Nothing, Nothing, Nothing, Something, Nothing Again
One day there weren't foxgloves, and then, suddenly, there were.
Well. Maybe that is a slight exaggeration because I remember planting foxgloves last fall, and the packet spilled and there were oodles of seedlings which I eventually found homes for in the ground. But that was before they were more than a hopeful clump of leaves, barely clearing the ground. I turned around this week and this was going on underneath the climbing roses:
What would be even more pleasing is if my black hollyhocks had bothered to reseed themselves just behind the foxgloves last fall, so that these would be blooming concurrently. The play of dark and light blooms would have made me exceptionally happy. Plants: there is much I have yet to understand about them. Especially this biennial business.
Work on the tarot series continues, although I am once again spinning my wheels with much effort and fuss expended for very little visual effect. I wonder that I ever thought making my own deck would be easy-all you have to do is draw it, right? Hmph.
To distract myself from lack of printshop time this week as they move to summer schedule, I went poking among various John Bauer illustrations and . . . it clicked that what I was looking at were lithographs. Feverishly, my hindbrain suggested that I should make lithographs, because that is how my brain works at two in the morning. This afternoon I dug out a litho grease crayon and doodled, to get a feel for it again and generally to see if I had found a way to not suck at it.
The verdict is that I am still horrible at that kind of mark-making; ten years after learning the method hasn't really made much of a dent. The grease crayon can go back in the drawer.
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