Tag: paintings

Postcards from the Ledge – 8

Posted on by heather

These are the Glory sisters.
They greeted me fully open to this stellar morning…even though I was later than usual.

New Rules…

1 – We can only watch two episodes of any given series at night.
I can’t expect to get any painting OR gardening done if the first number my eyes see in the morning starts with a 9.

2 – I can work in the garden with absolutely no guilt, rationalities or apologies of any kind all morning.

3 – IF I agree to stop at noon.

4 – Where upon I will eat breakfast AND lunch in one meal.

5 – All other work, including blog posts, bill paying, business stuff, and random google searching will be ceased at 1pm.

6 – Where upon I will show up at the easel and begin to paint.

7 – Only two pieces of Easter Chocolate per day…Until Easter…writes the Atheist.

8 – I will put down the brushes by sunset…currently around 8pm.

9 – Going forward I will use only two olives in my Quarantini…s.

10 – This year I will break all records for time spent in the sky chair.

It is now 2:29.
So the rest of this blog post will be a dump of photos showing progress on Rule # 2…

Yesterday was potting up day…
The Dill got new digs…

I am figuring out a recipe for my own potting soil since this is the year of stay at home ingenuity…some sieving required…

A prescription for heartburn pills makes for the perfect tamper downer when seeding flats…

Teeeeeeny seeds…wedding ring for scale…

This morning’s glorious sunshine was perfect to plant parsnips…

Ruth welcomes all seeds…so the last two feet of this parsnip run will have carrots, those white dots are pelleted seeds, Ruth preferred scattering over rows and it was much easier to try that here. The ground was rich dark brown and amazingly…in this the wettest part of the yard…and after a torrential storm in the middle of the night…was well drained and easy to work. I did add a thin layer of peat moss to help keep the seeds under some cover, then added a thin fleece over that to keep the light peat from blowing away, and the netted tunnel over that to keep critters out.

On the other end of the RS garden I’ve got the squash tunnel set up.

Last year, you may remember the loofah insanity, lots of leafy growth, some late hanging fruit, a total of exactly one three inch loofah… was harvested and that was by accident when I found it walking around the yard in January. 

Yeah…she’s adorable.

And I was able to move two more straw bales to complete the entry gate…The bales will have flowers planted in them for the pollinators.

And now it is 2:54…

One of the changes in our lives with this stay at home deal is that we, who do not have a washing machine, are doing our laundry in the sink. The drying part is no problem because we have an umbrella line in the studio yard.

I noticed this morning that my new method of brush wiping…when using the tiny brushes they tend to hold more of the turpentine in the ferrule when I wash them out…which I do more often than usual when rigging boats…hint as to current subject matter…the ferrule is the silver part of the brush pictured below and the paper towels rest on my knee to wipe that excess off.

So this is how I noticed what I noticed…

I guess that my right elbow is resting on…all that excess wet paint.

My uniform wears her battle scars well don’t ya think?

So of course…today’s painting is…

Bringing in the Sheets – 2014

I know people,
ok, two people,who hang their laundry out all year long.
My laundress is not a fan of this.

In our next house there will be a washer and dryer.
I have promised.

For now, and for the last quarter of a decade,
that weekly chore has been done up to town,
next to the local pizza joint.

Herself is on a therapists basis with the owner,
and most of her best stories have originated
between the spin cycles.
The characters join her there,
making entrances and exits
worthy of the bard Himself,
with the odd parrot  or two
on the shoulders of the jester stage left.

So, when it came time to pose for this painting,I actually had to search the studio for the clothespin.
It’s Ted’s, and that elegant swan shaped clip at the end
is the perfect balance of classic style and Yankee ingenuity…
just like Ted.

I hung the line at sunrise,
between the greenhouse and the grape arbor
and waited.
The first rays of sunlight caught the top of the sheet
and I quickly called Pat over from the cabin to pose.
In the initial sketches, done a few weeks before,
the shirt was to be white,
so I figured I could fake that part or pose her again later.

We played around with the angles and then I sketched
and took some photos and went inside to work.
When she called to let me know that Herself was headed up to the laundromat
I walked outside to stretch my legs and whammo…
a whole new light was cascading across that sheet.
I made her run back and,
in very short order,
I had what would become the final composition.

You can see that the white shirt,
which was still crumpled in the unwashed laundry bag,
when the light changed for the better,
stayed hidden there…
and the striped shirt of the laundress
which seemed to echo the uniforms
of those hard scrubbing for-bearers…
remained.

I believe fundamentally
in paying homage
to the women
upon whose shoulders we rise
and to the makers
of clothespins.

Postcards from the Ledge – 7

Posted on by heather

So…yesterday I turned 62.

A wonderful day book-ended with a spell in the sky chair. This sunset deepened and lasted for almost two hours. Ta very much nature goddesses.

And a heartfelt thank you to all who reached out to send birthday greetings. You all know what it means and it seems like one of the ways this crisis is impacting our worlds is that the tenor and quality of distance socializing feels genuinely kinder. So let’s keep paying that forward. Good on Ya humans !

We were told to expect clouds all day yesterday so, when the sunshine hung around and around I gave in and putzed in the garden.One ridiculous caper found us wetting ourselves after trying to move just one bale of straw. Now it was rain soaked so that added extra weight but I’m guessing close to 80 lbs. I can normally lift dry bales with some effort and, as you’ve read here,  I used to be able to point a finger and rely on Kory to tote those bales.

Alas, the virus, so Pat and I tried…and collapsed after that first bale.

Lunch felt like a good idea so we retreated and treated ourselves to a viewing of …Fantastic Fungi. Wow. Our son Jon turned us on to this movie and movement. You can rent or buy it only from their website…click here. I highly recommend for every curious mind…especially for inquisitive youngsters. They are going to get to see and drive monumental changes in our planet in their lifetimes based on this science. Pick the biggest screen you have access to and get the room nice and dark…enjoy.

The rest of the day was peaceful…planting here and there and checking under the fleece…

The salad bed planted two weeks ago is coming along…slooooowly. Carrots and those beets on the left and spinach on the right had overwintered. I yanked most of the beets as the roots were gnarly. Carrots ok. Spinach ok too. Three lines of lettuce seeds had no germination so I replanted. Radishes are firing up. Side dressing of Dr. Earth’s organic fertilizer and a good soaking and back goes the fleece.

A mediocre supper of Ina’s roasted shrimp, (the shrimp had lots of freezer burn and it should have been 400 degrees in that oven) was lifted by a wonderful sauce of mayo, ketchup, mirin, touch of teriyaki, capers and curry. And we binged two more episodes of Ozark. Late comers we are only on season one. Whew the dreams I had after that…suffice it to say it was a relief to open my eyes this morning and see that the orange jump suit had been left in that nightmare.

These posts are getting long and are mostly just my own way of leaving breadcrumbs, but I will share this morning’s escapade as a PSA.

We had to go out into the world to take Finn to the vet.

It’s all good…don’t fret…Saren…she’s fine…

But part of our goal is to stay on top of a couple of issues that trouble the old gal and part of that regimen is regular shots and meds that we had run out of. In this state, Veterinary Hospitals are considered essential but they are asking to hold off on normal checkups and shots with the exception of Rabies vaccinations. Fortunately for Finn she was due for a rabies booster. And fortunately for us, eternal gratitude to Saren for all things dog here, our vet practice is bang on top of this new world order.

Hill Street Veterinary Hospital

…and a great shout out to Finn’s hero…Dr. Sara Alfano.

They have walk-in hours in the mornings, and a carefully orchestrated protocol for curbside care.

After hearing the tenor of the experts changing over the weekend, alerting that the coming couple of weeks would see the worst impact of this virus, we decided that a quick controlled visit now would be best for Finn.

The only exception to our own protocol was that Pat got to ride along. The poor dear hasn’t been in her car, Martha, for almost a month and that deprivation has been real for her.

Finn requires the aid of a very heavy ramp to help her into the back of the Volvo but we work well as a team and not being able to do HER absolute favorite thing…riding shotgun for her buddy in the car…is an even greater deprivation around here. So…the whole damn family loaded up.

Gloved and masked we drove up and parked. Called the office. They got things ready. Tech came out with mask and  I got Finn out. They whisked her up the ramp and into the clinic. Dr. Sara called on my phone and we chatted about Finn’s treatment and meds and got to check in on her, Sara. As one of our special people…we worry. All good she says. The tech brought our girl back out with a bag of meds. We paid via phone. And Bob’s your uncle that was that.

We took the long way home so we could see the flowers and our favorite trees and, since I got out of the car and was in contact with the bag and the harness Finn wears which they had touched, I performed the decon drill and gave Finn an extra treat and here we are.

A great big high five paw of a thank you to the staff and Docs who made that experience go so smoothly. It honestly felt very weird to leave the house, to see other humans, so little traffic, a small group of teenagers in the high school parking lot standing six feet apart and chatting. And I was hyper aware of the invisible villain lurking just beyond the closed windows of the car.

It feels good to have that addressed and done with and now, after a quick walk around the sunny garden, I can settle back in at the easel.

I think these three are a perfect fit for today…all were Saren’s dogs and all were Finn’s pals…but her Bestie was and always be… Tallie…

Nina – 2010

Margie -2010

Tallie – 2010

Postcards from the Ledge – 6

Posted on by heather

The last few days have been grim.
The siren calls from hospital workers,
the mounting numbers of casualties,
the criminally incompetent leadership from the oval office,
the crippling anxiety that washes over us…
wave after unrelenting wave.

The last few days have been sparkling.
The return of the indigo bunting outside my window,
flats of winter seedlings getting their first feel of wind,
Finnegan laying peacefully in the sunshine,
lazy conversations over the morning kitchen table with my love,
and the glorious unrelenting waves…
of that brilliant new green.

While I admit to finding myself frozen in my easel chair,
not able to summon the creative energy to pick up even the tiniest of brushes,
I am showing up every day.
I know the Muses are here and I’m listening,
but it sounds like static now…loudly buzzing and confusing.

And what I know about that
is to get up outta that chair and go outside.

The glorious gift of having Herself by our sides
during these stay at home days
means Finn and I are at our happiest in our happy place…
wallowing in the brightening colors of the studio garden…

My organizer using her superpower…

Anyone who needs or wants some of this plastic just holler…

While she sorted…I planted…

Two rows of peas planted in Ruth…which is a bit spicy to read back…

And…at the end of that glorious day…a bit of well earned sky chair rest…

So today’s painting will be a very early work which honors another of my love’s superpowers…

The Folder – 2000

This is quite simply inspired by my friend Rex. He is a poet. Our histories have walked side by side for over forty years. Our paths have criss-crossed over most of them. Our souls have always been as one.

And it is for Pat, my folder.

The Folder

Folded things speak well of you
when you’re out of the room.
They hold the near future captive,
like children about to go on recess
or sexual pleasure at the brim of control.
I think of the pressure of your hand
smoothing over the cloth napkin,
the bedsheet, the piece of clothing
that signals the meal to come,
the lovemaking, the spent day —
and how you stack the bath towels
as high as they’ll go, as a driver
well keep the fuel tank near full
during times of shortage. I step out
of the shower looking to the center
of my life, where you have folded it.
Creases will have nothing to do
with edges: It’s no accident
that ledges are ledges and valleys,
so far removed from any real
horizon, where people most often
choose to put down roots and grow.
I like to imagine that God, who,
faced with formlessness, folded
the world into manageable corners,
sent me you to repeat the gesture.
Rex Wilder

Postcards from the Ledge – 5b

Posted on by heather

8:55 am –

Finn and I hauled our groggy souls across the puddles in the lane and up the path to the studio this morning and just like that…
we both had smiles on our faces.

Not only was our quarantine delivery box full…
but the scents of a friend left behind
had both our tails wagging.

Thanks to you Sue,
our coffers are full to brimming and the added bonus
of saying hi over the sack of flour…priceless.

I’m only back here for a quick dip
because it seems I forgot to add some artwork to yesterday’s post.

There is only one painting from the archives which speaks…
nay it screams
all the colors of green that are burgeoning here in the studio yard…

Fiddlehead Primavera  – 2006

From my salad days.
After a long day of framing pictures at the Harvard Coop
I would make my way home
from Cambridge late in the evening.
The Red Line bus would stop at the
Star market across from the Mt. Auburn cemetery.
The overhead electric cable would often slip its grip there so I
sometimes had enough time to run in,
grab a bag of mussels, the fiddleheads,
some butter and a bottle of wine…
and make it back on the same bus.
All for under ten dollars.

Postcards from the Ledge – 5

Posted on by heather

Oh little Brandywine…you can do it !!!

Bend towards the light
even in this week of storms
be the hope
for us all.

Gotta start with the veg.
A few of the flats are ready for planting out there in the big bad world…but we’ve had days of stormy rainy chilly weather and the little dears just shivered and quaked when I suggested we take a walk outside.

This flat of tomato seedlings is making a gallant effort to feed us, and every glimmer of hope gets a round of applause here in the studio.

Our angels have been checking in…thank you all.

All the many birthday wishes and calls for Herself were overwhelming and she is still smiling from the love.

Our social media platforms come alive with stories of helpers and random acts of kindness which makes such a difference.

Neighbor Sue is preparing a grocery grab and has generously offered to take one for the team of elders and pick up whatever we are running low on.
So, in my standard operating mode of neurotic overlord, I have prepared a list…and a C19 shopping kit…

Masks, gloves, and list organized by aisles and accompanied by photos of specific products.

I know this will make her laugh. She puts up with my crazy in such a kind way.

Bagged and ready for her on the porch it will not see the light of day because our store opens for “Vulnerable Patrons” at 6am.

Bless you Sue. I’ll have that extra gasoline for your mower when next you are ready.

On another note of community connections…
We have heard from a Vineyard friend who winters in NYC.
Worried about all our pals there it was good to hear from her, someone behind the barricades as it were, and to share some quarantine stories. It gets very real at the epicenter on every level. Keeping the lines of communication open just to listen feels important now.

Here in the studio the days have adapted to the waves of crisis and have evolved into a new normal.

Having stayed up later than usual… this week we are immersed in 16th century England as we watch Wolf Hall in companion to my re-listening to Hilary Mantel’s series as I paint. Tidings to her for completing this trilogy in time for the quarantine so I can listen to over a hundred hours of Tudors comings and goings. Ironically ? the first book chronicles waves of a seasonal corona virus like disease that topples much of the continent year after year. Helps me to understand our current medical experts’ predictions…

anyway…up late means rising later than usual.

So, Finn and I have been missing the sunrises and wandering over to the studio well into the morn.

Then we do our news/network and email diving, or I do while she secures the perimeter. Then she settles in to guard the gates and I begin to put out fires which have smoldered whilst we dreamt. Cromwell you influencer you…

This morning’s pile of woe was not virus related but it began last night when I went to print out some reference photos only to find that the new ink cartridge would not fit. After an hour of scratching my head and searching through old orders and googling info it has come to pass that I…with the help of Amazon’s misleading product searching…ordered the wrong replacements. To the tune of hundreds and hundreds of dollars. Ordered in January they are no longer returnable.

Double UGH.

I have since remedied this by ordering an entire new set of inks from a more reputable source, B & H Photo. But being in NYC and in the middle of this crisis, I expect there to be delays in shipping…if they ship at all. This can be worked around and is of course not life threatening but I bring it up here in the hopes that I can find another artist or photographer or company who might have this printer in need of ink for which my cartridges do fit…

The Epson SC-P800

I edited this to include a photo of the correct model.
And I happen to have loads of ink just waiting to fill one out there…

The ink was purchased in January and I’d be happy to sell for a nice discount and ship for free.

It’s a shame to let this go to waste.

Anyway…

the mornings do seem to be given over to managing life in the new world order and soon I hope to be spending those hours in the garden.

With this new normal comes a new goal…
to be painting at the easel by noon.
It is now 11:55 and the board of health has insisted that I take a shower before handling tiny brushes so this is how that deadline slips oh so easily into early afternoon…
and then there are those PT stretches to do…
and the stack of bills
which have been released from their final stage of porch decon to be paid…
and a quick game or three of Mahjong just to let the dust settle…
before looking up at the panel before me
and choosing where to begin.

11:59

Stay frosty out there fellow travelers.

And remember…Tits UP !!!

Postcards from the Ledge – 3

Posted on by heather

From the “Nature finds a way” division of the Ledge…

When, way back in January, or was that February,
we, meaning Kory… with me directing from without,
frantically threw everything in the studio kitchen
out onto the studio porch
after finding yet another round of rodential invasion…

the bench filled up with things that were destined to live in the garage…
but needed to be sorted…
so that never happened.

Herself has been wanting to clear it off so guests could have a place to sit.

But we don’t get many guests,
and now…well…
we have had to implement a staging area
for decontamination of deliveries from the big bad world.

You may be able to imagine my surprise when
upon reaching for the blue bag
our resident wren flew up and at me and, with a powerful
shrillness, bade me to step away from her nest.

Twice in the days since I have impulsively reached for that bag.
And both times I swore at my forgetfulness…
almost as solemnly as she
swore at me.

So yesterday I decided a tactile barricade was needed.

Not for her, but for me.

A quarantine
within
the quarantine.

It takes a village.
Take care of each other out there.

Here’s a very early piece, so early that I was still painting in my old studio…
and it was Gulliver by my side.

A Dissembling Breeze – 2002

My studio is on stilts. Telephone polls really. Sixteen feet in the air.
We live in a flood zone by this gently flowing creek.
During hurricane Agnes in the early 70’s the entire cabin was under water.
The single foot of it’s chimney remaining above water gaining mythological proportions.
So when they rebuilt the washed away garage it had to be above the highest flood level.

The supporting beams and joists underneath my tree top studio are exposed.
For the last two seasons an industrious couple of sparrows
have been constructing a condo under there.
Massive in scale I suspect them to be former hippies ever redesigning the commune.
Celebrating diversity, they have woven in feathers from every visiting species and a
generous helping of wool from Pat’s grandmother’s hooked rug
which rests on the steps beneath.

The other day,
on our fifty foot commute to work,
Gully and I found the nest fallen to the pavement below.
A treasure for me… at some cost to the dear ones.

For months thereafter we heard them busily knocking about below our painting feet.
The subsequent structures lacked some vital element
because they lasted only an average of a few days.

It has been a dry hot summer.
I don’t expect them back until spring now.
In the meantime I am collecting a pile of feathers and pine needles and dog hair
at the base of the studio steps.
We are not expecting rain.

 

 

Postcards from the Ledge

Posted on by heather

Well here we are…

In global lockdown…

Living with six feet of separation…
in the hopes of staying on this side of the garden…
which as you can see has just begun…

And potatoes newly nestled in Ruth’s bed…

I’ve been thinking a lot about how lucky I am, as an artist,
to actually enjoy working at home. Social distancing is my norm.
The creative life is not always lived in isolation, but art often begins there.

Making art is about making sense
of the world around us
and within.

The irony is not lost on me in these early days
when artists of all types
are filling the airwaves
with song
and words
and paintings…

Spontaneous acts of generosity
offering touchstones to beauty
portals of peace
that simply reach out to remind us
of the importance
and precious value
of our common human existance…

for free.

When, for the price of a presidential golf trip,
how many schools could bring back the stolen art and music
education to teach new generations
to make that art.

Maybe that will be one new thing that we change
after so much tearing down that is to come.

So, yeah, I feel very lucky to still be able to walk over
from the log cabin each day
and walk around the studio yard with Finn
as the sun rises over the hill
and know that my easel awaits
and the brushes are ready…

I am very scared.
Anxiety and raw fear
blend with the persistent vulnerability of aging
so that those familiar edges
have now become ledges.

But, so far,
the Muses have not wavered.

They greet me at the door.
Remind me of our new family motto…

Tits UP.

So I’m going to join the chorus
and start sending out little postcards
from the studio.

To share some of what is still
so good in our world
some paintings that speak to me of that
and the constant reminder
that the garden gives me
that grace abides.

Winter carrots harvested to make way for spring peas.

Stay safe
Be well
and take care of each other…

AND…

Tits UP !!!

I begin with Skip…Swan Song – An abstract Chilmark Aria

This is Skip.

One of this world’s truly authentic selves.

A person for whom the esthetics of beauty
is the fundamental element of existence.

Someone deeply connected to nature’s expressions,
who finds art and music and dance
vibrating between all living things,
and whose joyful spirit,
when unleashed,
can fill an island with song.

Over a year ago I asked Skip to model for me.
I had some ideas.
Skip had other ideas.

We met and shared some croissants and coffee,
listened to each others’ stories,
talked about art, and Findhorn, and philosophy,
and listened some more.

Then we set out to seek the muses.
Skip pointed me down up-island roads that were hidden from maps,
we stopped for stone walls,
and wildlife,
wildflowers,
and whispers.

There were stories behind every corner,
pebbles on the road, on Skips’ journey,
and a few on mine, and new ones we were creating together.

Skip is a painter.
And one of the things we talked about was
including one of those paintings …in my painting.
We brought it along, and let the muses decide.

We ended up at the bluff, Camp Sunrise.
A melding of sacred spaces.
The morning sun had risen to clear October skies,
and the meadow was just waking up to the light.

This is the part where I get emotional.

Because the morning sessions I spent working with Skip
studying and working,
in that profoundly familiar space,
was the last time I saw the house,
perched on the edge of the planet,
in all her grace and glory,
before they demolished it.

We all knew it was coming.
The time when nature’s pounding would erode the bluff,
wearing away at the land,
until there was no where else for the houses to rest.

In my island time…
which began as the great gift of knowing Lynn Langmuir,
whose generous heart was deeper than the ocean,
and steadier than her beloved stone wall,
that very wall which wanders through this painting…
over the thirty plus years I have been coming to this bluff,
the chicken coop of a farm house,
had twice been moved back from that threatening edge.

It is hard to imagine,
in this painting,
that there is a 40 foot drop from bluff to beach,
just a mere five feet from the edge of her front porch.

And, still, this old Yankee stalwart ship-of-a-shack,
she stood proud,
holding her own,
and by that I mean generations of the Langmuir family,
and the many who were welcomed by them,
into the embrace of this enchanted space.

But the land…ran out.
And so, while the other, more modern structures
of garage and bunkhouse, were able to be moved
out back and beyond the wetlands,
to the farthest section of the parcel,
the bones of this old gal had been deemed too fragile for the move.

You couldn’t tell, from our distant vantage point,
that while Skip and I gamboled among the stones,
and communed with the muses,
the house had been emptied of all its touchstones.

The old wicker woven lounging chair was gone…
the daybeds stripped of their sleep-softened pillows,
kitchen shelves bare of the pastel colored fiesta ware,
paperback mysteries of Riggs and Craig,
no longer insulating the cubby-holed shelves.

Puzzles and kite string, checkers and cribbage…
amber eyed owls who lit up the hearth,
journals of writings from visiting friends,
with new chapters each year for us all to catch up.

New nicks, and old,
from bumps on the bedroom lintel,
where a hundred layers on the yellow painted symbol of a duck…reminding us to.

The tears in each sink from the iron and rust,
the old brown barn coat ever-hanging
on the white wooden hooks behind the green door.

All these objects, and a hundred more …
they have been the keeper of our memories.

The sunny days, the stormy nights,
we grew up in that house,
on the bluff,
as she grew old,
and, in her weathered-shingled way,
became…
the things we are made of.

This painting then,
for the house,
is her swan song.

Skip sings it for us all,
an aria as abstract
as the tapestry of souls
who have ducked to cross her threshold,
and sought refuge in her wings.

In thanks to dear Lynn…
Peace.

Shrimp Mousse Season

Posted on by heather

Shrimp Bowl  –  2008

“Always approach the shrimp bowl as you own it.”    Mary McGrory

‘Tis the season…of Shrimp Mousse

In the all kitchens of my adulthood
Along the margins of each recipe
Tucked and retucked
inbetween the pages of all the cookbooks
I have written in  tiny script
some words to mark the making
and the maker each time I make my way
back to that particular recipe.

A trail of micro journaled jigsaw pieces
which periodically get reassembled as I return
to refresh the ingredient lists
for old and new favorites.

Yesterday, after chatting with dear Peg
about birds and pity and beaches and pools,
I pulled out the well worn card
with her original instructions
for her shrimp mousse.

It has been updated and upgraded
and tweaked over the years, but the bones
remain strong and the sentiment
has become crystalized.

The first entry I wrote on the card was…

1 Jan 2000 – The world has celebrated.
We made it ! Now for some special treats to start
off the new millenium.

What follows are regular entries just about that time
almost every year with the exception
of the few years interim when I seem to have lost
that original card. I do remember the desperate searching
but it seems that the Muses returned it a few years ago…

22 December 2016 – Thought I had lost this recipe –
but in the wild autumn of home repairs -when both kitchens
had to be redone – it was found. Now we are in the dark ages –
and need some peace.

And here we are… planning on making a double batch I sat
down with all three of the Shrimp Mousse incarnations
and when Herself wandered into the studio kitchen
I was smiling through tears.

Chronicled on that little slip of paper
was celebrating the “first day of full time Artisanship”
The last walk with our Gulliver
and the first snowy Christmas with Finn
and this year’s entry made all the more special
to be able to write that we are all still together
around that kitchen table
a bit gimpier
and slower afoot
and settled deeply
into our seasons
of happiness.

Hello blog readers…

Posted on by heather

As squalls of snow flurries surround the studio, the artist within is happily ensconced in her hermitage and the brushes are flying. Had a bookend of visits with Peter Follansbee last week so his painting gets the pride of place here today.

I’ve been away from this portal for so many months that there is a towering pile of posts waiting to be written. Look for me to promise a regular flow of entries, but I’d hedge those bets. My energies and attention span tends to be hyper focused at the easel when I return from weeks away.

While the weather freezed me out of the garden, and the darkness deepens into the solstice, the dust collects on every other corner of the studio except where I and my brushes are at work.

But I’ve taken a quick break to visit the office today because I need to give you a heads up about the prints offered here on my site.

Due to the increased costs of paper and ink the price of prints will be following suit.

Figure I would return the kindness of your years of support by giving you all a heads up…so I’ll wait another month or so and make the price changes take effect on January 31, 2020.

The small prints will go from $95 to $125
The large prints will go from $195 to $225
And I will be charging a flat shipping rate of $12 for all tubes, multiple prints can be shipped in one tube and will only be charged once.

The Menemsha Basin and Strider Prints will remain at their current prices for now.

OK, that’s done.

Now back to my snuggly spot by the heater in the corner with my Muses.

Stay frosty out there and thank you all for being there.
H