the yard had hyacinths, daffodils, some huge delicious orange blooming shrubs (I still have no idea of their name), and a mountain of hydrangeas where ugly sticks had been poking out around my light post.     

     If you know what these blooming shrubs are, please let me know!

I particularly love the hydrangeas, as they bloom throughout the summer - I take cuttings and bring them in when I need a lift, or share with others who need a lift!  Last week I put some in a teapot my daughter had given me years ago and painted them from life - the creamy color of the young mopheads is swoon worthy and I would ardently love to have most anything in that color/hue.  The 12" x 12" panel had been toned with transparent red oxide months ago and lent itself well to being the underlayer of this painting.  

Speaking of underlayer, we seldom see the surprise beneath, do we?  For those of us who paint in layers, we are intimately familiar with what goes "before."  But that doesn't mean we corner the market on seeing and feeling the foundation - that which makes a whole.  That which makes US whole.  I can be such a skimmer at times. . .in fact it may be my true nature.  Hard to admit, but sometimes when looking back I find myself wondering what I missed or wasn't present enough to grasp.  Do you ever feel that way?  Be it a moment, a conversation, a relationship? 

I find it a little unsatisfying, this skimmer nature, and I can also hear that voice in my head saying, "Are you crazy, don't look back - be present in the moment!"  I'm probably a C- on that.  Or a cringing D. 

Yet, would I miss out on surprise making its magic if I were truly aware all the time?  So many questions!