Florida Watercolor Memories, Part 2
Friends, art, nature, and a hurricane
This is part two of a post about my adventure with transparent watercolors and recollections of plein air painting with Aaron Blaise, Ronnie Williford, and three dozen visiting artists in Florida. For part one, please click here.
Purgatory
Someone once said, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” Well, funny enough, that’s exactly the situation we found ourselves in as Hurricane Nichole gathered energy and bore down on our painting campsite at Wekiwa Springs in November 2022.
For months we had been dreaming of watercolor painting for an entire week in sunny Florida; however, the safety officials had declared we must vacate on the morning of the second day. Where could we possibly go— all forty of us?
Back in the cabin, Benji, Shawn, Alexis and I were stuffing fresh, white sheets and pillows into translucent plastic trash bags. I looked at the flat box that the bedding first came in, with its neat flap and sturdy construction, and thought to myself: this will be a handy box to keep. I will put my sketchbooks inside.
Suitcases rolled along pathways, and we waited in anticipation by the lodge (goodbye, kitchen, it was nice knowing you!). Who would ride with whom? And to where?
“I can take one more!” said Ronnie, our co-instructor. I jumped in.
I noticed Ronnie’s hatchback was held shut in the back with a well-placed bungee cord. Our convoy rolled out, backpacks, easels, cameras, tripods, and people squeezed in wherever, however. Ronnie spoiled me with stories of his days at Disney. Who was easy to get along with, and who wasn’t particularly. Who spoke nicely to others, and who didn’t. I won’t mention names.
But I know.
We still had no place to call home. The stopgap measure: We went to a spring near Nick’s house. A couple people, overcome by the beauty and clarity of the spring, jumped into the crystal blue-green waters while others made their way across the grass, arms laden with painting gear.
I captured a quick impression of a palm tree, forced to think faster by the on-and-off bands of precipitation. My marks became more intuitive. I slammed the sketchbook closed and moved with the group as fat raindrops began to fall in earnest. Inside my sketch journal, wet paint stained the opposite page.
A beautiful sound
We moved up to the clubhouse which had a wide veranda perfect for painting the rain, out of the rain.
I produced another painting, similar to Aaron’s but not as clean or as confident. Still, it helped to paint side-by-side with him. It made me feel like I could paint faster, take creative risks. Artistic superpowers.
Nick, who had been working invisibly on our housing problem, showed up close to dinnertime. “Listen up, everybody! I guess everyone’s hungry. Well, the bad news is that we have to wait a few hours before we can check in to the Orlando DoubleTree Hotel. The good news is— we’re having a pizza party at Aaron’s house.”
Pause for dramatic effect.
Dear Reader, let’s pause here to let you imagine the audible response of this group. I mean, really imagine it. Dozens of artists signed up for an adventure to meet and paint with their art heroes in a state park. Visiting one of their homes wasn’t in the cards. Suddenly, thanks to a freak November hurricane— it was.
“This is the neatest it’s ever been!”
We are inside Aaron and Vedanta’s home. Shoes off (if you want), welcome, welcome. We are kids in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, moving inward, looking left, right, up, down, rubbernecking, gasping with wonder. It is spacious. There is art everywhere. Color. A music room. Art on the walls, art on tables, art within every sightline.
Everywhere my eye lands, there is art, and more art.
There’s some of the camp food that Vee had transported with help from Claudia, Steve, Erica, Frankie, and Vee’s daughters. A stack of pizzas four feet high. And there is Achilles, the family dog we see on livestreams. His nails go click-click-click on the floor. I want him to like me.
The drawers of two immense flat files are open. Aaron doesn’t even know what’s there. Some watercolors, pencil animation of the Beast. A drawing from one of Disney’s famed Nine Old Men. Gem after gem. He walks away, and leaves the drawers open, trusting, an invitation to look more (while Vee keeps a reasonable and watchful eye on the precious artifacts).
I am in the adjoining room sketching the actual animation desk Aaron used while making the Beast, Nala, and Rajah the tiger come to life. It is wonderfully messy, but Aaron says it’s the neatest it has ever been.
There is pizza. There is beer. The pool party never materializes but it doesn’t matter. Everyone is satiated and happy. Then Aaron (as if he hasn’t given enough) tells us he is going to show the entire rough version of his animated short film, Snow Bear (no photos, and no spoilers, please!)
The lights dim, we watch and listen. There are saturated blues and pinks, some sad music. A story told and acted through Aaron’s pencil— amazingly— is unfolding before our eyes. Some people are wiping away tears. It is time to say thank you, thank you Vee for your hospitality, goodnight, Blaise family. Off to our hotel, as the hurricane draws closer, and closer.
(To be continued… in a future edition of Artist’s Cheat Sheet). Probably next week!
Read Part Three:
Ronnie Williford - Portfolio of Works: Watercolors
Learn to Paint with Ronnie Williford (creatureartteacher.com)
Beautiful content, so interesting!