The Pictorialist

Edge House

oil

6" x 8"

Punta Gorda plein air painters met at Live Oaks Park in the morning while it was still cool.  I painted the house on the edge of the parking lot.  Was in a hurry to finish because I had to leave early.   A couple of tourists walked over and got very excited seeing me working.  

"You must be a pictorialist, aren't ya?" the man said.  "Why you must be a pictorialist.  I'm from Massachusetts and I use ta be a sign painter.  We had pictorialists there too and I use ta hang their pictures.  You're a pictorialist,  aren't ya?" he asked again, this time putting his sunburned face between my face and the painting.

"I guess I am," I nodded, trying to be polite.

"And my sister," whispered his wife, "she was a pictorialist, too."

"Really," I replied, cleaning my brush with a rag.

"How long have you been doing this?" the man asked.

"My whole life."

"Must take a lot of patience," he said.

"Oh, it does," I answered, trying to focus on my work.  They chatted like birds for several minutes more, until finally wandering off to look at the other pictorialists painting nearby.

Next time, remind me to wear my iPod earplugs even with the music off.  Sorry to sound cranky.  But then, on second thought, I never would have learned I was a "pictorialist."