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Coast Guards

Posted on by heather

One unexpected gift
of being on the island of Martha’s Vineyard in March
is the season of solitude.

While winter has snuggled the humans
behind closed doors
the verdant thickets of vegetation
along stone walled roadways
have fallen back to sleep
throwing open an early spring curtain
to reveal new and ever deepening
glimpses into old and familiar views.

And with those newly opened views
came the added blessing
of exploring the island in deep silence and peace.

The contrast of the bustling tourist season
with the quiet stillness of the winter
was sublime.

Happening upon this Menemsha moment
is the perfect example.

With Pat and Jane and Maggie
safely tucked into their recliners
I walked the sandy road
down to the beach
where the lifeguard chair
was the sole onlooker
back down the wooden dock
where the only sound
was the basin water lapping on the boats
up and over Crick’s hill
then out back of the Galley
where the every single post and rooftop
rail and piling had one seagull
sitting or lying as if on their lunch breaks.

Full disclosure
I cheated a bit here
In the real world
on that late March morning
there was one other human to be seen
I came upon him when I had drifted
further out that dock
just past the coast guard station
as I was looking back across the water
he was behind me coming ashore
from a morning of scalloping
I nodded
he said it was a beautiful day
and that was that
except that here
I turned him around.

When I started this painting
it was all about the solitude
and that peace
and quiet
with only the gulls standing guard
but it is a working village
and one lone fisherman
enjoying the sun and the sea
and a peaceful walk to work
seemed to tell a better story.

Middle Road Shadows

Posted on by heather

“Chance favors the prepared mind.”
John Fowles, The Magus

This is a throw back
and a throw forward.

We spent most of the fall of 2018 on the island.
The extended stay allowed for deep diving into painting subjects
as well as the opportunity for serendipity to come out and play.

I wrote a bit about this in the Painter’s Notes for The Flock which was painted shortly after that fall visit.
After years of chasing the right light to capture the iconic view of sheep grazing on the farm field overlooking Lucy Vincent Beach, chance favored this artiste with an almost biblical parting of the storm filled skies to open up shafts of dramatic autumn colored sunlight just as I was driving past the overlook.

It took my breath away and I quickly captured the moment with camera and sketchpad.

 I had been making a daily loop at sunset circling up island roads in a random pattern watching and waiting.
To be in the right place at the right time you have to keep showing up in the wrong times.
A lot. In this case for decades. And you have to be open to taking chances.

So, after I had enough to be going on with for the sheep composition, I figured might as well finish the loop. I drove back to Beetlebung Corner and took a right onto Middle Road. I’d been studying those cows and trying to come upon them grazing       closer to the road to get a better look and to give some foreground to the vast composition of field and sliver of sea. In the 6 minutes of light remaining from that epic sheep view, the cows who were grazing in that same light and only a few fields away were smack up against the wooden fence as I drove by.
I zipped right back around at the gas pump and caught them looking.

But here’s where the Muses like to tease.
Back home in the studio there was a choice of which painting to start off with and I decided to go big and all out with the sheep. I hoisted an 8 foot panel up on the easel and set out to try and portray the grandeur of the light on the vista and the grace in the peacefulness of the flock. It was a marathon and took up the remaining time I had to prepare for that year’s show so the idea of a twin companion painting of the herd was put on what I thought would be a brief hold.

Until it got thrown forward 5 years to today.
Painting now in my new studio, the Muses said wait a minute…remember those cows ?
If, as they were originally meant to do, the flock and the herd ever got to hang side by side
you could stand in the middle and be that glorious sunlight.

You, dear patrons, are my serendipity.

Moorings

Posted on by heather

A peaceful gentle cove
that curves around a back corner of Menemsha Pond.

A favorite lunch spot for island tradesmen
and when we pulled up in late March
there was a small van in the little lot
with its window rolled down
and the glimpse of  an old workshirt sleeved arm
resting on the sill
holding half of a homemade sandwich.

Maggie needed to stretch her legs
and I saw an interesting painting prospect up ahead
curious about all those bobbing bubbles floating
so we left the ladies in the car to keep chatting
grabbed the camera and took to the beach.

One of my hearts’ most favorite things to do is spend time with Jane.
Two of my hearts’ most cherished things to do is to listen to Pat and Jane
solve all of the world’s problems and to laugh together.

Couple one and two with roaming the island
exploring painting ideas on a beach walk with Maggie
while listening to Pat and Jane laugh in the distance…yep it’s priceless
and in this case also hilarious.

I had left Jane in the front passengers’ seat
Pat buckled in directly behind her
with both of their windows open
right next to, but a bit behind, the open window of the van
and trust me
when these ladies get to talking and laughing
they can be heard all the way down at the end of the beach.

I’m still wondering what that tradesman took home from their conversation.

I love the stillness
of these early spring moorings
lapped gently by the swells
and soaking up the sun
while they wait patiently
for their families to return…

and the echo of old lady giggles across the pond.

The Watering

Posted on by heather

I’m being told
by voices shouting just over my shoulder
that this one is all down to
THE MUSES.

Well ok then.

Returning from our magical early spring visit to the island
awash in the memories of fields of daffodils
it was fun to find a few of our own blooming in the studio garden.

This is a year of transition for the gardens
after a year of construction and heavy machinery ripping it all up
and sending well established roots hither and thither.

I was expecting
indeed looking forward to
starting all over again with a blank verdant slate.

But Mother Nature finds a way
and we found a few stalwart blooms fighting through the mud and straw
and were greeted at home with a tiny bunch of daffodils for the picking.

What’s that ?
Oh yes, sorry, THE MUSES !!!

Anyhow…
I was sitting in the new studio library going through old sketch books for new ideas
when I came upon some sketches done years ago.
I had called Herself over to the yard to help with a still life
by holding a teacup
over a watering can
which was supposed to be full of …
yep
daffodils.

It had been a last minute idea
and there were only two blooms left at the time
but as an artist we can fake these kind of things
think pre-CGI super powers.

Alas,
not all ideas for paintings make the first cut
and as this one did
get left to percolate in old sketchbooks
until
wait for it…

THE MUSES !!!!!!!!

Since a theme was beginning to blossom
for this year’s Granary Gallery show
it seemed fitting
or rather I was told in no uncertain terms that it was time
to resurrect this composition
and bring it to the easel.

It was totally my idea to put the watering can on the bluff.
TOTALLY.

But yes,
I’m always grateful
for those voices over my shoulder.
Ok yes…

THANK YOU LADIES !!!

Lynn’s Daffodils

Posted on by heather

Back in our twenties
when the cost of the ferry boat
and a sack of spaghetti fixings
was all we needed of adventure
Lynn would invite a friend or two
or three but never five or more
to come along on a trip to camp.

Her homemade cloth carrying bags
which could double as storm shelter if needed
stuffed mostly with cookies and books
were shoved under our feet for the crossing
and if we stopped
it was only to pee
and usually for me.

My memories of these excursions
drift further and further away
from the smell of the sea air
and the feel of winter cold sand beneath our feet
but my mind’s eye can still see her
Lynn
reaching deep into those duffels
for a handful of bulbs.

Was it every trip
or just a few times.
Did we all help
or watch from rockers.
I can see now
here in my dotage
her mother earth form
kneeling on the bluff
with a rusty shovel
lit from behind
by Camp Sunrises’
sunset.

Being there
for the planting
and plantings
and more
was all of the road I knew
and all of the journey I needed
until this spring…
when all these decades
and spaghetti suppers later
I finally got
to bend down
with the salty spring air
at my old lady back
and to say hello
for the first time
to Lynn’s daffodils.

My New Easel View

Posted on by heather

Shortly after we first took stewardship of this property
a mighty wind took out the top of this maple tree.
A couple of well meaning cousins climbed up
and cleaned it out and she went on about the business of shading us.

When Sid came for a visit he took one look
and said that’s an example of   “…”
some German word which apparently meant
a tree poorly trimmed,
mutated by the looks on Sid’s face.

Well that moaning maple has spent her dotage
harboring hundreds of nesting and feeding animals
from the tiniest tit mouse
to the grand piliated gals.

Once Maggie came on the scene
it became a refuge for the squirrels whom she chased up to that jagged leader’s tippy top
only to sit watching below as they lined up in Monty Python manner like the french
to throw insults and taunts at her and her elderberry smelling patriarch.

In every season
and in every light
the stalwart maiden
has stood watch.

The easel window in my old studio
had a glimpse of this tree and the barn just beyond.
Designed around that tree
my new studio view
is just as you see it here.

Every morning so far,
when the sun clears the woods out back
it lights up her trunk like a rock show.

So it was fitting
a couple day ago
after another of those mighty winds blew through the holler
that Maggie called me over on our walk
to show me that the lowest branch
which had taken hours and hours of time
for my brushes to render
had fallen to the ground.

It’s hard to see in this picture because the day was drawing nigh…
but My Mulcher promises to make quick work
of shredding this pile
as the grand old dame
continues her long walk home.

The Contractor

Posted on by heather

“You will have only one story. You’ll write your one story many ways.”

The twisty round about way I came to that quote from a character in Elizabeth Strout’s novel, My Name is Lucy Barton, was by catching on to it in a thread of conversation which Mary Chapin Carpenter was having with poet Sarah Kay in a podcast, One Story, where they had an in depth discussion of her album, The Dirt and The Stars.

There’s a basket full of accreditation in that last paragraph and I’m sure to have left out some of the weft, alas one’s weaving gets lacier after 65. I now know. But hearing MCC say those words in her smokey weathered road warrior timbre and in relation to the decades long trail of her song writing career…well… it clanged my bell.

Upon hearing that… that kernel of wisdom that we all have only one story…the totality of my own compositions snapped sharply into a perfectly ordered row.

I’ve only been telling the same story
my one story
in every painting
all along the way.

I’ve reflected recently in these blog posts about the paintings and even the Painter’s Notes as being breadcrumbs. Notes left in the margins which I suppose could be used to follow my way back tracing milestones to find what…the origin? I appreciate knowing the trail is well lit and documented but right this second I’m not really interested in going back there thank you. It feels much more important now to think about what I’m picking up from where and who I’ve been and choosing what is worth tossing into that basket nestled on my aging shoulders moving forward.

Seeing those breadcrumbs collectively as my “One Story” helps me make sense of the feedback that has come from patrons and viewers along the way who tell me they felt a personal connection to the paintings. Because when it comes down to it, it is really “Our One Story” isn’t it.

To draw upon another overheard podcast conversation I listened to this week, Joni Mitchell told an interviewer that (years ago and I paraphrase) I never wanted people to see me in my songs. If they see themselves then I’ve done the thing I set out to do…or words to that affect.

I certainly didn’t start out all those decades ago to tell anybody anything. Still not my thing. But like all lovers of mysteries, I enjoy connecting up a row of dots. And I have learned above all to listen to the Muses. They seem to have been throwing the voices of coveted musicians and story tellers in my path of late. It has lead to some wonderfully nostalgic evenings in the cavernous studio where sounds and whispers love to climb into the moonlight filled vault and dance.

Stopping here for a bit of reflection, I’m gathering those newly connected dots and I’m folding them all in origami fashion along crisp clean lines into a tiny paper crane. Light of weight and simple of beauty it will fit nicely into my basket. Leaving room for new paintings of old stories going forward and the promise of grace in the spaces in between.

In that context dear readers…here is the very next painting to be put into our basket…

The Contractor – 33 x 24

Sitting in the new studio loft
with Paul Winters’ joyful clarinet
dancing in the rafters
and Maggie asleep in the sun…

I am writing these notes
roughly a year after coming upon this tool belt…

It makes my heart soar
to remember back to that time last year
when a tired but smiling Dan and Skippy
were closing the latch at the back gate
after a week of celebrating the first walls going up.


I had turned to unclip Maggie’s harness
and she was free to make her daily inspection.

Each afternoon she would roam the construction site
and find one piece of wood
which, when properly gnawed,
became that nights’ symbol of a job well done.

I had followed her to step for the first time
“into” my new studio
only to once again step aside
as the Muses broke loose
and flooded the scene with their favorite light.

Dan had set up a new work table
to lay out the plans which had been folded and refolded
and sat upon and mulled over
a thousand times already
as each new stick of wood went in
and each new tradesman looked for direction.

But for the first time
with the walls up
and a roof on
it was safe to leave the loose sheets open
with his trusty toolbelt to keep the summer winds at bay.

With the windows and doors yet to go in
and just outside
the Ruth Stout garden fallow for the season
only the wren’s song was in the air
to remind us of harvests to come.

Today it is in a full blossomed mess of glory
with potatoes under that blanket of hay
dozens of tomatoes finally ripening
one or two last peas hanging on for Maggie

and this artist’s heart is wild with delight
to realize that this glorious new studio was built
right in the middle of her garden.

My most favorite part of this painting
was Dan’s reaction when I first showed it to him
“Hey, that’s really my handwriting !”
Yes it is Dan,
you have left your mark all over this magnificent building
…and our hearts.

And Skippy,
the coffee stain is for you.


A Freshening Horizon

Posted on by heather

If you are reading this today
you will know something of the road
we have been on…together…
for the last couple of years.

See the smile in my heart then
as I now open the doors for you
to the first of the paintings
created in the new studio.

A Freshening Horizon – 24 x 26

Here are the actual doors… to the studio I mean…

Just days after the marvelous crew of friends
moved everything “studio” from the old building to the new
I was sitting in the early morning library
listening…

When the Muses popped up…
and raked this new angle of light
across the old props
in the new corner.

Just for fun…
here is a pic of the actual interior
and that bold wash of light
and everything between here and there
which I decided to edit out.

You can probably imagine
that while they never actually left
crashing right back in
with their typically dramatic entrances
was a welcome jolt to begin my new chapter here.

Wasting no time
my constant muses
threw open the great big windows
to welcome in
a freshening horizon.

Pop Up Zoe

Posted on by heather

look who popped up at the new studio !!!
we had a surprise visit from granddaughter Zoe
our first in person visit since before the pandemic
and what a lot of growing up she has been busy doing in that time

I’d still recognize that sparkly happy giggle
but now it shines through a maturing strong confidence
that is such a pleasure to sit and listen to
in the new studio library.

Which gives me the great opportunity
to share that beautiful poise as she poses
next to “her” painting
which now has pride of place
among the books and props and portals of magic.


It is the perfect time to share two new paintings, both of which are now available at the Sugarman Peterson Gallery out in Santa Fe.

All The Aprons

on a bright summer afternoon
when the old grandmothers were resting
after a day at the lake
and a before supper ice cream cone

when the youngster was still
full of the energy
of the fluttery purple finches
and the sparkling imagination
of last nights twinkling fireflies

Zoe asked if she could play dressup
in the studio

yes
look in the kitchen drawer

can I try on these aprons
yes
said the grandmother artiste
from the other room
with the easel

and then it was quiet
just long enough
for the grandmother artiste
to figured she should
peak around the corner

and this is what she saw
with pink fluffy fluff ball in her hair
Zoe had tied ALL the aprons on
one at a time
on top of each other
all at once

what you can’t see
here in this painted rendition
are the bright red
shiny stilettos
that her curly little tippy toes
were balancing on the end
of her silly little legs

just love
her goofy little self

Pleine Aire Zoe

Zoe has learned me many a lesson

And on this particular breezy summer’s afternoon
when all the aprons had been tied
and all the lake had been swum
when the new bag of art supplies
had been rifled through
and the tippy cup of wash water
most carefully had been walked out to the chairs
with flowers gathered for the table
and sketchbooks opened
to their brand new pages one
the old artist grandmother
who had been preparing
to introduce her bright young student
to some slightly more formal course of study
had settled on just the right brush
and arranged the watercolor tin on the arm of the chair just so
she looked up and with a great
preparatory throat clearing ahhummmm
to begin the lesson
she looked over to the opposite chair…

where the eager eyes
of that junior artiste
were laser focused on the objects before her
and the fingers had firm grasp of the chosen brush
which was dipping in and out of the palette of colors
with a clear confidence of purpose and design.

Ahhhh well then.

To be reminded that
the newest of humans
are as close to that magical gift of creativity
as they ever will be
and it is always best
to sit back and watch
and listen
and just be there
to help haul their water cups.

The New Studio is indeed up and running.

A little more than a year after that flood…we are back to a wonderful new normal.

Back at work feels so good. And back posting on this blog I’m eager to share all of the new horizons that are just outside of those big windows.

But this day is almost done and it is time to say goodnight…
to you…
and to the night studio…

sleep tight dear ones.