Pugster!

Pugster! 

Oil on canvas, 12x12

Please contact me for price and delivery options

How can you not love a pug? Those eyes, those ears, that snorting... We have a pug granddaughter, along with the regular human grandchildren, and while this is not her, it has some of her expression, for sure.

*** 

Turns out that my recent painting of the turtle is not sold - long story - so if anyone is interested in him, please let me know. In the meantime, I have another frog to paint, and oh yes, there are landscapes, too.

***

Those of you who receive my blog by email... would you please go to the real site - click here to reach it - The Accidental Artist -  and let me know: 

• a. if you can see the whole flipcard thing and
• b. what you think of it? 

Thanks! 

***

This week between Christmas and New Year's has been relaxed and easy and fun for me. I have read, I have cooked, I have shopped - all pursuits that have been pretty much nonexistent in my life these past 16 months or so.

 I didn't realize how much I had missed them.

Frog

Frog

Oil on canvas, 30x40

Please contact me for price and shipping/delivery info

I went out today, my first venture into the commercial world since a few days before Christmas. As I drove up to Stop & Shop, I thought, "Yay, there'll be no irritating Salvation Army person there, asking for money, no crowds of shoppers, no annoying Christmas music and pointless decorations, whew."

And then, as I walked up to the store, I realized that I really missed all that stuff. I missed the cheery Salvation Army bells, and the energetic woman who dances wildly at the Groton Stop & Shop. I missed putting my dollar in the pot and feeling helpful. I missed the sappy Christmas songs that I hum along with, or whistle to, or even sing aloud. I missed the bright Christmas decorations, and the people with their stuffed carts and their happy plans and their hopes of joy and peace.

For a crazy moment, I thought - Maybe we should have Christmas all year round, or at least all winter.

Nah. It's better to miss it. Just a little.

***

So... what do you think of the frog?

Christmas Day

Christmas Day

Oil on canvas, 16x20

Please contact me for price and shipping information

As I guess you can see, I spent some time Christmas morning fooling around with the blog. What do you think?

What I like is that you can see so many paintings at one time, and flip through them so easily - I have it set on the "flipcard" option. I think you can set your own view on a variety of different options, is that right?

At any rate, I'd love any feedback. At first, I really wasn't sure about the change, but it is growing on me.

In the meantime, I do love this painting. It feels like Christmas to me, the kind of Christmas I hold in my heart. No Christmas is really like this for me, not since my mother died, but this kind of Christmas, the kind in the painting, lives in all these other Christmases, and in all my family members, and in all my memories and all my hopes.

Merry Christmas to You!

Rufus

Oil on canvas, 12x12, commission

Christmas morning, and the house is quiet. Peter's asleep, with two dogs by his side. Sam, the big Samoyed, is sleeping by my feet and Eunice the cat is curled up in the warmth of my desk lamp.

It's not quite 6 a.m., and it is dark still. But I trust and I believe that soon, the edge of the sky will lighten and the sun will come up on another day, this Christmas Day, a day to celebrate love and peace and family and the birth of Jesus.

Hope and fear, courage and frustration, optimism and exhaustion, these have been my companions this year. I've reached highs I never imagined I'd see, and felt lost in ways I've never felt before.

In the end, this has been more than anything a year of faith - in myself, in the path I'm walking, in the guidance of a higher power, in a future that holds great change and great promise.

Thank you, all of you, for your constant support of me, of my paintings, of my toddling steps forward. Thank you for your comments, your words, your purchases, your inspiration.

Art has shown me more clearly than anything how connected we all are, and how our words, our gestures, our decisions touch the people around us.

Merry Christmas, friends! I hope that you find joy and peace today, safe in the heart of your families, and that the feelings of this day stay with you always.

Turtle

Turtle

Oil on canvas, 18x24

Please contact me for price and delivery

Yes, my first turtle! And yes, it is sold. Sold before it was finished. Sold when it was barely begun. Of course, the would-be buyer hasn't seen it yet, so there's always a chance it will slowly turtle its way back to me, but far as I am concerned, it's sold. (Note: the would-be buyer has changed his mind, and bought a different painting, so this one is still for sale!)

I am pretty excited about this painting, as it is a step in a new direction for me. I'm going to try some water-related animal paintings, a different turtle, maybe a frog, some fish. The colors interest me, and the creatures are a new challenge. And I love a new challenge.

Now that I am recovered from the flu, I'm heading back to my 100x100 project, speaking of challenges.  Some of the paintings sold for Christmas presents, and that makes me happy!

And speaking of happy, I have my first 2012 commission! It is of a scene to be painted in August, so it's not imminent, but I am pretty darn pleased to have a commission before the year even begins.

Ho ho ho indeed.

Sunset on the Salt Marsh

Sunset on the Salt Marsh

Oil on canvas, 30x30

sold

I have been flat on my back with the flu for pretty much the entire week, and I can tell you, it stinks.

It's not great to be away from work, no matter how much I complain about my work.

It's not great to have a break from painting, no matter how fixated I am.

It's not great to watch TV all day, even though on some of the brain-busting 19-hour days I have, I think, "How nice it would be just to watch TV all day."

And it is not great to have an excuse not to finish my Christmas shopping/making.

Boo hoo, poor me.

People around me seem convinced that I will live, and I am trying to believe them. If I don't, those of you who have paintings of mine will find yourselves in the money, soon, I am sure.

I'm kidding, of course. I am going to live. I'm just going to draw everyone else into my misery until I feel better.

****

On an entirely different note, whether I expire or survive (I am assuming), I will be featured soon in Plein Air magazine!

Editor Steve Doherty is doing a piece on extreme plein-air painters, and launched it in his newsletter. I saw it, and wrote to tell him about my clamp system. He's into it, so I sent him some photos and explained it, and if all goes well, there will be a short piece about me! With some of my paintings!

Jojo

Jojo

Oil on canvas, 12x12

Really, Jojo is the funniest dog in the world. She is my dog, or I am her person, or some combination of all that.

I saw her picture in the paper, in the Shelter Tails feature that showcased animals who needed to be adopted, and I just fell for her. "Crystal" was the name they'd given her, and believe me, this is no "Crystal."

By our best guesses, she is border collie, pit bull, and who knows what else - and she is just as funny and as loving as a dog can be. The expression that I got in this painting, that worried and yet direct expression, that's her to a T.

Jojo crashes down onto my side every night, and sleeps pressed hard against me. She is within reach of me every moment she can possibly be. She is a comfort, an amusement, a source of joy, and an annoyance, all rolled up into one.

I don't know how I'd get through these days without her - and I venture that if she could talk, she'd say the same about me.

***

On another note entirely, I got a great boost last week when a lovely woman, Joanna Stenning, mentioned me in her blog - and not only that, said that my palette knife work inspired her to try the same. 

She and her parents bought paintings from me at a Paradise City show - and I was just delighted to be mentioned. 

Her work is lovely, her blog is really fun - so stop by and check her out! 

Fog on the Reservoir

Fog on the Reservoir

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

This interestingly warm November has made for some spectacular mornings! Cool air meets warm water, and fog is the result.

I've been busy with work, with house stuff, with yard stuff, with family stuff, and my painting schedule has taken a little beating. But when I have the chance, it feels like a gift, and so I am going with the flow, and not upbraiding myself for my lower production.

Yesterday, I painted with the remarkably talented and very fun Ronet Noe, outside Center Framing & Art. Ronet brought reindeer antler headbands for us both, and silvery garland. She wore a belt of jingle bells, and I brought an ipod full of Christmas carols, and we talked and laughed and painted and had a great time!

It does not look like winter, it does not feel like Christmas, we do not have a tree (we do have our palm tree and flamingo, which is our regular Christmas tree, but we haven't put it up yet) - but I am feeling more like Christmas than I have in years. And it feels good.

When you're thinking of presents, please think of giving a painting - one of mine, one of someone else's - if you can give a gift of local art, how fabulous would that be?

If you'd like to check out my 10x10s, each of which is $100 plus shipping, click here! 

Steer

Steer

Oil on canvas, 16x20

Interested? Email me for price and delivery/shipping info

Man, have I been busy! I guess we all have, between Thanksgiving, and Christmas shopping, and work, and raking, and house-cleaning and yard sales, and all the other million things going on - whew!

I have had some time to paint, but not much time to take good photos or do blog postings. But this evening, I can snatch a few moments.

I am just loving this steer - and have a question for you all. Those of you who've been reading this blog for a while know that I am often tempted to leave big swatches of canvas blank - and sometimes, I actually go through with it.

What about this steer? Would you like to see a nice bright background? Or are you liking the blank canvas around his face? I'd love to know.

***

And now for a bit of self-promotion!

On this so-called Cyber Monday, I'd like to ask you to consider buying art - from me, or from another local artist - to give for Christmas! My 10-inch by 10-inch series, "Passages," offers really quite lovely and interesting landscapes for $100 - why not check them out? You can see them all by clicking here. 

And if you want to just look around the website (I've redesigned it recently), you can do so by going to jacobson-arts.com!

You can pay by check, cash, credit card or PayPal - and there's still time to pay over time, and have the piece by Christmas or Hanukkah.

And really, while I am asking you to consider buying a piece from me, I am mostly asking you to consider buying a piece of art by any local artist. There are shows of local art, appropriate for the holidays, at the Lighthouse Gallery in Groton, at the Wallkill River School Gallery in Montgomery, NY, at Hygienic in New London - and in many, many more places!

Art makes a great present, and buying a piece from a local artist is a wonderful thing to do on so many levels.

Thanks for considering it!

Clinton Marsh Revisited

Clinton Marsh Revisited

Oil on canvas, 24x48
Please contact me for price and shipping/delivery information

After all these years writing this blog, you might think I have a good idea what I'm doing. Most days, I think you'd be right.

But yesterday, I uploaded the photo, thought about changing it, hit a button, wondered - hmm... - then got interrupted before that "hmmm" turned into a whole thought - and I was off and running on my 4:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Patch day - and thoughts of my blog never returned until this morning, when I opened my email and saw notes from eight of you...

Ah well, 'tis the season, eh? The season of forgetting, of making lists and losing them, of setting out with the best of intentions and the worst of directions, and ending up someplace you never thought you'd be when you got up this morning.

This painting has been sitting on my easel for weeks, unusual for me, as I've snatched time from the rest of my life to finish a portion here, a portion there, and finally, it is done, and I love it. Absolutely love it. Yes, it's different from my regular colors, but it is still bright, bright enough, with that soft bright light that you get off the water on an overcast day. I'm really pretty happy with it.

*** 

In other news, I sold the Miata on Sunday. Yeah, I know. Many of you remember when I bought the little car, and how much fun I have had in it. But it needs stuff. It needs a new roof, it needs a new driver's seat, it needs a new paint job. The motor is fine - great, really - but the rest is beyond me and my means right now - so when a nice, nice man at our yard sale asked it if was for sale, I gulped and said yes.

I cried as I drove, with the top down, to deliver it. Cried because I loved my little car, loved driving it in impossibly cold and impossibly hot days. Loved driving it back and forth from New York to New London when my mother was dying. Loved driving her around in it, and hearing her laugh as the wind blew on her chemo-hairless head. Loved driving it out into the countryside, zipping around the curves, pulling into teeny parking places - and feeling young and reckless and like a girl who would have a convertible.

I cried, also, I know, because I don't want to think of myself as a girl who wouldn't have a convertible.

And so, I will not. I am still a girl who would have a convertible, even though I am now a girl who has a minivan.

Autumn in Old Mystic

Autumn in Old Mystic

Oil on canvas, 10x10,

Cindy/Amy and I had a lovely autumn day in East Greenwich, RI, on Saturday, and I had intended to go right home afterwards, truly I had.

But I had a canvas in the van, and I had my paints, and I saw this autumn scene in beautiful Old Mystic, and I had to stop to paint.

The light was almost gone by the time I finished, and I was stiff with cold. But a day with painting in it is a better day than a day without painting in it. And I love this little gem.

I've reworked our website, including the 100x100 project, and I even have nearly all of the Outer Banks paintings up, too! 

So please check it out, let me know if you have ideas for improvement. And might I suggest that art by a local artist such as yours truly makes a fantastic Christmas or Hanukkah present... 

Red Afternoon

Red Afternoon

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

The colors might not have that stupendous, overwhelming blaze of color that they have had in other years, but where you find them this year, they are spectacular. The reds and yellows are particularly brilliant - and the graying, mostly bare trees around the red and yellow bushes make the colors stand out even more.

I've put all the 10x10 paintings I've made so far on their own page on the jacobson arts website. The page is still a little bit under construction, but all of you who read this blog are invited to take a look before it's finished. It's fun to see them all together!

Only some of the Outer Banks paintings are up on the site, and I have just realized that I don't have photos of all of them. They're all at Center Framing and Art, 56 LaSalle Road, West Hartford Center, if anyone lives nearby and wants to take a look.

Outside Rodanthe

Outside Rodanthe

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100
sold

Today is Election Day, and I am moved, as I always am, by having the chance to participate, to vote. I do know how geeky this is, but I can't help it. Democracy resonates with me, and as I vote, I think of the line of people who have come before me, over the centuries, to vote, to fight for voting, to die for the right and the principles behind it.

I confess that more than once, the act of voting has brought tears to my eyes.

I have spent the time since I've been home finishing the edges of the paintings I made on my trip, fixing smears and spots that were marred in transition. Nothing major happened, but at the end of a trip, nearly every painting needs something.

The work brings me back to these open skies, and grass-covered dunes, and the sense of standing on the edge of something unseen and exciting. I love that my paintings make that fresh again.

Oyster, VA

Oyster, VA

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

sold

Yes, I know, I've gone from Oyster Inlet, NC, to Oyster, VA. Pearls, both!

The day I painted this, it was violently windy, windy enough to defeat my stick-on-the-car apparatus not once but twice! (I think the art gods were punishing me for being cocky about it, actually).

So on this windy day, I decided to explore, and ended up in a place called Oyster. The road ended pretty much where I was standing.

This painting is an experiment. I wanted to do something fast, and abstract (I guess it is a little abstract), and I wanted to try mixing the paint with wax. So I did all that. In contrast to the shine that many of my paintings have, the wax surface, which is very high, has a dull, matte finish. At first I didn't like it, but the more I look at it, the more appealing it is becoming.

I couldn't find anything that told me how many people live in Oyster, but it is 3 feet above sea level, a fact I find amusing.

The world headquarters of Jacobson Arts is in Gales Ferry, CT

Oyster Inlet

Oyster Inlet, NC

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

sold

Man, was it windy this day! I thought I would not be able to paint, but I found shelter behind these big dunes and the van, and was able to get this small piece done before the wind did me in. I do believe there is sand in the paint in this one.

It does occur to me that the days I like to paint in most are the days that make it hardest to paint... wind, rain, snow, storms, that's the stuff I like best. Oh, sure, I like a fine and sunny day, but there's something so enticing about weather and wind and movement!

Knott's Island

Knott's Island

Oil on canvas, 16x20

Please contact me for price and shipping information

I found myself enchanted by the ferry boats in the regions of North Carolina I visited on my painting trip. The very best was the ferry from Cape Hatteras to Ocracoke Island. It took about 45 minutes, and had a relatively circuitous route, through what I imagine were rocks and shoals and who knows what else under the surface.

A few pelicans flew by, and a cloud of seagulls followed, and while I am pretty sure they were there because the ferry's engines were stirring up good stuff to eat, I never saw one of them dive or grab anything from the water.

The ferry from Currituck to Knott's Island was not as long a trip, or as interesting a one, but it was still fun. A school bus full of kids pulled up onto the ferry beside me; the trip was part of their daily commute. Can you imagine going to school on a ferry?

Wachapreague Sunset

 Wachapreague Sunset 

Oil on canvas, 20x20

Please contact me for price and delivery information

I was driving on Route 13, the spine of the Eastern Shore, when I saw a sign for "Wachapreague, the little city by the sea."

Intrigued, I decided to visit. And I fell in love.

This teeny town has 236 year-round residents. It has a main street and a few side streets. It has wharves, a hotel, a restaurant, a fire station, a town hall and about the friendliest people I've ever met. And it has a breathtakingly gorgeous salt marsh, which apparently accounts for its becoming "The Flounder Capital of the World."

I stood outside William and Mary's Virginia Institute of Marine Science to make this painting, but I could have stood pretty much anywhere along the seaside road. Every direction I looked, there was something gorgeous.

Wachapreague has a number of other outstanding virtues, including this one: It didn't snow there on Saturday.

I set up my easel next to the Virginia Institute of Marine Science

Marsh, Ocracoke Island

Marsh, Ocracoke Island

Oil on canvas, 24x48

Please contact me for price and delivery informaton

The triumph of this painting is not only the painting - which I really love - but also the fact of the painting.

A year or more ago, I had a great idea. I'd find a way to fix some clamps to the side of the van so that I could do big paintings in plein air. Maybe with velcro, or something like glass guys use to carry around those huge panes.

 I talked to people, I thought about it, and at long last, I figured a way to make it work! I bought three suction-cup things that attach GPS devices to the windshield. They have big enough clamps to grab onto even deep-sided canvases. I set them up on the side of the van, two holding the bottom of the canvas, and one holding the top. And it worked like a charm, even in a veritable gale!

I still have to work out some kinks, though. For instance, it hadn't occurred to me that my back would be toward the scene I was painting - so I turned the van around, opened both doors and got the view that way. Attaching the clamps to the back window would solve this problem, mostly, but the curve of the back window means I need to do some more figuring.

Here's what it looks like:

Here's the painting still attached to the van. 

Here are the suction cups without the painting. 

Dunes, Ocracoke

Dunes, Ocracoke

Oil on canvas, 18x24

sold

This was the first painting I made on Sunday, and while I was making it, I began to understand some things about myself and what attracts me - or at least, what is attracting me this trip.

You think "Outer Banks" and you think water and waves and beaches - or at least, I do. But on Sunday, I realized that for me, it's not that. It's the dunes and the sky.

Beaches and waves, I can get in Westerly.

Dunes - backbones of the earth, raw and rhythmic, dunes are what calls me. Long skeins of dunes, under a huge and unbroken sky, these pull at my eye and my heart and all my senses.

I don't pretend to understand this. But seeing them, and painting them makes me happy. And so, on this narrow, windswept island, I am painting dunes and not questioning my soul.

Big Wind, Hatteras

Big Wind, Hatteras

Oil on canvas, 10x10
sold

My easel blew over even before I put the canvas on it, that's how windy it is here! And the wind comes from all directions, since Cape Hatteras is surrounded by ocean. Surrounded! Just when you think you've figured it out, the wind starts puffing up from the other side.

But I know the wind. I've painted in Nebraska and Wyoming. I've painted in Prince Edward Island and in Iowa. I've painted on days so windy that no sane person would think about painting.

I sling my paint bag from my easel, and tape the canvases right to the easel if I have to. I use the van as a shield, and put my palette inside the back of the van, in part so the palette itself doesn't blow away, and I can use my hands to hold the canvas down.

I know the wind, I love the wind, I love painting the wind, and so I've learned. And it's great!

Outside Hatteras

Outside Hatteras

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

Finally, Friday, I finished the work I had to do. I finished the chores and errands. Peter helped me pack the van. And then finally, finally, around noon, I headed out.

I got through New York without problems or traffic jams. Got through New Jersey the same way. And in southern New Jersey, I started seeing beautiful things. Rich, tawny fields. Trees just starting to turn. Light gold and round with October.

Delaware was even more beautiful, flattening out, the land soaking up the sun, a beautiful golden dusk. This morning in Virginia, I crossed from spreading, rich farmland with its buttery light, to the thin bright afternoon light of the Outer Banks, the sun sparkling and dancing over the water on each side of this narrow isle.

And I got nervous. Nervous! The first painting of a journey, it is nerve-wracking. I've made such noise about going on a painting trip. I've made such purchases, announced such plans, gathered such hope.

What if I can't paint? What if I get down here and it all goes away, as suddenly and completely as it came?

Nerves had me. But finally, I reached Hatteras, and the perfect place to paint leapt out at me.

From the first stroke, I knew I would be OK. I knew I would be able to paint. And so I did this piece, loving every instant, every stroke, and I felt the joy unpin the nerves. The wind blew, the sun shone, and for the first time in a long time, I felt free, and truly happy.

Here's my painting in the scene, above, and the van, packed and ready to go, below. 

Black Dirt Overlook

Black Dirt Overlook

Oil on canvas, 18x20

Please contact me for shipping/delivery options

Since my job at the Record was eliminated, I’ve been able to take a lengthy painting trip every year. This year, I haven’t had the chance. The others have been three to four weeks, marathons of painting and discovery, exhausting and exhilarating and filled with energy to last me through the year.

This won’t be as long, but my hunger for it will give me in depth what I will be missing in length.

I do feel a little odd leaving New England at the height of autumn — but the colors aren’t bright enough to hold me — and I have seen this before. My eyes need something new.

I think all our eyes need something new, even if it is just for a glance, just for a moment. We need to look away, go away, see afar or microscopically close — and then, the middle distance looks fresh again.

Dawn, Northampton

Dawn, Northampton

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

sold

My boss told me yesterday that I am too anxious, too wired, that I overthink my job and make mountains out of molehills. She is probably right. But in the workplace, I've always wanted to excel. I've always wanted my work to be perfect, or as close to perfect as possible, and there's a lot of pressure in this.

Some of it - probably most of it - is self-inflicted, although some, of course, comes from the very definition of work. Do a good job, do the best job possible, earn your money. Give value for value.

I think that one of the reasons that I love painting so much is that it frees me from my own demons. When I am painting, I don't wish to be perfect. I don't want my paintings to be perfect. I don't even want to know what perfect is. What I want to do is communicate a mood, a feeling, a sense of place - something that you I can make my own and you can make your own.

There is no perfection in this. In fact, to some degree, I delight in the flaws and the imperfections. I think that they are where the interesting things happen, and where change and growth begin. 

Inlet, Route 214

 Inlet, Route 214

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

Sold

Everyone says the colors aren't going to be so great this year. I disagree!

OK, maybe they are not going to be as crazy gaudy, as eye-burningly brilliant as they sometimes are (and I do love them that way) - but they have this golden, glowing, bronzy, burnished tone to them this year that I am really enjoying. It's made even more sultry by the low gray skies we seem to be having, nearly every day. Those clouds do something wonderful to the colors.

In a week - less than a week - I am heading to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, to get away, to see something new, to paint. I am so excited, I can barely contain myself. Man, do I need this!

I will be posting new paintings from the road - also, I am trying some new stuff, some paint that dries more quickly, some gels and other goo that I can add to speed the process. So we'll see how it all works out. However it does, I am sure I am going to have a great time.

jacobson arts is in gales ferry, CT

Sunday Morning Fog

Sunday Morning Fog

Oil on canvas, 10x10,
sold

I'm back from the Paradise City show, where I met a bunch of wonderful people, sold a few paintings, and all in all broke even. It would have been a better show for me if I'd been feeling healthier, but it was what it was, and I am glad to be over the icky illness that everyone I know seems to have - even my co-workers at Patch, who all work in their homes (and cars, and restaurants and town halls) - so it must be something in the air, that's what I think.

I'm changing the whole subscription idea of the 10x10 project. I've been in touch with the people who have already signed up, and they're cool with it - organizationally, I realize, it is beyond me.

So the little paintings (and truly, I am loving them, absolutely loving them) are up for sale as I paint them. If you want one of the ones already up on the blog, please let me know. I will be putting the paypal purchase button up on the new ones.

I am not sure why this series is propelling me forward so surely, but it is, and I am grateful!

***

While I have no shows on the schedule for the near future, I do have the window at Center Framing & Art, 56 LaSalle Road, West Hartford Center, and I will be painting there this saturday, from about 10 a.m. to 2 or 3 in the afternoon. If you're in the area, please come and say hello!

Thank you, everyone, who sent me notes wondering if I was OK. I always appreciate your support and your concern. I could not do this without you!

Deep in the Black Dirt

Deep in the Black Dirt

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100
sold

It was great to paint with old friends and new on Sunday, with the plein-air group from the Wallkill River School.  We painted at Scheuermann Farms in Warwick, a gorgeous place that, like all the Pine Island farms, was hit tremendously hard by Tropical Storm Irene. 


Usually flush with pumpkins, Scheuermann Farms has had to bring them in from Canada. Few onions survived the flood; fewer potatoes made it through. But the pumpkins are beautiful, the farm has a fantastic collection of fascinatingly shaped gourds, and it is a beautiful place. 


I got to the area early and started a large painting before moving down to the farm to do my demonstration. That big painting, 18x36, I did on a bluff overlooking one of the farms up the road; I am hoping to finish it here this week. 


The Black Dirt region is one of the most beautiful around, in my mind. I love painting skies, and here you have fields, and lines, and greenery and some of the biggest skies you'll see. 


Choice No. 2 has been taken, in my ongoing 100 by 100 series. Yippee! And I think more refinements are coming. I think I will sell the first 40 (or maybe even 20) by subscription, then put the rest of the paintings up for sale at the end. I am going to build a webpage for these paintings soon. It is great fun to see them all together! 


Don't forget about the Paradise City Arts Festival this weekend in Northampton, Mass.  I will be in the Morgan Barn II, Booth 407. 


p.s., those black dots on the painting are bugs. They can be removed when the paint is dry. They're not birds. 

Roger Foote Road

Roger Foote Road

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100 
sold

The first subscription has been purchased! My friend Bonnie Brankey (check out her beautiful underwater - and above water - paintings at Ocean Colors) has broken the ice. Yay!

I think this is kind of a cool idea, really. The first 40 people who shell out the $100 get their choices in order. Bonnie gets the first choice of all 100 paintings. Person No. 2 gets the choice of the remaining 99. Person No. 3, 98, etc. The remaining 60 people - yes, I am being hopeful! yes, I am being capitalistic! - will be entered into a lottery, and will get to choose in the order that I select them.

Or should I just put these up for sale the regular way? I am not going to sell any of them until the 100 are finished (well, a friend bought one before I had the whole idea worked out, but I am going to replace that one with another of the same scene) - and so far, they are all coming out really well, I think.

I am going to bring the lottery idea with me to the Paradise City Arts Festival this weekend and see if people sign up.

Of course, to sign up, you have to believe that I am going to make 100 gorgeous paintings - and honestly, I do. I am absolutely loving the project, and each painting is making me happier than the one before.

So if you want in, let me know. The list has started!

Here's my painting in the landscape

Marsh, Clinton

Marsh, Clinton

Oil on canvas, 10x10

By subscription; contact me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com to subscribe.

I am going to sell the 100 10-inch-by-10-inch paintings by subscription and lottery.

Here's how it will work. You pay me $100, and that entitles you one painting from the 100.

The first 40 people who subscribe will have their choice of any of the 100 paintings, when the group is completed. Those 40 get their choices according to their place in the list. The first one to subscribe gets the first choice of all the 100 paintings. The second to subscribe chooses second, etc.

After the first 40 subscribers have made their choices, the remaining 60 will be entered into a lottery to determine their selection order.

I will put these up on a special page on my website, or here, or both. 

What do you think? Is this a good way to do it?

According to my pricing structure, these 10 by 10s, at $100, are 30 percent to 50 percent below what they would be at a show, and even more below what they would be at a gallery. The $100 includes tax, which makes them an even better deal.

While I can't promise that the 100 will be finished by Christmas - they probably won't - if anyone wants to give one as a Christmas present, I'll supply you with a nice gift certificate card that says what number the recipient is in the order...

Comments? Ideas? Refinements? Interest? Let me know!

 

Here's  my painting in front of the marsh in Clinton.

Wyoming

Wyoming

Oil on canvas, 36x40

sold

On my first painting trip, I was driving through Wyoming and decided to get off at every exit. And why not? There aren't that many exits, I had no one with me, and I was looking for stuff to paint.

I headed into the prairie on a dirt road off one exit and encountered this group of cows and calves. They stared at me, and frankly, a couple of them were staring pretty threateningly. I took some photos and left. They had horns!

I was showing Lori, the owner of Center Framing and Art in West Hartford, my iPad, and she saw an earlier version of this painting and begged me to go at it again.

I was happy to. It's one of my favorite photos, and I like re-addressing the same scene, and doing it differently. It's fun, and it seems to provoke creativity. And I really like this painting. I will say that the photo I've taken doesn't do it justice. I'll try again - but I have noticed that the larger the painting, the less well the internet pictures handle it.

If you click here, you can see more paintings from my trip to Wyoming.

***

Going to New York state this weekend? I will be doing the demonstration at the Wallkill River School's plein-air group on Sunday. I'd love to have you there! The group is just wonderful, and doing a demo is fun. Check out the Wallkill River School's website for details.

***

And if you're looking for something fun to do on Columbus Day weekend, I'd like to suggest the Paradise City Arts Festival in Northampton, Mass. This is the fall version of the show I did in the spring. I've never gotten into the fall show before, but it is supposedly bigger and better than the spring show. And that one is pretty spectacular!

I will be in Booth 407, in the Morgan Barn II. If you go to the show, please stop in. And you can see this painting in real life!

Our Old House

Our Old House

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

sold

This peaceful-looking little stream ran through a culvert below our driveway at our house in New York. The driveway dipped from the level of the house, down to cross the culvert, and then up again to meet the street.

Behind our house, the Neversink River ran, its water tea-colored and clean. Birds flew up and down it regularly, and ducks swam on its surface. Great blue herons fished nearly daily, and from time to time, you could see and hear eagles.

And then there were the floods. The river would rise quickly, pushing its way up toward our house. And at a certain point, the river would split and come around in front, turning this usually quiet creek into a raging torrent that would tear up our driveway, breaking concrete into chunks, throwing boulders downstream and, potentially, trapping us in our home.

Most of the time, this was a beautiful, lovely place to live. In the floods, it was a terrifying, horrible, frightening spot.

I've gotten over my fear of heavy rain, and now, I can think of our house in New York with pleasure, remembering how beautiful it was, how much fun it was to listen to the river, and see its wildlife, and live along its banks.

jacobson arts is located in gales ferry, CT

Dead-End Road, Salem

Dead-End Road, Salem

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100
sold

I was as lost as a person can be, 15 miles from where they live. I don't think I could find this place on a map today, but that's OK. That was the point, really.

It was getting on toward dusk, and rain was threatening when I found this little autumn lane and pulled over to paint. I doused myself with bug spray, but as evening drew closer, the mosquitoes thickened.

About an hour after I'd started painting, a big official-looking truck turned down the little road and pulled up beside me. The official-looking guys inside dropped their serious expressions when they saw me and started smiling.

They were state conservation cops, out to find people poaching deer and hunting without licenses and otherwise marauding in the wilderness. But they turned to me and said... "You know, you're supposed to have a permit for that!"

"I knew it!" I said, "I knew the art police would track me down sooner or later!"

At any rate, they were happy to see someone out innocently enjoying the woods, and we talked about painting, and Salem, and their jobs and mine, and then they turned their giant truck around and headed out.

Not 10 minutes later, the mosquitoes got so bad, I had to pick up and leave. I am still scratching today.

Northampton Field

 Northampton Field

Oil on canvas, 30x40

Please contact me for price and delivery information

Deep in my soul, I've come to realize, there is a thing that needs discovery, needs to go to new places and see new things. Deep in my soul, there's a rambler, a hobo, a rootless wanderer who would be as happy being a drifter as being anything else.

This has had some results in my life, including an inability - or unwillingness - to stay in the same place or the same job for more than a few years. In my 24 years with Peter, we've moved nine times, and each of them - except for this last one - has been because I wanted to go. Go, go, go.

It seems only fair that we stay put now.

So I've taken painting trips, and they have satisfied my needs. But this year, the demands of my day job and the long and painful demise of our dear dog Kaja made a trip impossible. Now, she is gone, but the job remains, for better or worse. I am looking forward with all my soul to going somewhere in the last week of October - and I don't even care where, as long as it's someplace I haven't been.

Saturday, seized with desire, I threw off my plans, packed the van and headed to the Northampton, Mass., area. I'd painted up there during the Paradise City shows, but always doing early-morning plein-air pieces, always rushed, always hurrying.

Saturday, I took my time, got myself lost, and made the largest plein-air piece I've ever made, 30 inches by 40 inches, and every inch of it luscious and rich and free. I love this painting. I love the place where the shadows of the trees meet the brilliance of the yellow field. I love the swirly, thick sky. I love the curve of the road and the hint of autumn in the foliage, and most of all, I loved going away, being alone, seeing something new. It restored me.


 

Here's my painting, in the field. Not one person passed in the hours I painted.

Woody

Woody

Oil on canvas, 12x12

Commission

Sometimes, the dogs really drive me crazy, and there's been a stretch of that this week. With the cool weather, they've been rambunctious, loud, and just too much on the alert. They're racing around the house at top speed, leaping onto each other and the furniture, sending all sorts of things flying - and when they're not playing like lunatics, they're arguing and growling at each other, barking for no apparent reason.

Usually, I find all this amusing. This week, no.

I think this is more a comment on me than on them.

I need to relax a little. I need to get away. I need to stop working so many insane hours every day. I need to give a little more, and worry a little less.

The dogs are my friends, and my comforts. I am looking forward to the day when I wake up and laugh at them again. I hope it comes soon.

Griswold Farm

Griswold Farm

Oil on canvas, 10x10
sold

I love to go places I've never been, and drive down roads I've never driven down.

In July, as I drove to paint sunflowers, day after day at Buttonwood Farm in Griswold, I saw a couple roads that looked inviting. But I was always in a hurry, always with a destination in mind, and so I stayed on my course.

Last week, I took a drive down one of them, and found myself in a place that just didn't feel like Connecticut.

And I was hungry for that. For a place that felt like another state, another country.

I toodled all over the place this afternoon, before and after making this painting. And I returned home feeling refreshed - and once again glad to be coming home to a place I know.