Where we paint in August

It’s not really all that hot here, by Texas standards. But this is California, so everyone here complains of the heat. Californians love to whine about the heat. They whine because they feel entitled to the good weather, now that they’ve spent 2 million on their fixer upper (read: they have)and because many of them, including ourselves, don’t have air conditioning. Oh God! What does one do when it’s 92 degrees outside and one can’t stay cool? You DEAL. But we deal in style. We bring the art studio al fresco, kick off our clothes, and paint like little devils.

It’s really easy to bring the studio outside. One easel for two kids, a couple of clamps for their paper, a stool or chair for a workstand, and a big (really really big) bowlful of water underneath the easel.

We paint; we paint paper and we paint each other. We paint the rocks and the easel, too. We paint swirls and stab paint and squish it between our toes. Tempera is a friendly medium. And when we’re finished, we wash up. A hose nearby makes a handy shower, and it splatters the tomato plants, sending tangy green-red notes into the air. That alluring smell of the garden in late summer, when everything is basking and ripening, sends us reeling; we can’t help ourselves, we spray everything: the walls, the trees, the easel, the sky. And despite the antics with the spray nozzle, we still patter into the house with bluegreen hands, streaking the hallway walls.