Today’s goal…

to spend at least 30% of the day in an upright position.

Which would triple the output of the last eleven days, wherein I crawled from daybed to nightbed, dragging boxes of tissues, bottles of medicine, and an increasingly bored bernese mt. dog.

Mood-Swing

I have managed the first 18% of that goal by throwing the contents of the kitchen and garden into a large pot, now simmering away with chicken soup. With a few breaks in between to sip some hot tea and cough up a lung, I am upright, sitting in the office chair,  but basically upright, and catching up on the business that piled up while we were away in IRELAND !!!

The fairies were with us all the way, and they turned out to be the only two weeks since late July that I have been free of the plague. Brilliant !

I think the muses have grounded me upon my return so that I could linger in a foggy state and simply drift back to our time there and cement the whirlwind of images and experiences. It exceeded every single expectation, from the traveling companions, to the glorious weather that followed us, to the historical touchstones and meaningful connections, and on and on and on to the landscape and the people.

Here’s one of our favorites, An of Inis Oirr.

inis-oirr-an
We spent a day on that smallest of the Aran Islands, with a bumpy wagon tour,a pint in the pub, a talk with Masie and Thomas, and Herself threw off her shoes and walked in the ocean.
An, or Anya (I’m sure that spelling is not right)  was the owner, waitress, chef at the little cafe at the top of the hill, just below the castle ruins. She fed us marvelous chowder and hot chocolate and smiled and laughed the afternoon away. Apparently Pat has wrangled a room in her B & B in exchange for light housework.

One of the bucket list items I got to cross off was buying a Bodhran, the Irish drum used in acoustic sessions, and it has just arrived here in grand shape from the little shop in Dingle. I did a bit of googling, and discovered that there is an annual Bodhran festival right there on the tiny island of Inis Oirr.

Check it out…http://www.craiceann.com/

Already signed up to the mailing list. Bit of practice to do before I’m worthy of that group but we may take An up on her offer.

Be assured that this trip was a creative game changer and I’ll be sharing thoughts and images as they begin to move from the suitcase to the easel, but I am approaching that 30% threshold and I’ve got some paperwork to finish before this thing sits me back down.

Yours in tissues and dreams, H

Bon Voyage

We want to send huge love to Jane Slater, as today she celebrates her 40th year at the antique shop she and her husband Herb have operated in Menemsha. Someone else will be sitting behind this desk next season, but for me, I shall forever see her smile looking back.

Jane will step boldly into a new chapter and we wish her full speed ahead.

Our Ladies of Menemsha

Now… available on a screen near you…

big poster72

The movie is HERE…

Oh what a night it was. The house was packed, as they say, with eager friendly faces who came for the premiere and to support all of us who were captured by the magic of David and Barbarella’s brilliance.

movie night

Herself and I were blown away. They did such an amazing job.
Our fifteen minutes of fame stretched a bit further, on into the weekend, where we had a super opening at the Granary Gallery.

There is much more to write and share, but along with the swollen ego that filled the car on the way home…I picked up some swollen glands…and the muses have sat me down firmly in order to heal this viral plague so I can get back to those brushes and fill up some of the empty wall spaces !

So, I’m going to sip on my chicken soup and dream back on all the glamor and love surrounding the week on MV.

Meanwhile….it’s your turn.

All you who were unable to make the premiere, and all of those who left the theater wanting to watch it all over again, and again…you can now just click on the link above and be magically transported to The Artist Odyssey website…grab a bowl of popcorn, and watch this movie on the screen of your choosing.

All manner of good things, and summer love, to you all…

Movie Tickets

big poster72

Well…in a little over a week
it will be MOVIE TIME !!!

This is a reminder that,
if you are on the island of Martha’s Vineyard next week,
and you want to join us for the premiere of the movie,
Visions of Home, Directed, by David and Barbarella Fokos,
produced for Chris Fessenden, founder of
the new arts website venture,
TAO The Artist Odyssey
all you need is a ticket.

The tickets are FREE.

But you do need to reserve them.
You can do that in two ways,

By calling the Granary Gallery at  (508)693-0455

Or by reserving ONLINE with the MV Film Society
When you click on this link you can view the movie trailer,
and click on the BUY TICKET button to reserve your tickets.

Don’t worry, it says BUY but the tickets are free.
You will not be charged in any way for them.

Visions of Home
Premiere Friday July 29, 2016 at 6pm
Capawock Theater, Vineyard Haven
Martha’s Vineyard

For general information about the film center and film society programming, please email info@mvfilmsociety.com or call 508-696-9369.

Our Ladies of Menemsha

Our Ladies of Menemsha

If I did my job right,
a lot of you are going to recognize
at least two of these
ladies of Menemsha.

The one in the middle is my favorite, Jane Slater.
This is the fortieth year for the shop that she and her husband Herb
have owned in the little fishing village on the island of Martha’s Vineyard.

Her dear sweet swordfisherman of a partner Herb
was called to the fleet in heaven
a couple years ago,
and their even sweeter companion of a pup Lucy
soon thereafter to be by his side…
but Jane…
she’s a Yankee through and through,
and the island needs her
around for a good long while yet,
thank you very much.

But…40 years of being a shop-owner,
behind that desk, that chapter is about to close.
The sign comes down when the leaves start to drop this fall.

40 years of telling everyone who walks in that she’d be happy to answer any questions,
while Herb puttered back behind the curtain,
and Lucy’s tail could be heard thumping at his side,
and the good folk of the island wandered in and out,
only the truest among them
being offered that one extra chair
for a set-a-spell chat.

Some of my fondest memories of spending time with Ted
were the visits we made there.
Ted got the seat.
The three of them, Jane, Herb and Ted
had a lifetime of island stories to tell,
and my heart aches with the desire,
for one more afternoon of just listening to them pull on a good yarn.

I painted this mostly for me.
So that I could invite her into my studio,
so far away from that island…
to spend some time
sitting in the chair by my easel,
and listen to more of her stories
as I tried to capture
the elusive sparkle
in those beautiful eyes
just there
in that smile
at the edge
of her heart.

In Our Wake

osprey

We shall not cease from exploration,
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time.

T. S. Eliot

Stripped bare of its family…

of all their resting,
reading, playing,
love making,
place holders…

with every thread
of their living here
hauled away…

and her shelves
and floorboards
gently
swept…

where wildflower,
and wildlife,
are set to reclaim…

here,
in our wake,
in the light of her last sunset…

after all those days
of our exploration…

what I know of this place…
is that it was home.

A Secret Chord

A Secret Chord

I was going to post this later,
but after the madness of the violence this week,
I am searching for some kind of peace.
This is a study I did of Skip.The expression was so powerful,
intimate and human…
and maybe
somewhere in that mix
there is some common ground.
Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

It was my Favorite

this was my favorite

I always dreamed of being able to see the ocean
from this kitchen window,
while the bacon sizzled.
The last summer we gathered on the bluff,
this was the view.

I will remember this tiny galley space,
full of friends,
grabbing for pots and pans,
reaching behind the dish-washer,
who was sudsing away at the old porcelain sink…
criss-crossing some other arm,
in search of a knife for the cheese plate…
and the two of us who were wrangling the lid
on the about-to-boil lobster pot,
which took up three of the four burners on the little stove,
leaning to one side,
as the screen door came banging in,
and one or other of the urchins came flying by,
after being told to fetch the bug spray
for those who were re-applying after showers
and a day at the beach.

If you were standing in that kitchen,
looking out this window,
and turned to your right,
you would be enlisted as the “passer”.

The sliding window,
opened to the sun porch,
was the pass through for the ones
who were charged with setting the table,and relaying drink orders,
and hurrying the cooks along
as the hungry beach stragglers,
who had done the breakfast service,
were seated at the long blue benches.

So many meals,
so much laughter,
some dancing,
and not a few kisses,
we just simply lived love
in that space.

When first I visited this camp,
on the bluff,
at the edge of the world,
there were six.

The most perfectly weighted,
richly glazed,
smoothly worn,
ceramic mugs.

They aged with us,
but even with a crack or chip or two,
I could happily lose myself
in that deep marine indigo cave.

At the end
there was one
alone to remember,

with the patina
of all those morning hands…

the whispers of our days
lived by the sea.

 

Bring Him Home

Bring Him Home

I still miss him every day.
The studio has a few precious touchstones,
that trigger the corners and pockets of my memory,
and light up an arc,
between this world and the next.

An impossibly thin teaspoon,
made of coin silver,
a crackled golden holiday ornament,
dangling from an old fishing rod,
a shiny little porcelain figurine,
from the Red Rose Teabag collection…

and this card,
the last we got from Polly,
to thank us for a dinner we hosted,
which features a print of a painting Ted did of their house in Chilmark.

ted

Their spirits are free to roam now,
and while Polly visits her wind chime to keep me company in the garden,
Ted is right there on my shoulder, always,
tweaking the muses and directing the brushes.

On the island it is different.
I think it must be harder for their myriad island friends.
It’s a small place, and hard not to drive by their house,
to get almost anywhere.

Last year we all but drove off the road,
when we came around the bend and saw the old structure,
risen, like Lazarus, from it’s resting place,
and jacked up 10 feet off of the ground.

Renovations had begun,
and a skeleton remainedPeat black wooden ribs laid bare of their clapboard,
and scaffolded light pouring into the dark maw of a foundation…
the absolute void of the centuries of human life lived within.

Even my deep love of archeology and history,
and origin-of-the-species exploration that so enjoys a good treasure hunt…
was numbed, by the wave of grief and the smacked into realization,
that they were not, as I had comfortably come to fool myself…
still sitting, just there in the front room,
nodding in the wingchair,
beside the window,
with the light on.

That warm soft light
was a beacon for many a traveler.
I, for one, couldn’t bear that corner to be dark…
So, I painted it back on.

An Art Night Detour…

Sunset Skiff

Sunset Skiff  –  24 x 32

I was driving through Vineyard Haven,
on the way to our annual Art Night dinner,
and I could tell by the slowing of the oncoming traffic,
that there was some kind of light show happening in my rear view mirror.

So I ducked into the boat launch lot,
overlooking the Lagoon,
and turned back into the light.

It was October,
and, when the island slows way down,
and the air is crisp,
the wind has only a few stalwart vessels to buffet.

We often plan our gatherings
so we can share a sunset before getting down to the feast,
and the lively conversations about all things art.

On this night,
I knew they would understand,
if I was delayed in the hopes of capturing the details,
having been in exactly the right place to observe this tapestry of color,
reflected on two of my favorite muses.

Turns out we all had the same idea,
on our separate island roads,
with different mediums in mind,and came together,
as always,
fired up with that creative zeal,
which fuels our souls.

Stopping everything for a sunset…
what it means to be an artist.