Finnegan Loretta Neill

This morning her smile was every bit as bright as the day we met.

She loved us so deep
and for eleven and a half wonderful years
this sweet girl filled every minute of those days with that love.

Herself said we would never ever ever be ready for this.
But this week Finnegan let us know that she was.

I’m going to keep this picture
of her last smile
and thank Finn every day for being here.


Postcards from the Ledge – 21

It’s a beautiful day in the studio garden.

Bright sun, getting hot, and tolerable humidity.

It has felt like we were about 2 weeks behind everyone else’s gardens but we are all getting used to a different pace. Herself and I take regular strolls around the place now and this morning we agreed that this has been the best year ever for flowers. There is so much color and the years of planting finally have displayed that English Cottage look I was aiming for.

I went out just now to take some pics but it’s not the right time of day, and up close you can see that the colors ARE beautiful…in spite of the weeding I haven’t done…so here’s the only one…for now

I’m eagerly anticipating the color which is not yet popping in the arbor bed because the nasturtium and marigolds are on the slow boat from holland…

I love before and afters so here’s the potato section of the Ruth Stout bed when planted on St. Pat’s day…

and the same corner today when I picked a potato for Pat…

That looks shockingly green on my computer but it’s pretty accurate. I gave the cukes on that hinged frame their first climbing lesson today.

From another angle the RS annexed strawbales with winter squash…

See I think those babies should be much further along…but we did have a very dry spell.

No pics of the raspberries which are plentiful this year but here’s a look at the blueberries coming in a close second…

I made the cardinal mistake of saying…outloud…to Matt last week that I had not seen a single June bug/japanese beetle…the very next morning…yep. So now I need to get out the Bucket Of Death into which I will plop their picked selves on my daily rounds.

So…a fine summer day.

We even decided to have an ice cream break on the rocking chairs for lunch…it’s just how we roll now.

After finally finishing the big painting last week, and coming to an almost complete creative standstill, I am making progress one step at a time towards whatever shall pass as the Granary show this year.

You’ve seen two of the eight paintings so far and I’d like to show you number three…

Aquinnah Sunset  –  20 x 30

It is a companion of sorts to the last one, Sunset Study, because they are both paintings of the same storm passing. More to come in the Painter’s Notes but it was the last night of our long island stay last fall.  The weather perfectly fit our mood and we had decided to turn left at Beetlebung Corner, choosing the less traveled path for a sunset view. It was, as it so often is…the right choice.

 

 


Happy Birthday ZOE !!!

Our valiant carrot whisperer is 10 years old today !!!

This painting was done when she was 8.
So much has changed in the world since then…

But Zoe’s imagination is growing brighter every day.

Sending you love and eagle hugs from the studio kiddo.

 

The Carrot Whisperer

“…I believe that everyone has imagination, that no matter how mature and adult and
sophisticated a person might seem, that person is still essentially an ex-baby. And as
children, we all lived in an imaginal world…you know, when you’d be told, “Don’t cross
that wall, because there’s monsters over there,” my God, the world you would create on
the other side of the wall. And when you’d ask questions like “Why is the sky blue?”
or “Where does God live?” or all this kind of stuff…like one of the first times I was coming to America,
I said to my little niece, who was seven, I said, “What will I bring you from America?”
She said, “Uh…” and her father said, “No, ask him, or you won’t get anything.”
And Katy turned to me and said, “What’s in it?” – (laughs) – which I thought was a great
question about America.”

An excerpt from the On Being conversation between Krista Tippet and the Irish Poet John O’Donohue

Our little carrot whisperer would have asked that same question at 7.
Now she is 8 and when we see her soon
I will ask her
but mostly I like to listen.

Zoe is one of the most richly vibrant souls
it has been my pleasure to share the planet with.

Her curiosity is fueled by a Tigger-like enthusiasm.

Stealthy observation informs her empathy.

And story telling is her super power.

So, last summer,
when I asked her seven year old self
to pose with the freshly picked carrot
and she examined it for a long while
deciding it made her think of
the snowman Olaf’s nose…

I waited

Then she thought the long green
fronds looked like hair
and she curled them in an arc over her head…

and I waited

And she started a story about how that
made her feel like a queen
and she was going to take the carrot
to visit her castle…

and I waited

until the queen decided she was in a carriage
and the carrot would, therein, accompany her
and she rested it regally on her shoulder
closed her eyes
and beckoned the footman to ride on.

An artist can’t choose her Muses.

We can only sharpen our brushes everyday
in the hopes that when they are ready to appear
we can catch them on …
the whisper.

 


Postcards from the Ledge – 20

I want to bring you a little study today…

Sunset Study  –  12 x 20

Little in size but not in heart.

This year’s Granary rollout will be spread out over the next month.
There are 8 paintings, now that I’ve finally finished the last one…is there a huge relief emoji out there ?

As I work to photograph and frame them all I’ll be writing the Painter’s Notes sporadically and am planning some sort of virtual presentation to accompany the paintings. So many ways things are changing and we here in the studio are ready to learn and experiment with new ways to share and promote art.

While we work behind the scenes to bring the new artwork to you please be safe, wear your masks, and enjoy the freshening summer breezes when you can.

 


Postcards from the Ledge – 19

Let’s talk about ART.

Times they are a changing.

So as artists
who read tea leaves
and listen for patterns
in the airwaves
we are always out there
on that ledge
awaiting signals
from the Muse.

The Art Galleries in this world are finding new ways to represent artists and connect patrons to their work. The Granary Gallery is OPEN for business now. The staff reports that people are excited to visit and respectfully wearing masks. They have a new footpath to safely direct people through the indoor galleries and the wonderful open air courtyard is full of ocean breezes and…ART !!!

Facing the many challenges which the world has thrown at us so far this year have taken me away from the easel for an unimaginable amount of time. I’ve shared some of those challenges here in these Postcards, and others are, like yours, privately kept.

But it is time now to start showing you what paintings I have been able to produce…so far.

I want to start with the one closest to my heart…and soul…

Signaling Home  –  24 x 36

I haven’t written the Painter’s Notes yet.
All my energies need to be focused on finishing the gigantic panel which is on the easel in time to send it up to the island for what will be a crazy summer of exhibitions without openings.

For now, as I expect most of you will already see, this one says everything about who I am, where I’ve come from and where I hope the road will take me.

There’s more to come
so…
stay tuned
stay safe
and stay frosty out there.


Postcards from the Ledge – 18

Black Lives Matter…Period

Such a heavy time
So much grief
Layers of pain
Generations of choked out voices

In the midst of these disruptions, eruptions, protests and violent shaking off of the centuries of white suppression from the necks of those who have been born into the original sin of slavery in this country…

I have been searching my soul …
and listening.

One of the voices which is new to me came by way of an episode of On Being, conversations with Krista Tippett. She spoke with Resmaa Menakem.

 

  • Cover of  My Grandmother's Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies

    My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies

    I’ve gone back several times to listen again and then again to try and understand more of his work which focuses on how trauma, particularly racism, lands in the body and how we all can be open to recognizing and listening to it as a path to move towards healing racial injustices.

    Here is a link to that episode…click here.

    Krista posts both edited and unedited versions of all her podcasts. This is one I highly recommend you listen to the unedited version. You can find it on her web site. ONBeing.org. The On Being project is a powerful resource for reflecting on the challenging work of peace in these troubled times. And there is so much work to do.

    I’ve returned to this blog space on a day when an other element of the country’s conscience has shifted. News that the Supreme Court has extended workplace protection to include members of the LGBTQ community.

    Coming directly on the heels of the most recent attempt/onslaught by the current administration to stamp out any and all rights which have been painstakingly granted to that same community …well I’m not feeling much like celebrating.

    In our lifelong personal battles as lesbians to be understood and accepted as equal humans Pat and I have always qualified our struggles with this thought…WE are fortunate (and here today we could substitute that word with “privileged”)…because we can hide our sexuality if we need to in order to be safe. People of color obviously can’t.

    With my heart broken wide open
    let me add all the soul in my voice
    to the roar for justice.
    Let the children of our grandchildren
    stand on my shoulders
    and march for equal civil human rights.
    BLACK
    LIVES
    MATTER.

    I’m feeling gutted…

    so today…

    The Gutting – 2015

    Ah there’s always a dark side.

    In The Yachtsman, you have a sunny, blue skied, fair weather kind of a day.

    Here, the clouds thicken.

    The air was heavy and it was deep into the beyond of the shoulder season,
    Out in the gun metal grey waters of the harbor,
    only the heartiest of working vessels were moored.

    The wind was kicking up,
    and we had just come from the Newes,
    with bellies full of chowder and a pint or two of October ale,
    and I thought I could hear a steady tapping…
    just there coming around the corner behind us…
    like the wooden peg of a leg,
    tap tap tapping on the weathered cobbled stone.

    I reached over, pulled up the collar of Herself’s Pea Coat ,
    and snuggled closer for the warmth,
    and we made our way down to the dockside.
    ‘Twas then I heard the screaming.
    Ghastly wales, a staccato of screeching,
    and a frenzy of feathers seemed to come at us from all directions.
    The water churned and the sky was a roiling mass of gulls.
    Through the miasma of wings I could see a figure.
    A lone fisherman was tearing out the guts of his supper.

    It seemed as if all of the island flock was massing, and thrashing,
    to win the foul spoils of his long cold day at sea.
    The gruesome sight was more than I could bear,
    and my chowder began to repeat.

    Just before I managed to steer us away,
    in the midst of the carnage and chaos,
    I caught a glimmer of light.

    Perched on top of the blood red piling,
    with a gaping maw of frothing yellow beak,
    a white throated gull threw back her head
    and just
    shudderingly
    and stunningly…
    laughed.

    The fisherman turned his head…
    And I will swear that I saw…
    a silvery, slithery, black eye patch.


Postcards from the Ledge – 17

Summer begins here with a whisper.
Gonna let the warm air dry out the grass
before I take on the mowing
which needs to be done
before we can plant
the last of the seedlings
which needs to be done
before the week is out
so
while I’m waiting for grass to dry
I’ll paint.

Memorial Day – 2013

From the Reclamation Series

Reclamation lg

 Reclamation – An exploration of a hidden island treasure

 

Hidden vistas, historic vineyard homesteads, echoes of vintage islanders, the tools of their trades and the marks they have left in the wake of their time here are meaningful touchstones for the muses and vivid fodder for the creative soul.  So it was, that when I sat down at my studio table a few months ago and read in the Vineyard Gazette about the Martha’s Vineyard Museum acquiring the old Marine Hospital building in Vineyard Haven, I was eager to see it for myself.

The Marine Hospital was built in 1895 and sits on a prominent hill overlooking what had only a few years earlier, in 1871, assumed its modern name of Vineyard Haven.  Over the last hundred plus years it had become obscured by the substantial growth of oaks, maples and at least one Siberian Elm whose towering beauty still envelopes one entire wing.  I’m probably not the only visitor, when hailing the island from the upper deck of the ferry,  to be surprised by its stalwart presence on the horizon, after the museum returned the landscaping to its earlier state.  While the clearing reveals an old friend on the town’s skyline, it also restores the dramatic view from atop that hill looking out over the expanse of lagoon and harbor and Vineyard Sound.

view from beach road 1910

My curiosity was satisfied when Denys Wortman, MV Museum Board member whose Vineyard roots are deeply woven into the fabric of the island, graciously guided me on a tour of the building last October.  He filled me in on the history of the building which was a 30 bed state of the art hospital treating islanders, soldiers in both World Wars I and II, and sailors who passed through the busy port.  It boasted the island’s first x-ray machine and elevator in a brick addition which was built in 1938.  Walking through its cavernous hallways we peered around the blackened walls of the darkroom where those x-rays were developed and explored the operating room and its alcoves.

The hospital was de-commissioned in the early 1950’s and the St. Pierre family took over its care and ran a summer camp there up until 2006.  You can see echoes of those happy campers in the murals  of sailboats painted on the wall in one of the bright corner rooms.  The building is infused with light by virtue of the many tall windows and the glassed transoms over the doorways which let that light cascade deeply into the space.  When I remarked on the graceful woodwork and the way each of the stuccoed corners was wrapped in a slender finial-capped turning of mahogany, Denny said there is someone on the island who has some extra pieces of those in a barn as his father was one of the craftsmen who worked on the building.

boat and mural

It’s that kind of lore which excites me and makes this building special.  From the half-tiled walls to the pressed tin ceilings, the patched and re-patched plastered surfaces and the ornately decorated cast iron radiators, the juxtaposed textures of weathered brick and smoothly polished patina of creamy porcelain, to the greening of the old copper and the deep marine blue painted baseboards that anchor the vaulted spaces to solid ground… the architecture is elegant in its simplicity and charms the esthetic heart.

I returned to the building many times during that autumn visit and tried to experience how the light and shadows changed over the course of a day.   One morning Denny met me and brought along the museum flag.  When I stepped outside to walk across the wide expanse of front lawn to help him raise it I commented on how there wasn’t a cloud in the crisp October sky.  “Pilots call that Severe Clear”,  he replied.

denny and flag

Back in my Pennsylvania studio when I was looking through the sketches and notes I had taken I found that I had written down that phrase and, for almost every morning of the dozens of days it took me to paint this view from the balcony, the spring sky here was brilliantly cloudless…so the title fits.

Severe Clear

Click Here to see all the paintings in the series.

I didn’t start out to make this a series, but as I finished each painting and saw them leaning along the studio walls it became clear that together they were beginning to tell a deeper story.  One which the building itself had to tell.  I wasn’t there to be a witness to the bustle of its early hospital days, or the loneliness of the few years that it sat vacant, or the second incarnation as children’s voices filled the hallways, but the spirits of those who moved through the corridors during its lifetime were present and as I studied and listened I was beginning to see the first inklings of its next chapter.

The museum had begun to move some of its acquisitions into the future home, and I found a particularly symbolic beauty in the dear old row boat that was resting against the standpipe in the downstairs hallway.  Through the open door behind it you could just catch a hint of the mural depicting the “Sweet 16” Menemsha wooden sailboat.  A real life version of which is tarped over and grounded on blocks outside and just around the corner.  Though a fair enough challenge to capture the building and the boat faithfully in all their weathered-chip-painted glory… I had a blast painting them both.

And I learned something about myself as an artist over the months of producing this collection of paintings.  With each one I dug a little deeper into the surfaces, took more time to study the textures and stepped further out on that edge of rendering.  I went from seeing the rooms first as vessels of color and light and then slowly, as details came into sharper focus, a sort of map would appear.  A map of stories.  Those finely chiseled cracks in its well used surfaces were asking to be painted honestly and I had to find the courage to listen and to work harder at seeing the building…and myself.

Both acts of… reclamation.


Postcards from the Ledge – 16

In this corner of the planet Fridays are trash pickup days.
The trucks roll before dawn so Thursday is officially Trash Day.

In this state of lockdown, with time whipping by like the wicked witch in Dorothy’s Kansas tornado, when Herself starts the day by saying, “It’s trash day” I feel like there are two thursdays in each week.

Today is trash day…again.

That’s all I have to say about that, except it explains why I thought it had been only a week since I last posted. Calendar says 10 days. I’ll just leave that there.

I spent my lunch hour on this Thursday watching my pal David Wallis on my phone.

He’s a fellow artist who not only shares wall space with my work at the Granary Gallery, he also manages it and he’s pretty darn good at both.

Oar Luck  –  Oil on Panel available at the Granary Gallery

So the Granary is getting into the online gig with something they are calling

Notice the Thursday theme running along here.

pARTicipate at home with Artist David Wallis

As pART of our artist series, we present David Wallis leading a demonstration in watercolors. Today, he will take us through the basics of color and how to compose a fantastic watercolor of your own. All levels are encouraged to join!1:30 pm DemoThis is a prerecorded demo (the internet connection in David's studio is poor). 2:10 pm Join David LIVE for a Q&A on ZOOM ZOOMhttps://zoom.us/j/3120891796?pwd=dDdXckQvWWN6cllJNGFMSXdFTDNRZz09Meeting ID: 312 089 1796Password: 542847See more of David's work at:https://granarygallery.com/search-works.php?keyword=david+wallis

Posted by Granary Gallery on Thursday, May 21, 2020

If I did that right you should see a link to their FB page above…where you can also have lunch with David while he performs his Intro to Color Theory ala Watercolors Demo.

It was fun to watch from my studio kitchen and this old dog even learned a new trick.

Another new thing I am learning to do is to comb wool.

I mentioned in an earlier post that my pillow cases are restocked with new fleece and with that I set out to upgrade my fiber prep.

Behold…the Viking combs.

I think the rake on the right is jealous of the craftsmanship as she photobombed the new gals in town.

Basically you load the wool onto the stationary comb and bring thecomb in your free hand through the locks in series of perpendicular passes until the fiber is loaded up on that comb. Two or three passes is all it takes. What you see pictured below is the second pass where already the fibers are beautifully lined up and open.

Then you load it onto the larger blending hackle…

and THEN you pull it off into this light and fulffy nest like length of roving…

with…A Diz…

It’s traditionally a concave disc, I’ve seen them made from whale bone, wood and plastic…but when you are also a spoon carver and you have a bag of unfinished spoons..well you pick out one that feels right and drill a hole in it and add some decoration and Bob’s your uncle you have a Diz.

I’ve never seen one with a handle…here’s one for sale at The Woolery store

but for me the handle is a bonus and makes it easy for my right hand to grasp while pulling the fiber through the tiny hole with the left hand. I needed one more hand to hold the camera in order to show you that but Herself was busy so maybe later.

This new skill and method is fabulous and fun to learn. Soooo much easier on my hands than other carders and the resulting roving is an absolute dream to spin. Not sure why it took 40 years for me to try this, possible the terrifying sharpness of all those tines… but there’s no looking back.

I’m experimenting with yarn thickness hoping to produce some thinner yarn than I usually make and so far I have five skeins…

the one on the far left was the first one out of the fleece and done before I started using the viking combs. Much less uniform. The combs do a much better job of aligning the fibers which results in a “Woolen” rather than “Worsted” spun yarn. There’s your fun fact for today…

which is a Thursday.

Now I’m off to take the trash out before getting around to my actual day job.

I suppose you can look for me to be doing one of those pARTicipate at home gigs in the future. It’ll be hard to beat Dave’s smooth delivery.

Stay tuned and stay frosty out there…

Here’s a couple sheep…just outstanding in their field…

The Flock 2019

And we have arrived at the end…
only to start at the beginning.

I owe everything Vineyard to my friend Lynn.
She brought me here for the first time.

We would throw a box of spaghetti and some brownie mix
into her car and drive from our shared apartment in Somerville
out to the ferry and over to her beloved island.

It was ten years or more before I even knew there were towns
other than Chilmark.

We drove straight from boat to bluff
and left only briefly for the annual lobster from Larsen’s
…and regular visits to Chilmark Chocolate.

Lynn had the biggest heart I’ve ever known
and its core and depths were chiseled out of those cliffs.

Her honest and joyful humor was wedged in between
every one of the giant stones she tended along her wall.

Her kindness and overflowing generosity
live on in the daffodils that now soak up her spring sunshine.

Her friendship and her family have given me
the closest thing to a home that I have ever known.

The monarch is for her.
Actually it may BE her.

For me
they always will be.

On the day I captured this light
there was a very short window
of this calm after the storm
just enough time
for the sheep to make their way
across the field to where I stood
and as the sun began to set
she flew behind me
and landed on this bend of grass
and stayed until I turned around.

Her smile was exactly as I remembered it
with that laughter and love
come to share the moment
which I had been searching for
all those years
as we had made a ritual of stopping
at this turnout each time we left her camp
to see if the sheep were there
and the muses might be too.

After four decades …
and with a wink and a nod
from one happy dancing angel
they did.

Thank you dear sweet soul.


Postcards from the Ledge – 15

Big wind…

Big decision.

The morning’s laundry is getting a second rinse cycle from the passing shower.
Great gusts of wind blew through the holler a few minutes ago.
And we have come to a sad conclusion.

We will not be making the trip to Martha’s Vineyard for my annual Granary Gallery Show.

Pat always counseled her Hospice patients that ambivalence is what eats you up…and there are no wrong decisions. So we made the call.

We still know so little about this virus, but the course of the pandemic appears relentless and we in this family trust science and revere scientists and health experts.

Chris reports that the gallery is making preparations to open when the governor and health inspectors give the all clear. As with all businesses large and small many modifications will need to be made for the safety of staff and patrons. It’s early days but we agreed that gatherings like show opening cocktail parties with dozens to hundreds of people are not possible. We are grateful that he and the stellar staff are willing to try and help keep their artists afloat and we know that in a crisis like this humans seek beauty.

There are also issues for those of us who call Martha’s Vineyard a spiritual home but do not…as yet…have keys to the place. Like many resort destinations, The Vineyard is challenged by so many residents and businesses relying on tourism for income, and like all of us the islanders are divided about how and when to allow that commerce to resume.

We straddle both camps but are choosing not to risk the health of our friends by possibly bringing more virus to their already limited health care system. And with highly vulnerable risk factors, we are choosing not to take the chances that days of travel and higher concentrations of humans would bring to our own health.

So, while we are not going to the island…

The PAINTINGS ARE !!!

And that is my challenge.

I am going to need help.

And more than a few miracles of supply chain timing…Julie get ready !

But the plan is now to have the paintings there at the gallery for whatever sort of viewing they can muster. There are plans for a Virtual Vernissage, I just made that up but it’s a good one. And I am beginning to ponder on what I can do from here that will enable me, or at least my virtual self, to be present as well.

If any of you have ideas throw them out. Like I said, I’ll need help.

So now it’s time to get back to work.

Feels like a good time to feature the place where I expect to be working hard for the next few months…

Stay extra frosty out there…we’ll get through this.

That’s how the light gets in  –  2013

This painting began with the title, a line from the wonderful Leonard Cohen song, Anthem whose chorus goes like this…

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

And it was taped to my easel for over a year. Now, everything on, or pretty much near, my easel eventually becomes a wiping surface for my brushes. After that much time the tattered notation was almost completely obscured by paint. But still, it and all the other quotations that surround me there are doing their job.

They are there to nudge, and in some cases to shove, my fears and doubts and ego and shaky confidence all aside. There are notes of encouragement, interesting thoughts that I lifted from the books I listen to while working, reminders when to plant garlic, and, like this one, words or phrases that I thought would be good painting titles that need time to percolate.

In addition to the notes, I have a support system of talismans. Objects that are touchstones to people and memories that have had profound influences on my creative journey. The ones featured in this painting include the well worn denim shirt, on the back of which is embroidered the cartoon character of Ziggy hand sewn for me by my very first patron, Stephanie, whose never wavering support began in our high school days.

And there is the also well worn railroad hat from my beloved Pops, Fred Decker. There’s a great photo of him wearing that hat, which is taped to the shelf behind my easel chair, wherein he is sitting next to my grandmother Mima, on the sofa in Craley, being mischievous together before they became leaders in my pack of guardian angels .

The old niblick, wooden golf putter, has been re-serviced as my mahl stick, holding up my favorite teacup is the beach stone which was handed to me by Mr. Morse and which echoes the deep connection to those Vineyard shores… and, most importantly,  looking down from above is the photograph of Herself taken on the bluff in Chilmark where our hearts were joined.

The window to the left provides the light that I need to see the panels, but the true light, the authentic self which I am constantly seeking, shine back at me from these precious objects.


Postcards from the Ledge – 14

No you didn’t miss a post.
I just feel there is enough bedevilment in the air to add a thirteenth.

It’s been a quiet week here.
Only two major meltdowns,
some sunnier days,
and a lot of learning.

A future posting will feature the new spinning tools that I tried out this week.
Viking wool combs.
Every bit as steam punk as they sound.
It’s early days on that learning curve but I’m pretty sure they will be a game changer in the productivity chain in my fiber arts production.

I’m closing out a morning of catching up here in the office.

Paid some bills.
Completed the 2020 Census.
Made a playlist of music for bill paying…
currently spinning Help Me from the Joni Mitchell Tribute Album…
appropriate.

And I was finally able to complete a recent print order.

Once in a blue moon I get a notice from PayPal that someone out there has visited my website and ordered a print from the studio. It’s rare enough that it always takes me by surprise and reminds me not to go too quickly through the email when I’m deleting things.

I discovered two new ways in which this new world order has affected the business side of this professional artist thing.
Formerly reliably overnight delivery options…are not.
And stay at home orders make regular trips to the Post Office…not.

I shared an email chuckle with the patient patron, after confirming the arrival of the missing link in my supply chain I let him know that once the delivered parcel was released from it’s 24 quarantine on the back porch I would be able to complete his order..and he replied with a thumbs up as his porch “sometimes looks like a loading dock”.

This morning I am hoping to solve new world order number two by putting the online USPS pickup service to its first test. If they can find their way to the log cabin side porch it may be a game changer.

Some months back I was moved to announce that the prices of my studio prints would be increasing in response to some substantial raises in material costs. (Ink is still the most expensive liquid on the planet.)
But honestly, I don’t have the energy to worry about that right now or to make things any harder for supporters of the arts. So as long as I can continue to get ink, paper and mailing tubes I’ll be happy to send prints out into the world…

Along with my sincere gratitude.

So…
here’s to another of the many essential workers who show up so we can stay home…

The Flyer  –  2005

One of those which came in a dream.

Stumbling out of the dark cabin bedroom so as not to wake sleeping dog
or partner I go tripping over knitting and socks to find pen and paper.

Quick sketch of birdcage open window and feathers.
Capture the essence before it flutters away.
Then tiptoe back to bed and work on the rest of the story.

Weeks later, after Ebay packages arrive
and I have dug the mailbag from Muddy Creek Forks out of the closet,
I am left with the elements but not the milieu.
And so, from the corner of my impossibly cramped and overcrowded studio,
comes an uncluttered and opening space full of color and light and mystery.
A feng shui for the imagination.

Yesterday I received a moleskin pocket journal in the mail.
It is going right beside the bed with pen and flashlight.
Pleasant Dreams…