The Bookbinder

This is a composition
really just the hint of an idea
which I’ve had in the working sketchbooks for many years.

I dabbled in bookbinding for awhile
as one does
and so the props were readily at hand.

And the model
or poseur as it were
was also to hand
or at least passing through.

Peter uses our house as a stop
on his workshop teaching routes.

It is always the highlight of my year
when we get a chance to
as Herself likes to quip
spit scratch and tell lies.

I never lie and I’ve never seen Peter spit
but there you are.
We have a blast.

On one of those return trips he arrived very late
after filming episodes of The Woodwright’s Shop with Roy Underhill.
I’ve got no shame dropping his name here
because it’s a wicked cool thing that Peter and I both watched his PBS show
even before we were aspiring woodworkers
and I’m so thrilled that they are now friends and fellow scholars.

But I bring it up here
to place emphasis on the very late
and very tired northbound traveler.

Peter was exhausted.
But he was also planning to book outta here
before the wrens’ started singing the next morning
and I had a little request.

Please, after spending hours and hours in front of a camera
would you please…
sit in front of a camera
and pose for me.

With no time for an elaborate set up
I plunked him in the office at the round cherry table
and brought down my binding frame.

Couple of practices with the gesture
and click, I had my reference.

I pushed my luck and had him do a twofer
and model for a second composition idea
which became the core of Master Carver’s Tea.

Since the orchestration for that comp was further along
I put it at the head of the line and the Bookbinder sat…in the books.

Then we went to Ireland.

At the end of our tour we visited the Rock of Cashel.
In the adjoining Hall of Vicars
I found a collection of Irish furniture that resembles the era of 17th century carvings
which Peter specializes in but what I also saw was a possible reference
for the table I have been pondering for yet another painting
which is even deeper in the wings of my sketchbooks.
I took photos for Peter’s archives and for my own.

Now we creep forward to this past winter
when I was eager to sink my chops
into something completely different and challenging.

I dug back and found the initial sketches for the bookbinder
remembered the table and carvings
and thought the Irish antiquities could just be grand.

What you see before you is the culmination
of decades of rumination
and a frisson of serendipity.

I waited all this time
for that wren to wake up
and sing she did.

Granary Gallery 2021

Well it’s time !

My Granary Gallery Show is about to be revealed.
The show opening is Sunday August 15th.

And while Herself and I will be continuing our Pandemic Protocol here in the studio…

The paintings have arrived safely on the island.

The gallery staff has gone out of their way to insure safety and protection for the best possible patron experience.

There will not be a typical show gala reception this year. But they are OPEN for business and so are we.

So here we go…

The first painting to share with you is the very first one I did for the show…I hope you enjoy and stay frosty out there !!!

Vituoso

There is a pause in every year
here in the studio
in between those intense months
of lifting tiny brushes at the easel
after the paintings have flown to their new homes

When I catch up on overlooked chores
and bring the unfinished mystery novel
out to the sky chair
only to end up watching the catbirds
rearranging their whispering garden twigs

or…if it is winter

When I sit with a cup of tea
in the patron lounge chair
and a newly gathered stack
of well worn books
and visit with my old master friends

An interval when
during these pauses
I let the creative energies drift
enjoying and listening to
a different rhythm…

when suddenly
the Muses go SNAP !

I have come to know and trust
as my artiste self “matures”
that it’s only a matter of time
before there will soon be a pile
of offerings before me

Feathers and teacups
shards of color
shiny bits and bobs
a jigsaw puzzle of treasures
which have caught their fancy

Dumped now on the table
to test the mettle
and tease the wanderer back
once again sparking that sizzle
tempting me out of that stasis of revelry

Calling me back to the work
which has come to define
the essence
the very core
of all that is meaningful

of who I am in this world…

An Artist.

Mentors

I rise in the courthouse, as Scout was beckoned to do, for the passing of a great man.

The windows in the studio are open this morning, which is unheard of in August, to a freshening breeze.

Late last night, in a quieted hospital corridor, surrounded by a solidly forged family of supporters, we enveloped two young men as they took what is called the Walk of Life.

A powerful and deeply moving ceremony where that little box we check on our driver’s license becomes very very real.

One life is traded for many.

I seem to throw the word around a lot but I truly have never witnessed such grace.

And it wasn’t in the overwhelming handing over of the gift, the youthful organs to be shared, it was in the brilliant beacon of love that radiated between Matt and his husband on the gurney… Paul.

In crowded ICU waiting rooms and peaceful wooded pathways, we have listened to a bucket full of stories about how that love has enveloped, emboldened and lifted so many others and I’d honestly be crumpled on my knees in the telling of it …if it didn’t require both of them to lift me back up.

But I want to talk here, at least this morning, about Mentors.

Almost all of the people we have been glued to in the last four days we had never met…in person. But we knew them.

Because they were important to Matt and Paul who were important to us.

They were stories and pictures on our phones and of course the wall of covid set all those “we’ve got to get you together” meetings off. We made up for all that lost time in no time. One of the most surreal experiences in my life came yesterday, when after days of trying to keep our voices down and our distances apart in heavily masked hallways we all somehow knew to make our way to the ridge and for the first time I got to meet their smiles.

In his house, with his beloved Bernese Mt Dogs leaning, the vigil was kept.

Paul is an artist. And as we, the collected mourners, moved through the day waiting for the call to come back to the hospital, our rolling conversations explored the connections between us all. They told me Paul had introduced me as one of his Mentors. He and I talked a lot about that. But I think it was the other way around. Or maybe mutual.

What I knew of Paul’s dreams to be a full time artist came alive in the voices of his friends and their stories of how proud they were of his working so hard to achieve that dream. And he did. It hurts too much to think about how few days he got to spend in that new studio but I heard story after story about how fiercely he created in there.

We have all had Mentors in our lives. Wouldn’t have made it this far without them. But being a Mentor, it feels like a huge responsibility. I honestly didn’t feel worthy and was reluctant to embrace the roll with anyone else’s creative soul at stake. Sort of coming at it from the side with my shoulders tucked and head down. But Paul persisted. He, the professor, said Teach Me.

While I was taking baby steps along that journey, Paul was striding far ahead. Listening to his friends these last few days I’ve come to see that his truest creative gifts may have been the kindness, generosity, steady support, tremendous capacity for laughter and the forgiveness he bear-hugged into their lives.

No superlatives here could measure up to the power of his relentless choices to love.

I’m sitting here shaking as I try to fill in for you the layers of evidence I have for that statement and my heart just won’t let them go down to my fingers yet. So trust me, Paul gave his heart out.

And Matt, dear sweet soul, kept that heart safe.

What Paul was eager to learn about art, I needed to learn about love.
Matt and Paul together were a Masterclass. Full stop.

So, on this blessedly fine morning I just want to say thank you to my friend and mentor, for giving me the opportunity to help carry your paintings.

And Paul…

he just insisted that I include this shot of his fine…

damnit Paul.