Autumn Morning - and Xmas Already???

Autumn Morning

Oil on canvas, 10x10

sold

I nearly drove off the road about six times, on the way from Cynthia and Kevin's home in northwestern Connecticut to the show a couple weekends ago at Paradise City in Northampton, MA. The autumn colors sang out, brilliant and clear and voice by voice. It was not the full chorus bellowing out "Hallelujiah," to carry out the metaphor, but a small choir singing an airy, complicated, gorgeous contrapuntal song. 

Finally, it was too much for me, and I got out and set up the easel and painted. I hung the little painting wet - and was thrilled when this mother and daughter decided to buy it. The daughter is an artist, and we all were on so much the same wavelength, it was, well, music to my ears. 

Happy buyers

My painting in the landscape

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Really??? It's not even Halloween. 

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Dog of the Day

Here's Abby, attack dog. She is turning out to be a gentle soul, but I think she'd definitely attack anyone who wanted to mess with Peter or me, or any of the dogs. 

Colors of the Spirit - and Time, Time, Time

Colors of the Spirit

Oil on canvas, 10x10

sold

On this first day of Standard Time - as opposed to Daylight Saving Time - I ended up waking at a reasonable time, 5:30, instead of the ultra-stupid 4:30 that I really didn't want as my waking time. Of course, the times were the same times, but the change made me feel a little better about it, a little less anguished. 

For all the people like me, who wake at the crack of dawn or before, the shift to standard time should be good. And it is. I love that dawn will come earlier, that I can get painting earlier, that the morning will not be as dark for as long. 

But I recognize that I'm in the minority. As much as I appreciate the morning light, I'd be a happier person if we could just keep Daylight Saving Time all year. 

We aren't really an agrarian society any more, so we don't really need that morning light. Yes, school starts early, but there would be few days in which kids would be waiting for the bus in the dark.  Sure, in northern Maine and northern New York, there would be more - but not that many more. Arizona doesn't do this time change stuff. Alaska doesn't. In Canada, Saskatchewan doesn't. China doesn't. 

It's bad enough that our daylight hours are cut by the very facts of planetary rotation. Is it really necessary to have sunset come at 5 p.m.? Even I, who loves the dawn, would gladly give it up for another hour of evening light. 

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THE TITLE of today's painting comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson: 

"Nature always wears the colors of the spirit." 

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HERE'S SATURDAY'S sunset, across the field behind our home in Wachapreague. 

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Dog of the Day

Yes, OK, it's the same kitten. But she was so cute! And today, her new owner came by and took her off to her new life. Phyllis was supposed to come and get the kitty on Monday, but just couldn't wait. She got the OK from the hotel owner, and that was that. It made my heart glad to know that the new kitty's mama was so excited to get her. And yes, I must admit, I fell a little in love with the little thing. 

Didja Miss Me?

Saturday in Scotland. Oil on canvas, 20x20

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

Hi, everyone!

I gave myself a vacation last week. Didja miss me?

I realized that I've painted and posted nearly daily for well more than a year, without a meaningful, intentional break. What kind of a boss would ask this of an employee?

So while the weather was horrible and rainy and cold, and the studio was unheated and uninsulated, and while I was tired and running back and forth to NY and worrying about the house closing that never happened, I gave myself a vacation.

I painted some, and enjoyed it. I saw family and friends. I went out to dinner and out to lunch. I read books and magazines and catalogs, I watched TV, I slept late, cooked, spent time with Peter, did a bunch of long-neglected chores, began to understand and look for used RVs, and I relaxed. What fun!

Now I'm back, I'm posting, and I have a few really interesting paintings to show you. This one, I painted in a gale, on a hillside overlooking a vineyard in Scotland, Conn. It's more ambitious than most of my paintings, and I like it. I used a brush and a palette knife, and am finding that sometimes, I like the way they work together.

Thank you, all who called and emailed to make sure I was OK. And to all, thank you for reading.

Living with Dogs

Burnished Brush. Oil on canvas, 10x20

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

Peter decided to head to the beach this morning, in spite of the wind and the rain, to see if it was possible to fish. There are sheltered places where you can cast a line sometimes, even in a storm. But really, I said, he should take the van. The Miata is no fun in the rain. It leaks, it gets very humid inside, and other cars splash you into blindness when they pass.

So I took my paint bag out of the van, and set it in the driveway, and leaned this painting against it.

He left and I took the dogs out.

They're not very happy to go out in the rain, our dogs. Even Smokey, the toughest of them all, is unhappy about getting his poor little feet wet.

But I yelled and pulled and berated and prodded, and eventually, I got them all into the back field, where they sniffed and poked and did their business.

"Back to the house!" I yelled, and they took off toward the deck.

I counted them, as I always do, and found that Woodreau, the little bichon, was missing. And he's usually the first one through the door.

I looked out into the driveway, and there he was, sniffing around my paint bag, sniffing around my painting and then - yes - lifting his leg to pee.

I yelled, and he looked at me with saucy devilment in his eyes. Then he put his leg down and scampered up onto the deck and into the house.

The painting is unmarked. I know. I sniffed.

Eight to Two

Autumn in the Bashakill
Oil on canvas, 10x20.
Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

Several good things have happened in the past few days.

1. Kaja, our big old red dog, is doing better and better, day by day.

2. Sandy, at Center Framing & Art in West Hartford, Conn., loves the paintings I made for her, for the dog project. She's happy with my other dog paintings, too, and is going to give me the entire window of the store. She wants two of the paintings from the show at the Wallkill River School Gallery, too, a big lhasa apso piece and a small painting of a cat.

3. I had the fine good fortune to see the leading edge of autumn slip into the mid-Hudson Valley. Along the edges of the roads, purple flowers bloomed, leafy vines turned yellow, trees were burnished gold and copper, and a soft, sweet not-quite scarlet.

4. I had the good sense to drive through the Bashakill, and to take a chance with my schedule and stopped to paint. It was so entrancing, I'd have ached all day if I hadn't painted.

5. I took down my show and found that I'd sold four paintings. Yay!

6. I got to see Marilyn Bove, who was watching the gallery when I arrived to take my paintings down. We had a good talk, and we hugged, and I drove off.

Some bad stuff happened, too.

1. Twenty minutes after I'd left, Marilyn called to say I'd left a bag of paintings there. Crap. I turned around and went back.

(Another good thing:

7. When I went back, I got to see my friend Shawn Dell Joyce, a wonderful painter and one of the founders of the gallery.

Another good thing:

8. When I went back, I got to see my friend Jacqui Schwab, a wonderful painter, hanging her show. )

Another bad thing:

2. I pulled the van in to the gallery in West Hartford, and found that I'd left another bag of paintings in Montgomery. The big dog and the small cat that I'd promised Sandy.

So I turned around and drove right back.

See why I listed all the good things that have happened? To remind me that there's more to these past few days than two stupid, time-wasting forgetful mistakes.

Thanks for reading!

Sing a Song of Praise

Gone
Oil on canvas, 16x20

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

I've found myself thinking a lot recently about faith - in God, in nature, in human nature. Sunday was a worldwide plein-air paintout day, I found out, and as I made this painting, I wondered about Sunday painters, and what they do about church.

The thought came easily to me, then: This is my church, this plein-air world, and these paintings are my prayers, my faith made visible.

I don't want to make too much of a point of this, or scare anyone away, but I do believe that a power greater than me brought me to painting, out of the blue, at the age of 50 - and brought me to painting for a reason.

And so I paint, and I sing a silent hymn of thanks and of thanksgiving, for this world, the blue skies, the ever-changing landscape, the universe of humans who live upon this land.

Thank you for reading.

Back in the Field

Back in the Field
Oil on canvas, 16x20

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

The back field gets more interesting, more lovely, day by day. I know that one of these mornings, I'll get up and go out and frost will have taken my colors, ripped away my textures, but until then, it's a wonderful scene to paint.

I write this from New York, where last night, I helped 300 others celebrate Shawn Dell Joyce, one of the founders of the Wallkill River School in Montgomery. The Orange County Citizens Foundation chose Shawn to receive the Seligman Award, for "outstanding contributions to arts and culture in the county." Shawn is my dear friend, so I have some prejudices, but truly, she deserves the honor, the accolade - and much, much more. I'm happy that I was able to be there to celebrate her.

"Here & There," my show with talented painter George Hayes, is up at the Wallkill River School Gallery, and it looks great. The reception is Saturday, from 5-7 p.m. If you're in the area, please stop by. It is Montgomery Day, too, so 211 is likely to be jammed or closed. The school is on Route 17K - take Exit 5 or 5A to get there and avoid the traffic problems in downtown Montgomery. Better yet, go to the celebration first and then come to the reception!

A Morning Song

Morning Song
Oil on canvas, 8x10

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

Autumn's walked in, with crisp nights and soft, gray mornings, and soaking dew on the unmowed back field. I walk through hip-high grass, goldenrod fans, spikes of deep red blades, a fringe of feathery tan. The dogs romp and bounce and end up soaking wet, as we explore the field each morning. They see different smells, animals who've crossed before them, creatures burrowed beneath the earth. I see a changing, burnished landscape that beckons, new and different, every morning. I breathe the autumn air deep into my lungs and sing a song of praise and thanks.

Evening's Edge

Evening's Edge
Oil on stretched canvas, 11x14

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

This is my first posting from my treetop studio/office. The migration of my stuff is nowhere near complete, but there's enough here to make it work. And the break is nice on my knees.

It's hot up here on the second floor of the garage, but I've got a fan blowing, and the day is cooling, and I'm not lugging stuff, so it's good. Peter's going to put a bird feeder up where I can see it from my desk here. I can see him walking around in the yard, and it feels a tad like I am spying.

I made this painting yesterday evening in Stonington. It was Labor Day, and the light was soft and burnished. The corn was still standing in the fields, and the shadows fell in patches on the road. A woman, running, stopped to make sure I was OK, as I jockeyed for a decent and safe spot. Birds sang, and some small animal rooted in the leaves to my right, and only two cars passed.

This painting is not at all what I set out to paint, but I like it. I like the pattern of light and dark, the rhythm of the corn fields (that's what those step-like things are in the background), the soft curl of the road.

Thanks for reading!

Here's the studio today, with my desk in the background, by my spy-window.

Pieces of the Heart

Red House. Oil on canvas, 11x14, $85.

Of course, I love it when people buy my paintings. But every time they do, I feel a little pang.

When I went back to Maine this week, and opened the door of the Denmark Arts Center, I actually said hello to my paintings. Sounds nuts, maybe, but I felt like I was seeing a bunch of old friends I hadn't seen in a while.

As I took my paintings down, my uncle said he felt something like this, too. He and my aunt and the other folks at the Denmark Arts Center loved having my paintings on their walls. My art brightened their rehearsals, cheered their meetings, added another element to their performances. My uncle said he'd miss my art.

When someone buys one of my paintings, they're buying the art, for sure. They're also taking home a little piece of my heart. And that's fine. It's good, even! After all, if I didn't put my heart into this, it would be worth nothing. So that little pang I feel, that's what it's all about, I think.