Well, like I planned yesterday, I'm playing with a landscape today, if that's what you would call it. It is of this little building that I pass several times a week -- an older building, an honest-to-goodness diner, with curved corners in front and glass block windows, siding and block painted white, with an old red sign -- a little diner with tons of character, especially in the evenings when the sun is hitting it just so. You know the kind of diner I mean, too. The kind that probably smells like bacon and has the best coffee in the world served in heavy white china cups while you sit on cracked shiny red vinyl seats. I've never taken the time to go in there, but I can imagine. Anyway, after passing this thing for years, I finally stopped a week or two ago and took photos of the building, noticing that the light was "just so" and knowing that I really had to paint it. And then, just a few days later -- just the other day, I noticed that the big red and white sign was gone and a "closed" sign was in the window.
I'd gotten my photos just in time, and that was a relief, but still... my little diner that I never went into was gone. Rats. So I'm taking my time with it now. I'm not rushing this little painting. I'm enjoying the diner the only way I can now.
There's more to my story, and this is the truth...
Yesterday, driving home from work I passed another great subject. It was another older building with a marquis sign up on a high pole. The glass on either side of the sign had fallen out and there were bare yellow and white light bulbs in the frame with the sky showing through the hole. I'd passed it many times and noticed it, but not with the same eye as yesterday. I even had my camera with me, but didn't turn around to take the photo, since I knew I could take it today. And today -- well today as I passed it with plans to pull over and take a photo, my turn around spot was blocked by a truck. A truck with a cherry picker and a man who had knocked out all the broken glass and removed all the light bulbs and, of course, was fixing the sign. That fast. GONE.
Moral of the story -- don't wait until tomorrow. At least do that sketch, take that photo, paint that painting, point that quirky landmark out to your friends or family. It just might be gone tomorrow. GONE. That fast.
See you tomorrow.
8 comments:
Wow - talk about a run of bad luck. I've had similar experiences, and it's so true - you have to capture things the first time. Note to self - remember that camera!
amen amen AMEN! i'M Sorry you didn't get to capture it as you'd planned, but your words ring so so true! Keep that camera handy!
You're so right, Linda, that's happened to me many times. I STILL haven't sketched or shot all the great little places I mean to, but thanks for the kick in the pants!
Lesson learned and learned and learned!
Several times I have driven past old barns that I had recently painted and found that they were gone! I was beginning to think I was the kiss of death. I quit painting barns.
Looking forward to seeing your finished painting.
Sometimes I see things I want to document with the camera, but I am too shy to get out of the car and take the pictures. I hate that!
I'm glad you got your picture of the diner. I can't wait to see your painting. I took pictures of a run-down turquoise house a few years ago because it was ugly-lovely. It's gone now. I'm happy I traipsed all over the yard for those pictures.
I keep forgetting to keep my camera with me. I tell my husband to remind me but he forgets too. I will take this notice though and get my camera right out where I can see it. There, done. At least you've got the diner pic.
What a sad story. But it is so true that the novel things we notice sometimes are not around for long. Now the diner painting will be even more special.
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