As the River Flows

I love history and always have and find it fabulous that my German family have lived in the same village since at least 1759 but probably much longer! This small river has always played a central role in the life of the villagers and generations of ''Gundelsheimers'', have splashed about in it, including my mother-in-law, my husband and my daughter and it was time to sit down in the high grass and sketch both the wee church dating from the late 1890's and the river and bridge.

Of course it’s not every day that you see an artist sitting sketching and so I had another ''Close Encounter of an artistic kind''. A local gent came out and the conversation started out in the ''talented relative way''. If like me you do sketch or paint on site you will probably have had similar conversations that usually fall into 3 categories 1) the talented relative (Aunty Emma was a fantastic artist or even better ''I can draw and paint fantastically'') 2) What is that , watercolour? (Materials conversation) and number 3) What’s that supposed to be/ what are you drawing? (Is that supposed to be the church?). 

There is also a fourth category, the silent non-verbal conversation; peering at sketch over shoulder then walking away. 

I am always open and friendly about my work, it’s nice when people want to look but I always wonder what these conversation starters are really saying, this is what they suggest to me….. !

''Aunt Emma'', was a fabulous artist, you obviously aren’t, who are you trying to kid, a 3-year-old in nursery school could do a better job! 

What is that, watercolour? Usually followed by a ''I use acrylic or oils or whatever'' in my head this translates as ''Help, what a mess you’re making, maybe you should try another medium! What is that supposed to be? Or is that going to be the church? This comes across like, God, do you really think it looks like that? Are you blind? Pack up and go home…… and finally the ''Silent Skulker'', looks, shakes head and walks away …. Help, you think you’re fabulous, posing in public with your crap, my dog could do that better, ahhh the joys of sketching in public! 

Artists are usually hypercritical of their work, so perhaps shrinking artistic violets like me should stick to painting indoors but it just isn’t the same. 

You don’t get that feeling of the place, the atmosphere and you don’t get the chat, our conversation turned into a chin wag, about village life, growing old, losing loved ones and buying art together on trips; a sketch of Montmartre bought with the gentleman's dead wife and another sketch bought together  on the Charles' bridge in Prague, how they loved these places and shared memories. The sketches still hang although the gentleman's wife is long gone and Aunt Emma's sketch of the church in my sketch also hangs in the hall, maybe I should have asked if I could see it? 

Maybe there are millions of talented relatives out there, waiting to be discovered; the Goya of Gundelsheim who never got a chance, stuck in a village that has existed since at least 1154 AD, and I'm not being cynical, I have been very lucky to have been able to study art and privileged to be able to enjoy sketching in such a lovely place.