Little Chickadee

Little Chickadee / Oil on black canvas / 4x4 unframed / $38 including shipping

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IT SEEMS LIKE A LIFETIME AGO that I drove to Arizona to visit my dad and stepmother, participate, in a way, in the Tubac show, and see my friends out there. (It was the end of January). 

A jeweler friend from Pennsylvania flew out to spend some time in the sun, go to the big Gem and Mineral Show, and take some workshops there. 

She stayed for a week, and when she left, packed some stuff in my van for me to bring home. We usually see each other once every six or eight weeks, at her place or mine, or at one of the many shows we do together.

Today, I packed her stuff in a box and sent it off to her in Pennsylvania. Honestly, it feels like I might never see her again. Today, for whatever reason, the quarantine/isolation got to me, and for a while it felt like I would never see anyone again. Or hug anyone again. Or be hugged. 

So I did chores, and I cleaned the house and then I hugged the dogs and held them close and reminded myself that it's all going to be OK. And then I went out to the studio and painted this sweet little bird, and felt myself fly off a bit, toward the sun. 

***

Gratitude

TODAY, I AM GRATEFUL for my friends, who pull me up when I am down, who point out the beauty of the world to me, who take time out of their days to reach out to me, and make me laugh, and assure me that yes, I will see them again someday. 

And you? What are you grateful for today? 

***

For Today

Yes there is fear.

Yes there is isolation.

Yes there is panic buying.

Yes there is sickness.

Yes there is even death.

But,

They say that in Wuhan after so many years of noise

You can hear the birds again.

They say that after just a few weeks of quiet

The sky is no longer thick with fumes

But blue and grey and clear.

They say that in the streets of Assisi

People are singing to each other

across the empty squares,

keeping their windows open

so that those who are alone

may hear the sounds of family around them.

They say that a hotel in the West of Ireland

is offering free meals and delivery to the housebound.

Today a young woman I know

is busy spreading fliers with her number 

through the neighborhood

So that the elders may have someone to call on.

Today, churches, synagogues, mosques and temples

are preparing to welcome

and shelter the homeless, the sick, the weary. 

All over the world people are slowing down and reflecting

All over the world people are looking at their neighbors in a new way

All over the world people are waking up to a new reality

To how big we really are.

To how little control we really have.

To what really matters.

To Love.

So we pray and we remember that

Yes there is fear.

But there does not have to be hate.

Yes there is isolation.

But there does not have to be loneliness.

Yes there is panic buying.

But there does not have to be meanness.

Yes there is sickness.

But there does not have to be disease of the soul.

Yes there is even death.

But there can always be a rebirth of love.

Wake to the choices you make as to how to live now.

Today, breathe.

Listen, behind the factory noises of your panic

The birds are singing again

The sky is clearing,

Spring is coming,

And we are always encompassed by Love.

Open the windows of your soul

And though you may not be able

to touch across the empty square,

Sing.

- Father Richard Hendrik, Ireland

March 13, 2020

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Cardinal with Swirly Sky

Cardinal with Swirly Sky / oil on black canvas / 57x unframed / $68 including shipping

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I WAS FEELING OVERWHELMED the other day by the magnitude of the task of clearing out this house, the studio, the garage and the shed, and my friend and former baby-sitter Ann Stewart offered up a solution that intrigued me. 

Spend five hours a week, all on one day, doing whatever it is that needs to be done, she suggested. That's 20 hours in a month, which is enough to finish nearly anything - but it breaks even the most unmanageable task into do-able segments. 

The simplicity of the idea attracted me instantly, and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like genius. Five hours is not a whole day. It leaves enough time so that even if you do the five hours, you still have a day. And yet, it's enough time to really dig in, to really make headway - but long enough to allow a break or two. 

On Saturday, I spent five hours working in the Caribbean House, a brightly painted shed in our backyard. I had thought it would take the rest of my life to clear it out - but in five hours, I made Big, Visible Progress. Yay! 

So I share this idea with you, in hopes that it will help you tackle some task that might seem insurmountable. Good luck! Or, as Dan Rather might say... Courage. 

***

Gratitude

TODAY, I AM GRATEFUL that I have several life-long friends. Ann is one of them, and I have a few more. I've known these folks pretty much all their lives, and they've known me pretty much all of mine. There's great comfort in that, and I am indeed grateful. 

What are you grateful for today? 

***

For Today

"It is impossible to explain creativity. It's like asking a bird, 'How do you fly?'"

- Eric Jerome Dickey

Roadrunner Redux

Roadrunner Redux / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

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AS I SIT HERE at the kitchen table Sunday evening, the wind is blowing in hard from the ocean. I feel like it's blown last week away - and honestly, I'm glad. 

The six-month anniversary of Peter's death was Friday. That was his formal death. His death-certificate death. I've come to understand that he died, truly, in the ambulance. In our road. Long before he got to the hospital and was hooked up to the drugs and machines that kept him alive into another day. Another awful, sad, day. A day that should never have happened to him. 

John Prine's death dragged me over the edge last week. Prine more or less provided the background music to our marriage. Not that we played his stuff constantly, but it was always there. A basted stitch, not a solid seam. We saw him at the Newport Folk Festival. We learned some of his songs on the guitar and played them together. And we sang along and marveled at his humor and genius and simplicity. 

I do believe in God and in Heaven, and I do believe that Peter is there, and John Prine is, too, and that, with any luck, they are playing together. 

So it is OK that I don't remember last week too well. That the wind blew it away. This is a new week, and I will put one foot ahead of the other. I will make the bed, empty the dishwasher, walk the dogs, paint some birds, and remember. 

***

Gratitude

I AM GRATEFUL to have made it six months without the man I love, and made it more or less intact. Cracked, changed, marred but not broken - or at least not past repair. 

What are you grateful for? One faithful friend and reader sent me a list of 10 things she is grateful for. You can put your gratitudes in the comment area below, or email them to me. Or just remind yourself that you have things in your life to be grateful for. 

***

For Today

"Art is our memory of love. The most an artist can do through their work is say, let me show you what I have seen, what I have loved, and perhaps you will see it and love it, too." 

- Annie Bevan

Mockingbird on Dogwood

Mockingbird on Dogwood / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 unframed / $68

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IN THE SPRING, WHEN WE LIVED in Portsmouth, VA,  a mockingbird sang outside our window. It was a virtuoso, with more than a dozen songs in its repertoire. 

All well and good - except that this mockingbird insisted on singing at night. And he favored a branch of a tree right outside our bedroom window. For a month or so every year, probably during mating season, he kept us awake, night after night after long, exhausting night, repeating his 13 or 14 or 15 songs again and again, never in the same order, so every time you thought you might be able to fall asleep, he'd start a different pattern, a different path, and draw us in again. 

It was maddening. But the songs were beautiful, exquisite, and made a memory that still makes me smile today. 

***

Gratitude

This morning, I am grateful for the beauty of the huge, nearly full moon, shining so bright in the middle of the night that it made the trees cast shadows on the lawn. Its beauty took my breath away. I'm grateful for anything that stirs me so deeply. 

What makes you grateful today? 

***

For Today

The Mockingbird

All summer

the mockingbird

in his pearl-gray coat

and his white-windowed wings

flies

from the hedge to the top of the pine

and begins to sing, but it's neither

lilting nor lovely,

for he is the thief of other sounds -

whistles and truck brakes and dry hinges

plus all the songs 

of other birds in his neighborhood; 

mimicking and elaborating,

he sings with humor and bravado, 

so I have to wait a long time

for the softer voice of his own life

to come through. He begins

by giving up all the usual flutter

and settling down on the pine's forelock

then looking around

as though to make sure he's alone;

then he slaps each wing against his breast,

where his heart is,

and, copying nothing, begins

easing into it

as though it was not half so easy

as rollicking,

as though his subject now

was his true self,

which of course was as dark and secret

as anyone else's

and it was too hard - 

perhaps you understand - 

to speak or to sing it

to anything or anyone

but the sky. 

- Mary Oliver,  in "A Thousand Mornings"

White-throated Sparrow

 

White-throated Sparrow / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 unframed / $68 includes shipping

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ALL OVER TOWN - and town is all I've seen - spring is flowering. My favorite trees are the pinks, from the palest weeping cherry to the vivid fuschia of the redbuds to the azaleas, screaming with color, just starting to come now.

The dogwoods - vivid, green-tipped white - are beginning to bloom. My daffodils have come and gone, but they are the earliest in town, and on other streets, the dogs and Liesl and I see other daffodils blooming in their cheerful way. And behind everything, the grass is green and thick and lush. 

Before long, the blossoms will have turned to leaves. The summer's heat and sun will thin and brown the grass. The daffodils will bend and wither and make room for the summer's heat-loving plants. And life, I imagine, will be back to normal. 

I sit outside in these warm spring evenings and watch the dogs run around the yard. I inspect the lilacs, which are weeks from blooming, and the hydrangeas, which are even more weeks from blooming, and I linger in the sweet, soft air. Of course, I think of Peter, and it is always with a sense of loss - mine and his, both - but I can see progress. My thoughts are not always colored by sadness. 

***

Gratitude

I AM GRATEFUL for Liesl, my Austrian neighbor, a dedicated and long-time walker. She has encouraged me to walk with her, and has the patience and kindness to suggest we bring the dogs, too. 

What are you grateful for today? You may add in the comments below, or drop me an email. 

***

For Today

"When I get to heaven, I'm gonna shake God's hand

Thank him for more blessings than one man can stand

Then I'm gonna get a guitar and start a rock-n-roll band

Check into a swell hotel; ain't life grand?"

- John Prine, who died on Tuesday from the corona virus

Kingfisher on Branch

Kingfisher  on Branch / oil on black canvas / 5x7 unframed / $68

sold! 

IN PAST SUMMERS, we festooned our front dogwood tree with hummingbird feeders. There's one out there now, and there are circles of fishing line hanging from a few branches, ready for when I fill up the rest of the feeders. 

This morning, a little wren tried over and over to pluck what she thought was just a bit of fishing line. I'm sure she is in the process of building her nest, and apparently, the fishing line looked like ideal material. 

After three tries, she gave up. I'm sure she will find better stuff around in the yard - but I felt a little sorry for her, and a little guilty, to have unwittingly tricked her with the fishing line. 

***

Painting Workshop

ON SATURDAY, AT 1 P.M. EASTERN, I'll be giving another painting workshop, Live on my Carrie Jacobson Artist Facebook page  (https://www.facebook.com/carriejacobsonartist) . The workshops are free, you don't have to register, and they last about an hour. 

So, a little before 1 p.m. Eastern, put on your tie-dye and click on the page, then look for the Live thing to happen. I think it's easier to find if you follow or like the page first - it will probably show up in your notifications list. There's also an Event listing, and if you find that and click "Going," I'm pretty sure it will remind you. 

Get set up with whatever you like to paint with and whatever you like to paint on, and join in. It will be fun! 

Here's the photo we're going to use as the basis for our painting: 

***
Gratitude

TODAY, I AM grateful for the blossoming trees, and how they decorate my small world with their fragile, gentle beauty, and their lovely, tender colors. 

What are you grateful for today? Please use the comments below, or send me an email. 

***

For Today

"Strive not to be a success, but rather, to be of value."

- Albert Einstein

Crow Landing

Crow Landing / oil on black canvas / 5x7 unframed / $68 includes shipping

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DURING THIS TIME of isolation and quiet, I've been painting a lot. 

For years, I've painted pretty much every day - but before this, my painting days were often broken up. Shopping, cooking, cleaning. Visits with friends, lunches out, meetings, trips to the Y, and to Virginia Beach, and heaven knows what else. I'd paint four or five hours a day. Now, many days, it's nearly twice that. 

I say "I paint," but of course, it's not all painting. I inventory and order materials and supplies. I blacken and wire canvases. I look for subjects to paint. But if I am in the studio for nine or 10 hours a day - and often, these days, I am - I'm painting for eight or nine of those hours. And I feel like I'm making progress, that all this time is amounting to something. Taking me somewhere. 

Looking for a blank notebook yesterday, I ran across a ledger from 2009. For the first few months of the year, I'd listed all the paintings I'd made, and there were 23 or 24 each month. They were mostly small - and cheap! 

I am cheered to see that I'm continuing that sort of pace. This year, I have photographs of more than 50 bird paintings I've made so far, and I haven't counted the other pieces I've finished. 

By the time I started out in this painting life, I had 25 years of newspaper experience. Twenty-five years of daily deadlines. When I floundered at Being an Artist, at the beginning of this journey, I sought success in what I knew, and set deadlines. I required myself to make at least one painting a day. 

Over the years, this sort of productivity has helped me develop my voice. It's helped me build the muscles I rely on to push all the crap aside right now and forge ahead. It helps me try new things when I am pretty sure I have the strength to do the lifting. And it helps me know when that is. 

A new painting I finished last week, the start of a series of people talking while they are walking their dogs, is one that I've been thinking of for a few years. At the time, I knew I didn't have the chops for these paintings. Last week, I thought, I do. And so I set out to make this painting - and I love the way it came out.

So if you are a painter, an artist, a writer,  musician, whatever - if you are seeking a creative outlet and want to sharpen your abilities - the best thing you can do, I think, is to produce. Good, bad, middling, whatever - the point is to make the art, write the sentence, compose the music, and go from there. Look at what's good about the piece - what you like about it - and what you'd change. And then, in the next one, which will happen today or this afternoon or tomorrow, change that thing. And then do it again. And again. And again. 

And again. 

***

Gratitude

In this time of loss and now of isolation, I work hard to be grateful. I thought I'd share a gratitude with you all each day, at least for a while. 

If you'd like to share things that you're grateful for, you can use the comments below, or email me... I'd love to hear what you're grateful for. So here is today's: 

Though Peter is gone, I am grateful, so very grateful that I found him, 

and that I had him as my husband since 1988.

***

For Today

"There is no word for art. We say it is to transfer something from the real to the unreal. I am an owl, and I am a happy owl. I like to make people happy and everything happy. I am the light of happiness and I am a dancing owl." 

- Kenojuak Ashevak