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.
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.
“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.
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.
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 !!!
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.
This is a pairing down of what’s left of the original Camp Sunrise.
But it’s by no means the end of her story.
Merely the beginning of the next chapter.
The family endures and they are carrying on the legacy of that magical place.
They have built a new house out back beyond the meadow
and were able to move the original old garage along side.
The old sleeping cottage is there too and the essence of that humble anchor
will live on for the making of new memories for generations to come.
I visited the new site just after the construction was complete.
On the day I drove down the long lane there was a wild and wicked wind storm.
It was honestly touch and go as to whether or not it was safe to get out of the car.
But I did.
I watched from behind the new camp house
as the wind whipped around the newly knotted clothesline
and what did I do…
I ripped the shirt off my back and pinned it in place.
It held.
The new house held.
The legacy holds.
From the new front porch
you can see the white stones clearly in the distance.
They are still keeping us all safe.
I took artistic license to move the clothesline back up to the edge of the bluff.
I didn’t ask
but I think the muses approved.
This painting
is by way of walking backwards
in a circle.
Retracing steps along my path
to here.
I have it in mind to make my way back
to the beginning.
When I first met the island.
Which was by way of
the gift of Lynn.
You can find most of the breadcrumbs I’ve been leaving
sprinkled throughout my paintings.
It’s all there
if you know where to look.
Some of the signposts I’ve left
are bolder than others.
This one is positively screaming
at the top of her joyful lungs…
I was here.
Reduced slowly and with a wild patience
like the simmering of a fine balsamic glaze
the essence of camp, for me,
will always be Lynn’s spirit.
And like the foundation of the island itself
the embodiment of her soul, for me,
is that Chilmark wall.
She was its tender caretaker.
It was her mission and her meditation
to clear it every year
of the entwining vegetation.
Whose mission it was every year
to further obscure
those rugged faces.
Those ancient maplines of New England.
So as I work my way back
I’ve begun to reach out
and to play around the edges.
I’ve been dancing around this idea
that in order to tell the story
to do justice to the monumental opening
in the fabric of my time
which was her introducing me
to the Vineyard
I would need to paint her wall.
I want it to be big
bigger than life
like Lynn’s life always was.
But the muses seem to want me
to come in sideways.
Gently gently.
So this year I made a start.
The wall in Jane’s Crow is a little sliver.
And this one the next
only a little bit more substantial
and with a sidestep
which the Muses threw in my path
by way of Krista Tippet and an episode of OnBeing.
She was interviewing the nature writer Robert MacFarlane
primarily about his new book, Underland, A deep time journey,
and the conversation wound its way to the image of
“the ghost hand”.
I knew instantly when I heard his description
that I had my way into this painting.
Actually, until that moment
I had no idea that this WAS going to be a painting.
It literally sprang onto the easel.
When it happens like that
I jump right the way over and let it flow.
I’m still circling
but this is an important pebble on that road.
The oft painted line of white rocks
has been fortified
with one single stone left
to keep us safe on that bluff.
The sea still rises beyond
but viewed only through the lacy openings
like those of the ancient laid Celtic Ceide.
I’m going to transcribe the original quoted conversation here
and let you sit with it for a spell
A hand …
reaching across time…
and into the future.
OnBeing – ep. 962 Recorded in 2019
Robert MacFarlane
“There is one image at the heart as it were of Underland, and OF THE Underland, which is the hand.
The open palm, the stretched fingers, and that we know first, is in a way the first mark of art.
The maker would place their hand on the cave wall and then take a mouthful of ochre, red ochre often,
and then spit the dust against the hand and then pull the hand away and so you leave the ghost print.
And, for me, (it is) that hand, that open hand, that is reaching across time, that is pressing against rock,
but leaning also into the future, but also the hand of help and collaboration…and I found it everywhere.”
All those damned Teaspoons – 18 x 26 Available at the Granary Gallery
I have Pete Seeger to thank for this one…and for his lifetime of advocacy and good trouble.
The aging hippie that I am was raised on ’60’s folk music
It runs through my veins and wallows around in my soul
While my fingers can still strum it plays out on my guitar
The aging artist that I am is informed by those chords
And accompanies those rhythms tapping brushes on teacups
Among the many tributes to Pete upon his passing to that big sing along in the sky
were many references to his activism. Lending his powerful musical voice to social, political and environmental justice inspired many a generation.
But this particular parable…inspired my Muses…
Imagine that there’s a big seesaw. At one end of it is a basket half full of rocks. That end is on the ground.
At the other end is a basket one-quarter full of sand. And a bunch of us with teaspoons, we’re trying to put sand in that end.
A lot of people laugh at us, they say
“Oh, don’t you see, it’s leaking out as fast as you’re putting it in.”
Well, we say, “It’s leaking out, but we’re getting more people with teaspoons all the time. One of these days, you’re gonna see that whole basket with sand so full that this seesaw is going to go zoooom-up in the other direction.”
And people will say, “Gee, how did it happen so quickly?”
Us and our damned little teaspoons.
I don’t remember where I lifted this from but it has been carried over from one sketchbook to another and another for years until…
the Muses decided it was time
the silver topped stick was Ted’s
the well worn cane came by way of my great grandfather
the teaspoons sat in Jane’s shop
the teacups from my shelves…
the magic
the determination
the hope and the joy…
that’s all Pete…
will you grab a teaspoon
and join us ?