When I look at this painting, I recall sitting at Lilli’s kitchen table. The smells of cinnamon buns, hot tea and autumn fill the room and the warmth of friendship fills my heart. We’re painting together. At home I use pintsized glass canning jars for my watercolor water. Lilli gives me an empty two or three pound blue plastic coffee container for water.
I’m far more interested in being with Lilli than in painting, so I merely look out the window and begin to record what I see. I get the trees, the contours of the land, the background, the evergreens and the road with fair accuracy. What I don’t get right is the perspective, the distances, the colors and the sturdy, rooted strength in the actual view. My colors are too pale and my trees are far too delicate. I’ve added a grace to them.
But I wouldn’t exchange it for realism because it records a perfect afternoon. The brightest of natural colors at Lilli’s always feel a smidgeon faded, like an old picture or a gently faded quilt. It’s from the humility in the air— a homelike harmony without stark contrasts— nothing on Lilli’s farm calls attention to itself; all blends into a whole. And Lillie and her husband don’t call attention to anything but the kindness and goodness of Jesus.
