Two Long Weeks

Peter

These days stretch out like fog along a gravel road, gray at the top, sharp beneath my feet.

For more than 30 years, it was the two of us together, with a changing retinue of dogs and cats. Always, there was my dear Erika, but usually at a distance.

It was Peter and me, in Westerly, in Portsmouth, in Idaho, in Maine, in Paris and Madrid and the Basque Pyrenees. It was him and me in Connecticut and Maryland and New York state and here on the Eastern Shore.

It was the two of us camping on the Big Hole River, fishing Kelly Creek and Silver Creek, skiing together at Bogus Basin, walking the woods in Bolster's Mills, swimming in the Neversink River, driving through western Canada, climbing to the top of a mountain in Lake Louise with our little dog, Gus. When we got to the top and were told Gus couldn't sit on the patio of the mountaintop restaurant with us, we turned around and hiked back down.

It was the two of us, together, complete. It was enough. We had friends, and we have family we love, but he made my world.

And now he is gone.

I can't believe it. Still can't believe it, two weeks after his death. I am sure he is about to walk in, yell "Hey, baby!" and hug and kiss me. Again and again, I am sure. Again and again, I relive the truth.

He is not coming back. There is no more "us." No more turning to him and asking, "Do you remember when we...?" No more, "Look at what I saw today!" knowing it would make him smile.

I made the painting of him a few days ago. When I was in New Mexico in the spring, I bought a set of pigments from a guy who mines the minerals and then crushes them into pigment. I'd been saving them for something special.

We are holding a memorial celebration for Peter on Saturday, Nov. 23, in Westerly, RI. I will paste the notice in below. You are welcome to attend. If you can't, maybe you can put a Hawaiian shirt on on that day, even over another shirt. If you want to read about his life, you may click here to get to his obituary, on jacobson-arts.com

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PLEASE JOIN US at the Calabrese Club on Saturday, Nov. 23, to celebrate the rich, art-filled and too-short life of Peter Richard Jacobson, who died Oct. 10. The club is located at 28 Pleasant St., Westerly, RI.

The celebration will take place from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. Please come prepared to share stories and memories about Peter. And if you have or can get a Hawaiian shirt, please wear one. They were his favorite. 

The celebration will be alcohol-free. If you would like to bring a dish to share, please contact Erika Jacobson Chiaradio, either by tagging or messaging her on Facebook, or calling her at 401-595-6850.

To read his obituary, please visit jacobson-arts.com. To see his artwork, please visit peterjacobsonart.com

The Overlook

The Overlook

Oil on black canvas, 18x18

Please click here to email me for price and availability

The Overlook is where you go if you live in Westerly, RI, and need a tiny breathing break from life. People park along the edge of the road, look at the big homes and watch the waves break against the rocks. Sometimes there's a seal, but usually, it's just space and air and water and waves and the sweet scent of the ocean. 

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Scenes from the Road

I arrived in Tubac, AZ, yesterday, on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, warm enough to chase away all thoughts of winter, snow, grayness, cold. The sun shone on the mountains, I could roll the window down in the van, and relax in the knowledge that I'd made it, safe and sound, across pretty much the entire country.

Peter waved, and the dogs barked and I pulled out of Wachapreague on Saturday, the van loaded with paintings, tent, and all manner of stuff for the three shows I'll do out here - Tubac, Feb. 7-11; Tucson Museum Spring Artisan Exhibit, Feb. 16-18; and the Fountain Hills Great Fair, Feb. 23-25. (Please click here for more info).

The country spun out before me, huge and fascinating and beautiful. The flat lands and salt marshes and tall pines of the Eastern Seaboard t fell away to the piney woods and palms of the Florida panhandle, the surprisingly industrial landscape of Alabama and Mississippi, with bristling ports and creaky bridges, giant gas globes frighteningly close to the highways - and then, all that is behind me, and I'm in Louisiana, and the bayous and water-soaked rice fields lead up to the Atchafalaya basin and the slim causeway that crosses it.

Then, it's Texas, 878 miles of it on I-10. Surprising hills and verdant fields in the east, the incredible bustle and 16-lane-wide highways of Houston, overarched with curving flyways and bridges - and then all civilization falls away, and Texas goes on and on and on and on. You drive by wind-blown towns with empty main streets and paint-peeled houses. Whole neighborhoods living in their RVs. Dogs on chains, and small herds of cows, and here and there goats and burros. Old cars rust into the land, and the door of an abandoned Winnebago swings in the wind, above a structure that once, clearly, was a patio.

The West starts in Texas, with little dots and splotches of red land, and then, up a hill and around a curve, mountains and buttes and a changed landscape. The New Mexico line is a celebration and a marker, and El Paso, with its stinking cow lots and thick array of stores - three Super Walmarts! - and frightening fly-way overpasses fades into memory.

Then, all of a sudden, after days and days of travel, I'm in Arizona, and breathing sunshine and welcome and the promise of seeing people I love, family, just up there, past the cities, by the sun-warmed mountains, glowing ochre and pink in the welcome evening light.

Photos, from top: me with my friend Bonnie, whom I visited in Florida. Then me with Sadie, Bonnie's flat-coated retriever. Next, a rest area bathroom in Texas - it's nicer than my house! Texas just has too much money! And finally, one of the windblown homes you see along the road. 

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Dog of the Day

I met Peaches at a gas station in North or South Carolina. Her brand-new family drove to Georgia from Connecticut to get her. She's a rescue, and a fine, friendly, sweet puppy. 

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A Final Thought 

"Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mother's face." 

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Morning in Westerly - and Max Gets a Special Delivery

Morning in Westerly, RI

Oil on canvas, 20x20

Please click here to email me for price and availability

My first show of the year is this weekend at the convention center in Virginia Beach. My display will consist nearly entirely of new paintings, including this one, and I am excited and interested to see how these paintings are received. 

The show is Saturday and Sunday, and starts at noon each day. It's in conjunction with the Coastal Virginia Winefest, which apparently includes tastings of wine and beer, accounting for the late opening time and $50 entry fee. 

It's the first year for this art show, which is being put on by the Museum of Contemporary Art, the same people who put on the Boardwalk Art Show and the Neptune Festival. First-year shows can be dicey, but this one seems to be advertised heavily, and as part of a known event, has a better chance of success than many first-year shows. I'll let you all know how it goes. 

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AFTER THE SHOW, I will spend the coming week painting and packing the van for the Origins Painting Trip.  (There's still time to get a sponsorship, and I can handle a few more. Click here for info!) 

Friday is Peter's birthday. We will have a nice little celebration, and then on Saturday, I will head out for the west. I am starting to get excited! 

This is Window Rock, a famous formation just a few miles from where I spent my first months. The headquarters of the Navajo Nation are right at Window Rock now. 

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Dog of the Day

It's Max! I ran into him in the post office. He gave me a good sniffing - but what he was really interested in was Jackie, and the cookies she gives him every time he visits.