Don Williams in the Kitchen

Breakfast in the Man Cave

The exhaustion from last night’s show sent me to bed by 11:00.  What a surprise to awaken in the predawn, doze and ponder awhile, then rise at 6:37 a.m. on a Sunday.  Though the morning temperature recorded 65 degrees, I knew that a cold front was promised later, so I decided to rise and wait for it.  I’m not sure why I put on the Don Williams Gold CD–I don’t consider myself a country & western devotee, but I was in the mood for it this morning.  Perhaps it was because of a song I listened to performed by my guitar buddy and long-time confidant Jim Farmer the other night.  I just wanted to hear the words again to “Good Ole Boys Like Me.”  As those words filled my kitchen, I went to work on coffee, fried potatoes & onions, sausages and biscuits (I’ve gotten on that kick recently).  The Don Williams song I replayed, again and again.  I couldn’t get enough of it.  I’ll probably put those words at the end of this post.

I took my breakfast into the garage, raised the door, and enjoyed the neighborhood quiet a little after 7:00.  My awakened mind was all over the map, but above all, I hung onto some words I read last night from Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast (during a lull in the art event).  This continues the idea from my last post:

When I was writing, it was necessary for me to read after I had written, to keep my mind from going on with the story I was working on.  If you kept thinking about it, you would lose the thing that you were writing before you could go on with it the next day. . . . afterwards, when you were empty, it was necessary to read in order not to think or worry about your work until you could do it again.  I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing; but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.

That was a timely oracle for me.  For years, I have had the practice of keeping several watercolors in progress at once, so I would never come to the end of one and have nothing left, and have to begin at the very beginning of a new piece.  Well, now I find myself in that spot I have successfully avoided for so long–no watercolors in progress.  What to do now?  Well, I read some more Hemingway, write in my journal, think, and eventually some kind of image will bubble to the surface charged with all the emotions that compel me once again to pick up the brush.

In the meantime, I have been playing with autumn leaves, and this morning, I took a few more stabs at them, not sure about what I was doing.  And I made another sketch of a vintage doorknob and locking plate attached to a damaged door.  Perhaps one of these will “take hold” and be ready for me to resume tomorrow after lunch.  We’ll see.

Well, here is yet another smoke signal, message in a bottle, or whatever you call these blog endeavors.  They have become my life blood, and I thank all of you who read them and respond.  I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.

Thanks for reading, and I close with those words from Don Williams that warmed my kitchen this morning:

When I was a kid Uncle Remus he put me to bed
With a picture of Stonewall Jackson above my head
Then daddy came in to kiss his little man
With gin on his breath and a Bible in his hand
He talked about honor and things I should know
Then he’d stagger a little as he went out the door

CHORUS:
I can still hear the soft Southern winds in the live oak trees
And those Williams boys they still mean a lot to me
Hank and Tennessee!
I guess we’re all gonna be what we’re gonna be
So what do you do with good ole boys like me

Nothing makes a sound in the night like the wind does
But you ain’t afraid if you’re washed in the blood like I was
The smell of cape jasmine thru the window screen
John R. and the Wolfman kept me company
By the light of the radio by my bed
With Thomas Wolfe whispering in my head

[CHORUS]

When I was in school I ran with the kid down the street
But I watched him burn himself up on bourbon and speed
But I was smarter than most and I could choose
Learned to talk like the man on the six o’clock news
When I was eighteen, Lord, I hit the road
But it really doesn’t matter how far I go

[CHORUS]

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4 Responses to “Don Williams in the Kitchen”

  1. Vickie Cunningham Photography Says:

    I’m loving your most recent blog posts, David. You’re definitely not alone, and I appreciate the time you take to blog. I don’t do nearly as well! I re-read “A Moveable Feast” before I went to Paris the last time, and liked it even more. By the way, are those canned biscuits??

    Like

    • davidtripp Says:

      Thank you, Vickie. It is a comfort, knowing others read these. The morning in the Man Cave has been positively delicious, and I am now working on another vintage doorknob drybrush watercolor, with sheer delight.

      I’m thrilled that you got to go to Paris after reading “A Moveable Feast.” Yesterday, I read the first 100 pages, and think I just may finish it before I return to school in the morning. I get a real kick on his take with Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, and others. Most of all, I love how he discusses his writing in the morning hours. He is really giving me the impetus I need when I hit those “flat-liner” moments in my own quest for a more creative life.

      Yes, those are canned biscuits! Pillsbury Grands, Homestyle butter tastin’–I’m not too swift in the kitchen. Maybe someday I’ll learn how to make some of this stuff from scratch.

      Thanks so much for your response.

      Like

  2. Donna C Says:

    David, I’m an aspiring water colorist and was delighted to find your blog some time back. I’m subscribed and get emails when you post. Things have been busy lately and so I’m playing a little catch-up with the emails. (Today is Dec 19th.) Currently I’m working in acrylic (Christmas gifts). I would love to “sit at your feet” and see how you do your techniques.

    My husband and I used some inheritance money to buy a small house on wheels and have turned it into my studio and sitting area [nice place to have Moms’ Nights Out] I love it. Have a tiny A/C window unit that does above & beyond for the space and now have a space heater also. I have some affinity towards your Man Cave Studio-in-the-Garage.

    I absolutely LOVE that quote of Hemingway (above). I’m also an author and find his quote helpful for both writing and painting/drawing. I have a tendency to work late into the night when I’m “hot” on a project. This would be a total paradigm shift for me to put into practice. (It would probably be better on keeping my days & nights in their proper place, also, since I’m more of a night owl than early bird anyhow.) Thank you for sharing it!

    Your writing is as delightful as your paintings–you’re very good at portraying your surroundings, paintings, thoughts, etc. Very lyrical and poetic at times. You are a very easy “read.” Very enjoyable. 🙂

    Sorry this is long — first time to reply to any of your blog posts. 🙂
    Thanks for your time… I’m about to head to my studio myself now.

    Like

    • davidtripp Says:

      Donna, I am overwhelmed at your comments, thank you from the depths of my being. I would love to know more about your work and your writing. Thank you for being so complimentary of mine. Congratulations on the setup of your studio–the perfect environment for spinning out one’s own creations, yes? I’m still trying to shape my environment, but so enjoy putting in the effort.

      School will be out in two more days, and I certainly hope I can kick up my own production a notch or two–it’s been so hard to find quality time for art.

      Thank you again for reaching out to me.

      Like

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