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.
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.
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.
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…
Here he is sawing one of the great pine boards that his pal Ted gave him.
A couple of these fine specimens are tucked away in his shop …
to be fashioned into something sorta like this…
Which, as my friend Ted would have said…is sorta fun.
And that jogged me to come back here to my own blog and record another update on the New Studio build.
Racing towards the finish line now, the last few weeks have been about fine tuning the original designs and trimming out the interior.
Dan has begun the library and got the first stack of boards ready this week and set up a staining station for me.
Maggie and I were ready…and I got my first taste of what it will be like to “work” in my new studio…
It brought me to tears and I turned up the tunes and danced the night away.
We had already had a cold opening of sorts with a “Friendsgiving” which couldn’t be beat… (Next year we’ll be eating at Peter’s table)
Another milestone was the addition of Ishmael on the roof. Jake got the job done and gave her the first spin…
While Dan and Skippy made piles of sawdust inside the New Studio, I made my own small pile of shavings while carving a plaque for the library. The HN Studio motto will have pride of place in its new home…
But first we needed to add some railing to the loft…
With the Solstice on our doorstep the sunsets and the gloaming are bringing the place to life…
And we are all full tilt tired at the end of these shorter and shorter days…
May your winter days be filled with warming sunlight and muddy pawprints…
We have windows. And a great big door. And a roof.
And on top of that roof we have…
A tiny cedar tree.
An old time tradition of “Topping Off” was to nail a small fir tree to the tippy top of a new building as the tallest member of the structure was in place. By way of appeasing the goddesses of nature whose job it is to watch over the trees, we who have used new lumber to create shelter pay homage.
And inside we have the beginnings of a glorious open space for the light to live…
and a cozy nook of a library where in the books can live…
As I write this blog post from the temporary office in the old studio which we are slowly beginning to call, The House, there are two crews of tradesmen at work banging and sawing away inside the New Studio. Remnants of Hurricane Ian are still bringing waves of showers through a third day of dark and stormy weather but it is high and dry and safe inside the new building and the sound of real progress just makes my heart soar.
There was a peek of sunshine a minute ago, and it lit up the trunk of the maple tree just outside this window. A patch of bright red appeared which I suspect is poison ivy but it screamed AUTUMN at me. And the chill in my fingers are I type confirm that the seasons have changed. This one is my favorite and I say bring on the knitting needles…
Just wanted to give you all an update before I head back to the easel.
May your furnaces run clean and your pumpkin spice longings be sated.
I’m writing this from the old studio back porch Been sitting here all morning Watching big machines moving heaven and earth Well mostly earth And big stones They move in sync with slow motion arcs A graceful and very loud dance.
I’ve also been thinking my way into writing this, the last of the painters notes for this year’s GG show. In my head for days now The focus keeps shifting And I keep putting it aside Recognizing that I’m not settled enough yet So I step back and out of my own way.
This morning’s air is clearing and blessedly cooler once again And maybe that’s all that I needed to see That this painting began as an homage to that wall.
It’s Jane’s wall, but she’d be the first to tell you that the great stone walls of Chilmark belong to the island, the islanders, and the town not the landowners.
This one runs through the backyards up on crick hill in Menemsha But long long ago When that land was farmland It was built to make use of the tilled up boulders And to fence in or out the pasture.
Jane remembers walking through that gate opening as a girl So I took out the shrubbery that lives there now And gave her back the passage. She believes it to be the tallest original stone wall on the island And I believe Jane.
So last October when we came to visit And she and Herself were solving all the problems of the world I stepped out on Jane’s deck to explore And the Muses had lit the place up. The wall was raked with that brilliant autumn island light And it was as if seeing it for the first time.
The sun streaming through the crystal clear air was similar to this morning’s back porch light And maybe that’s why I’ve finally found my way back in.
Yes the painting is about the wall It started there And never was about anything else But today As I sit watching the work being done to build the foundation of my new studio I see that it is also about the people who built that wall.
Solid is absolutely one way to describe the islanders. A disposition bred out of the challenges of living on a rock in the middle of the ocean Moving heaven and their own patches of earth To raise themselves and their families into generations of community.
I guess that’s what humans have always done And Vineyarders would be the first to tell you they’re nothing special But the ones I know Are pretty special to me And that’s about all I was really ever trying to say with this painting.
Now it’s time to zoom out… Remember that dear little blue painted hinge ?
The Coming and the Going – 36 x 24
The Coming and the Going
That has come to signify this era for so many. Writ large or writ local some of the shiftings have been tectonic while others mere whispers of change.
The Painter’s Notes for Unhinged…
(Which you can read by clicking on the image above)
…well that journal entry sets the scene for… The Going
This painting gives you the harbor’s perspective of this particularly seismic change in the town of Menemsha.
In Menemsha all manner of vessels and humans are constantly in the pursuit of both…
Coming into port Going out to sea This gentle village is always in motion.
On this day last October there was a fair bit of going as Larsen’s Fish Market was being demolished to make way for a new version of that special old salt.
If you take the time to compare with Unhinged you will see that in this composition zoom in closely… that dear blue painted hinge still holds fast and there is just this one last corner of wall left standing.
As in all artistic endeavors the artist is free to edit. I have gently done so here removing most of the heavy machinery and repainting the green dumpster.
For years now I’ve been looking for a way to bring that great big landing net into a painting ever since I found it washed ashore on Stonewall beach. It was hopelessly beyond use for a fisherman but I loved the brokenness and it has been reminding me as it leans against my old studio stairs of the power of the sea.
So it was sorta fun that here in proportion to the old and now broken fishing shack it could stand tall and represent.
Over the decades of studying those rhythms of steady comings and goings I have learned that while there can be stillness…
those spaces in between
…there is always some manner of change on the horizon.
Coming to the end of a year of sometimes brutal and always jarring shifts in our world there is wonderful and joyous change on our horizon.
This week the concrete is to be poured securing a literal foundation for my new studio.
That great big light at the end of the long tunnel coupled with the shipping off of this year’s worth of paintings for next week’s Granary Gallery show has afforded me one of those precious moments of in between.
My spirits are lifting and the peace is familiar and kind.
At rest finally with both the going and the coming.
Right at the stop sign and just over the little tidal bridge and our first stop is…
Drawn Butter – 30 x 24
This is Poole’s Ok Not any more But it was back then And it’s hard to teach this old dog new tricks
The captain of this ship was Everett Poole. He left the helm a while back and left the planet a few short months ago.
He wore many hats over his 91 years in Chilmark but I remember him in a red hat on the stool in this corner of his shop pipe wisping away with that hammer in his hand.
The reference photos I used were from a few years ago. Donald took over for his dad Everett for a while there and now Stanley owns it. Someone could probably date those old pics just by reckoning the price of the lobsters. And lordy that butter was a bit salty.
But remembering all those last minute trips to pick up the catch of the day and the cups of warm chowder we picked up along the way to the brisk autumn beach…
