Hmm. I head back, walking on the south side of the street this time. And that’s when I notice it. Old Red is the sugar maple that grows in the middle of town, filling the circular park where Erie Street and Queen Street intersect. There’s a curb around it, with a sidewalk on the inside of the curb. We used to call it the sidewalk to nowhere, because it’s just a concrete circle – the intersection is a round-about. That was a good place to draw a hopscotch, since no pedestrian was ever going to ask you to move aside and let them pass.
But what I notice now is that there’s a line of little plants growing in the crack between the curb and the sidewalk. It’s just a little blur of green, but I move closer to investigate.
They’re all the same kind of plant and I don’t think they’re weeds.
I think they’re zinnias.
Which means someone planted them in the crack outside the circular sidewalk around Big Red.
I can’t imagine who would do such a thing and am wondering about it when I see that there’s another line of little green plants. This line runs between the curb and the sidewalk on the north side of Queen Street, from the corner past The Carpe Diem Café and on to the antique shop. Again, they’re all the same as each other, but the leaves are toothed.
I think they’re marigolds.
How did I not notice them earlier?
The sight makes me smile and sends me on a quest. On the south side of Queen Street, again filling the gap between the curb and sidewalk, is another line of plants. These ones are taller and ferny. They’ve been crushed out of existence in front of the theatre, thanks to all those construction boots coming andgoing, but I can follow the line past Weatherby & Bradshaw toward the Petro-Canada. I sketch one so I can look it up.
Something is growing on the chain link fence behind the chip truck further east. I sketch these as well, and will ask Una about them. There’s only one variety of plant in these specific areas, which adds to my conviction that they’ve been planted.
I find more proof along the fence between the Petro-Canada and the Maple Leaf Motel. Not only are there sunflowers growing along the fence, which are almost six inches tall already, but someone has weeded around them. I can see the broken stems and loose earth from plants that have been removed, and removed recently.
I stand back, compose the scene, then sit down on a cinderblock to sketch. I draw the gas station with its little booth and put the hotel in the background, the fence in between – and I add full-grown sunflowers all along the fence, their blooms turned up to the sun. My pencil flies across the paper, accentuating the worn elements of the gas station, the rust and the broken pavement, how it looks tired, contrasting it with the vitality of the sunflowers. I lose myself in the details, and I don’t know how long I sit there.
It’s not brilliant work, but I like it.
Practice is the key.
I pivot and sketch the chip truck, letting the morning glories in full bloom almost engulf it. They become a jungle, vines twining around the chip truck as if to hold it captive there, the flowers open wide like hungry mouths.
Ages later, I spin again and capture the view down Queen Street to Big Red. The angle of the light has changed, proof positive that I was lost in my work. The shadows are on the south sidewalk, the sun almost overhead.
I sketch the line of old buildings with a few lines, then the majesty of the tree, once again contrasting what people havemade with what nature has created. In my mind’s eye, the buildings are black and white and shades of grey, while the vegetation is vivid and green, reclaiming the space. I add the line of marigolds along the north sidewalk, leading the eye to the zinnias blooming in a precise circle around Big Red. I make the zinnia flowers ragged and chaotic, vigorous and large. I can see the yellow and orange and pink of them in my mind’s eye.
I need to look up zinnias so I can draw them better.
I get up and stretch, then pack up my supplies. I’m not exactly overwhelmed with my accomplishments today, but I started and maybe that’s worth celebrating.
It’s early afternoon and no sign of Mike. Fair enough. The day’s not over yet.
Maybe I should concentrate on what’s important to me. I need to go back to basics and relearn what I used to know. Back in my new studio, I move a table into the light and begin to search for items I like. I’ll compose a still life, and I’ll draw it.
A contour drawing might be best. That’s a line drawing that requires a lot of concentration. You pretend the tip of your pencil is tracing the contours of each item, each shadow, each change of hue. It’s very slow. It’s almost meditative.
I used to be very good at it.
As soon as I have the pencil in hand and begin, the exercise feels familiar. I watch the line grow on the page, as if it has a mind of its own, and relax. I haven’t forgotten. I might be a little rusty but it’s all still there.
I just have to coax it back, and I have all day to do that. There’s no rush. This is my time, and I’m going to make the most of it.
15
MIKE
My long day starts early and doesn’t stop. Jerry calls me at four in the morning and sounds like hell. He’s been up all night and apparently didn’t evade that viral bug. I agree to pick up the three workers who have spent the weekend at Pat’s with their wives. I’m there at five and they’re all waiting for me. I ask Pat for a bouquet while I’m there, which gives her plenty to speculate about. The one she gives me is huge and bright, exactly what I would have picked for Sylvia.
In the meantime, the guys have piled into the truck and it’s a bit of a crush, but we don’t have far to go. They’re heading into the greenhouses by five-thirty and, after leaving the flowers in water in the office, so am I.
It’s good to walk the entirety of the complex, at least once a week. It gives me an overview of what’s working well and what’s not. By this point in the season, I can see at a glance which crews have found their rhythm with the pruning. There are always some remedial lessons along the way. I usually lovethis day, concentrating on the plants and doing what I know best.
