Tag: art

Red Beet Eggs

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the garden gate

I have had this painting title in my sketchbooks for years.

Came close to getting it up on the easel a few times and the Muses were excited
but I let myself be swayed by nay sayers.

My studio is in Pennsylvania and there were some folks here who thought nobody else
in the world would know about the regional tradition of pickling eggs with red beets.

This is the first year that my new kitchen garden beds have been full of dirt and
enough compost to plant some crops and the first seeds in the ground were red beets.

They did famously and when the first batch was ready to be harvested
I got a fresh panel up on the easel ready to go.

I chose to leave out the sugar and sweet onion and spices from this composition
but for those following along with the “Recipe Series” I layer slices of onions, cooked beets, hard boiled eggs and spices then mix, with the beet juice left behind after cooking them…a cup of sugar, a cup of vinegar and basically empty the spice cabinet into it then pour to fill the mason jars.

The longer the eggs are in the jar the deeper purple they get and the sweet savory flavor they absorb
makes for a nice and colorful addition to a salad or a lunch packed for the beach.

My advice…

Listen to your Muses
not the naysayers
and paint what you want.

School’s Out

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the eyes of a child

The day after the Derby ended
there was a moment
in the very late afternoon
in the very late fall
when I was buzzing the bite.

I parked at the beach
to wait for my chowder to cool
and I noticed the birds
fighting the frigid wind
had stopped for their own reasons.

I smiled to see the youngster
heading out to the rocky pier
sun dancing on the tip of his fishing pole
and then noticed
that all of the fishermen were kids.

You could tell
because they were running
and jumping
and helping each other
secure their lures
and their hats.

I opened the bag
of oyster crackers
pulled down my hat
thought about
how good it felt to run.

Scallop Season

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the seasons

I’ve watched the hinges
on this fishing shack door
go through a rich transformation.

My knees were new
when the galvanized grey
was still shiny

My shoulders could carry
the youngest grandchild
when the rust took hold

My eyes were clear
when the bottom one
was replaced

My hands could still
knit sweaters
when the paint started to chip

Now
as you can see
most of the white wash is gone
the screws have given way
and the bottom swings out
when a nor’easter blows across the pond

We’ve seen a lot of seasons
but we’ve both lived
to tell some tales

Pond Gate

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the front door

I just figured out #24 across.
The clue…
Beachfront house asset.
4 letters.

The answer is this painting.

So if you were to stand inside of the painting Stone Shadows
and walked through the stone all and up that grassy slope
keep going along the left side of the house
and turn to your left.

This is your view.

Which is also the answer.

To every difficult puzzle
you have ever had to solve.

Stone Shadows

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…an island frame

For decades
this house was our turning point.

Our first left turn
after arriving on the ferry.

The bumpy sandy road
to paradise.

An up island touchstone
and silent welcome.

When I was painting
the gabled ends
I remembered one summer
when the shingles were being replaced
on its roof.

Every time we passed by
the carpenter was hauling
another bundle of cedar.

We found out later
that she had cancer.
It didn’t slow her down.

I like to think
she drew some strength
from the rock solid
soul of that house.

Kitchen Sisters

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the open window

My pal Ted…
On many of our drives around the island
as we passed through the little hamlet of West Tisbury
Ted would retell the story of two white houses
sitting side by side
mirroring each other’s front porches
and clapboarded wings.

You know about those houses right ?
They were built by two sisters
who wanted to live separately
but keep an eye on each other
so they built them so the kitchen windows
were just across the way.

I really enjoyed
that while painting all that white washed wood
I never actually dipped into the white paint.

And that when I started searching online
for a place to stay while visiting for this summer show
I did a double take
to see this front porch
from a slightly different angle
listed as available to rent.

No coincidence, I expect…Ted…
that we’ll be getting to choose for our ownselves
which of those windows
to open soon.

PS – upon reflection and looking more closely at google earth there are two other houses on that side of the street which would fit the brief of side by side kitchen windows…so if I got the house mixed up please don’t tell Ted.

No. 16

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…barn door

Bill’s barn door.

That dear man had mad mad organizing skills.
I have never ever seen anything
as satisfying
as the order which he brought
to his vast collection
of tools.

It was sublime.

There was another room
the opposite wing
on this beautiful barn
which at one time
had every square inch
covered in minutely crafted rows
upon rows
of multiple variations
hanging together
like a symphony
written on dusty brown wooden walls
one note at a time.

There are some
left in his wake.

Who carry on the tune.

The Boat Shop

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the mystic

I stumbled on this shop at the Mystic Seaport Museum for the first time last year.
It was October and early in the day and for some reason it was empty of people
and full of tiny treasures.

Half my life ago I was a woodworker.
My shop was in the basement of a log cabin.
There was an annex of sorts, the back porch, which was covered.
I kept the shaving horse and chopping stump
out there for whittling the green wood down from log to chair parts.
Sitting on that bench I had a private water view
and families of wild creatures along the creek
who shared their songs and dances and whispered dreams with me.

My father worked with wood.
It was a hobby he did alone
and also in basements.
Growing up we moved a dozen times
and I remember a long cardboard box
held together by wide brown Allied moving van tape
in which he carefully stored a wooden ship model kit.
The Cuttysark.

It was off limits to his four wee children
but once or twice I got to see him with an xacto knife trimming tiny parts
and a tweezer pulling black thread through the blocks
until he completed it and built a display case and brought it up to the dining room.

And I remember well the excitement, curiosity and wonder in his eyes
when we visited Mystic for the first time.
When I pause like this to think about it
there are quite a few loves that we shared.

Maybe he is smiling somewhere reading this
and seeing that I have my own long cardboard box and xacto knife
with wee wooden bits of the Cuttysark
waiting for me on the library shelf.

Rest Oars

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the lens of history

When a boat comes back home to the mother ship
the command is given to “Rest Oars”.

This boat lives aboard the sailing ship the Charles W. Morgan
in the Mystic Seaport Museum and according to their site it is the oldest commercial ship still afloat.
The Morgan was built in 1841 and used to hunt whales for oil and baleen.
It is a magnificent vessel and the museum has done an outstanding job of restoring her.

As with all the buildings and ships at the museum,
they are preserved to tell our history and keep the stories alive.

The story of the whaling industry is deeply woven into maritime history
and the telling of that story is as brutal as it is adventurous.
No one told it better than Melville and my copy of Moby Dick was the first book I read in my new studio library.

The US chapter of that saga was ended when those oars were given the command to rest in 1971.
The Morgan’s whaling days ended well before that in 1921.
When we know better we do better.

What I love most about this little whale boat is that every time I visit the museum
someone is nearby or often sitting in it
telling how and why it was used.

In its simple design and complicated patina
it is a touchstone to the generations of sailors
who went down to the sea in ships.

Call me Ishmael.

DO NOT PAINT

Posted on by heather

Seeing it through…the layers


And then Maggie and I took a walk.
Through the seaport village of Mystic, along the harbor’s edge, and out back to the shipyard.

A truly dog friendly museum with water bowls and benches and grassy greens in between the historic buildings…
and ships.
Vessels of all manner and size and in every degree of completeness and restoration.

As we rounded the harbor into the working shipyard we ran into the behemoth of a hull
of the L.A.Dunton.
Drydocked for a major restoration, the commercial fishing schooner which was built in Essex, MA in 1921, was awaiting the ship carpenters to do what they do best…preserving ships and their history
so the stories can be seen and told a hundred years from now.

Out of the water she stood at least two stories tall. Stem to stern is 104 feet of massive wooden planking.
As we walked around the rear of the ship the sun…
there goes that wonderful sunlight again…
was raking over the hull.
The top half was deeply in shadow the beneath the slanting line the rust and paint work was alive with color.

The blazing red and the electric golds.
Walking up close I noticed those ceramic squares attached to different areas of the surface.
Worn almost to the point of disappearing, I could still read the words…

Do Not Paint
Well consider me challenged  Muses…you’re on !

My first art teacher Jim Gainor used to tell us…
Paint the air not the chair.
That giant negative space created by the opening where the propeller is housed presented the perfect frame in which to
paint the masts of the Amistad as I saw them just around the corner that day.


PS- The Docent at Mystic seemed to think that the plaques were meant to warn shipwrights
because the type of paint used would corrode the surface of the metal fastenings.
I observed that over the years this warning was overlooked.