At the top of the craggy hill,
inside of the stone walled gate,
is a small patch of Irish green,
a few wooden picnic tables,
with heavy stones in their centers
to keep the ever blowing wind
from sailing the menus up and across the burren
and out over the wild Atlantic sea,
and blue aproned Ana,
who serves the best fish chowder
Herself has ever tasted.
Ah, yer ever so kind…
such a warm and hearty response for Macy,
and I’m humbled, for my sins, by that.
This then, is Tomas.
He who lets Macy take the lead
as they welcome travelers to their tiniest of the Aran Islands.
This week, the annual Bodhran festival is taking place there.
On my bucket list, it is.
When they throw open the barn doors,
I’m certain Tomas and Macy
can hear all those drums a’ beating.
Brilliant.
It’s been right there,
over my shoulder,
for lo these many seasons gone by…
I’ve kept my head down,
brushes flying,
and creative fires burning
all the days in between this and my last post.
And just like that…
the summer show at the Granary Gallery is HERE !!!!!
Sunday July 30 is the opening reception
I’ll be rolling out the new work on this blog and on Facebook and Instagram,
so I’ve got lots of fidgity computer work to fit in between the last few brushtrokes
over the dwindling weeks in the next month. Gulp.
I just wanted you to know I’m still here.
So,
to get us started…I give you…
Black Irish – 32 x 48
This is Thomas’ horse Macy.
They both live on the island of Inisoirr, off the Wild Atlantic Coast of Ireland.
I’ll fill you in on their story,
and ours along the way, so stay tuned…
for now,
it’s back to the easel.
a text..
from the jungle…
from Granary Gallery qwner Chris Morse…
“I thought your hat should cross a suspended bridge in the rain forest
today…in the shadow of the volcano Arenal in Costa Rica…cheers.”
That’s sorta fun…and thoughtful indeed.
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.
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.
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…
This is almost what my studio kitchen looks like today…
Add a kitchen table, stacks of art books and magazines,
two baskets of laundry, another row of teacup shelves,
a different iron, and a large bernese mt dog at my feet…
and you would be welcome to come join us
as we head into the final stages of preparing
to leave for the Granary Gallery show !
I left the ironing ’til last.
Despite my predilection for sweats and smocks,I do try to make an effort to look respectable
when I leave the studio and venture out into the real world.
And, while this heat dome is determined to hover over the east coast,
I am determined to let linen
keep what little air movement there may be…flowing.I’m halfway through the ironing.
For the last two hours, Finnegan has been laying in front of the air vent.
I needed a break, so I’m writing to say hey,
stay frosty out there my friends,
and island breezes…here we come !
There you are…
Fifteen paintings to mark the fifteenth year of showing at the Granary Gallery.
Our wildly good fortune has evolved into enduring friendships and unwavering support.
Herself and I are grateful every single day that Chris Morse agreed to hang my paintings on the wall of his Red Barn. For the last fifteen years, he, his wife Sheila, their entire family, the extraordinary staff of the gallery, and the generous patrons and supporters on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, have made it possible for me to wake up every day and go to my studio and …paint.
I am one lucky artist, and I do not take one single minute of the last fifteen years at my easel for granted. With just a bit more of that luck, and all the energy I can muster, we will have many more years of collaboration, and friendship, together.
Thank you all.
Be not afraid.
I called her Scout.
Because, I knew I was going to be spending
a lot of intimate hours with this sheep
and she needed a name.
Because, on the day I started this painting,
the news came across the airwaves
that Harper Lee had died.
And because I wanted to be just like
Atticus’ curious, strong,
loyal and fiercely brave
daughter Scout.
It was late in February
when I began this painting.
We were deep into a very rough winter
of care-giving and hospice nursing
for Pat’s elderly aunt and uncle.
His death in November
left a wife of 72 years to grieve
through the cobwebs of Alzheimers.
Two days after I began this painting,
Aunt Mary died, in the dark hours
between dusk and dawn,
while Pat slept
on the floor beside her bed.
The afternoon before,
out of a deep state of rest,
Mary sat up in bed and cried,
Pat, help me, I’m so afraid.
Taking her hand Pat comforted Mary
with the words that her room was full of angels,
and all of them were there to take her to Bob.
Pat’s art is her compassion.
She was born to be a hospice nurse.
It is hard, meaningful work,
that only someone strong,
and fiercely brave can do.
Her courage runs fathoms deep.
The grief that followed Mary’s death,
was interrupted by waves of peace.
In the wake of that chapter in our lives,
I was drawn into a profound intensity of focus,
as I tried to shine some light on the emotions
that were trying their best to hide.
Scout and I spent those weeks together,
weaving our way through her pasture of grasses,
and catching the sunset in the fibers of her fleece.
I had been listening to Louis Penny’s wonderful
Three Pines Mystery series, and was so happy to be
among the old friends her characters have become.
They are real, and honest, loyal and brave.
Spiked with just enough wit and humor to keep my pencils sharp.
At some point,
most likely when I was struggling with
refracting the rainbow of light
through one of those four hundred million locks,
I caught a new word, and paused the book
to go back and listen again.
She was describing the words that Seamus Heaney
had written to his wife, on his deathbed…
Noli Timere
I put down the brushes.
Scout smiled.
As I am writing this now,
in this troubled world,
with so much to fear,
I am sitting next to Scout,
framed in her quiet island pasture,
searching my soul
for the courage… to listen.
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.