Pug

Pug

Oil on canvas, 12x12. Commission. Email me at carriebjacobson@gmail.com 

to have me make a painting of your pet 

The wedding is over, and life is returning to normal. And I am finding, day by day, hour by hour, tasks I've left undone, promises I have failed to keep, chores I've simply ignored.

I spent much of the day just trying to figure out how far behind I am.

With all this, of course, comes a necessary assessment process. Are there things I planned on doing that really don't need being done? You bet. Letters I intended to write, art shows I meant to enter, calls I really and truly thought I would make... I've swept a passel of these things into a virtual wastebasket today, and my guess is that no one will even notice.

All that makes me question, of course, how much of what I - or anyone - deems so important really and truly is.

A friend admitted recently that, faced with that odd springtime swarm of ladybugs, most of whom ended up dying in her house, she'd pretty much just left them there, at least for a while. In turn, I admitted that I've been tossing paint-soaked paper towels all over my studio, and leaving them there, sometimes for weeks. Has anyone died from this sort of slobbiness? No. Not so far.

We've got food in the house and gas in the cars. If we go for a few days without fruit or lettuce, if the floors should have been swept on Sunday, if the electric company really wants its money, well, all those shoulds will surely become dids.

And as they do, what's important - people, family, love, pets and, of course, art - rises to the surface. I will remind myself, again and again, that the rest of it is ephemera. Worrying about it is a waste of time. And feeling guilty about it all is simply self-defeating.

The important stuff is here, and now, simmering on the stove, watching TV in the other room, sleeping at my feet, reading these words. That is all that matters.

Cowscape in A Major

Cowscape in A Major

Oil on canvas, 30x60

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

I had fun with this one. Real fun. There's a ton of paint on this piece, and I must say, it didn't photograph as well as it looks in real life. I shot a couple of detail pix, though, which should give you a better idea. When it's dry enough to move again, I'll reshoot it.

I'm embarking on a series of cowscapes. They won't all be this big, but some will. I like painting them, and it seems like people like seeing them, and buying them - so it's a mooooving marriage and I intend to milk it for all it's worth.

Here are the detail shots:

the main cow

the lower right corner of the canvas. 

Painting with Flowers

I painted with flowers, making the bouquets and corsages, and the arrangements for the head table 

at Erika and Jon's wedding. 

My stepdaughter Erika has now been Mrs. John Mowrey for more than 48 hours, and Peter and I couldn't be happier.

The wedding took place on Saturday, at Christ Episcopal Church in Westerly, R.I. Erika's friend Margaret was her bridesmaid, and Erika's daughter Samantha was her maid of honor. Jon's daughter Jenna was the flower girl, and Erika's son Ashton was the ring bearer. Jon had one groomsman, Bill Goins, and Dennis, Samantha's boyfriend, served as the usher. 

Peter and I walked Erika up the aisle and gave her away. 

Those were the outlines. What filled them in was truly beautiful, truly moving. 

The day had been cold and rainy, thick with thunder and lightning and heavy with downpours. But as 2:30 neared, the clouds moved away. 

Erika dressed in the rectory, and then the bridal party was to walk down Elm Street to the front door of Christ Church. 

There we were, four women and a girl, in beautiful, shimmering dresses, holding beribboned bouquets,  and as we opened the rectory door and stepped out onto one of the most beautiful streets in America, the day cleared, and we walked on sunshine and laughter and love, as drivers honked their horns and waved, and a blessed, sacred union waited inside the church. 

I have never had such a walk, and never will again. It was as close to perfect as any 100 yards could be. If my mother were alive, it would have been absolutely perfect. 

The bridesmaids walked up the aisle. Jenna and Ashton walked up the aisle. Then the music changed, and the doors opened, and Peter took one of Erika's arms and I took the other, and to my absolute amazement, I began to weep. We walked together, the three of us, who have gone through hell and back together, and with joy and love and sadness, we gave Erika to Jon. 

The ceremony finished with applause and music, and from there, the night went on, with great fun, and good food, and music and dancing and friendship. It was a beautiful, moving day, which I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life. 

I made two of these small arrangements. 

Erika and Jon

Ashton, our 7-year-old grandson, who took most of these photos

Peter and Erika

me

The Red Church Revisited

Painting now renamed "April Afternoon"

Oil on canvas, 16x20, $150 while it is wet and unframed

Send me an email if you'd like to buy this piece

I painted "The Red Church" late last month, and really wasn't happy with it. But I posted it, because honestly, that's part of the deal I've made with myself about this blog. I post, good or bad, pleased or displeased.

Some of you were kind enough to look closely at the painting and offer some suggestions - and they really helped! I changed the church from red to white... I darkened darks and lightened lights... I added a forsythia.  I saw that the aspect of the azaleas was incorrect, and I added hoizontality (is that a word?) to them.

And now, it's a pretty cool painting. I really like it - especially in person.

On another note, I am gearing up for the Paradise City show in Northampton, Mass., over Memorial Day weekend. The other day, in Borders, I picked up "American Style" magazine and saw the article listing that show as the third-best in the nation (the top two are in Kentucky).  I gulped, again feeling something approaching panic. But I am painting away, and more than anything, am excited.

And on yet another note, I have been accepted into the Wickford Outdoor Art Festival, in Wickford, R.I. This takes place July 10 and 11, and is a really wonderful show. I am amazed and thrilled that I got in.

Yorkie!

Yorkie

Oil on canvas, 12x12

Contact Lori at Center Framing & Art, 860-233-7804, for price and delivery options

A few days ago, I did something that would have made my mother proud. I waged war on a creeping juniper, and I won.

This thing was about 10 feet long and 8 feet wide. Its main root was (and still is, actually, as I couldn't get it out) the size of my wrist. The shrub, true to its name, had crept along most of a prime, full-sun garden bed at the side of our house, and then had spewed itself out into the yard.

It was fat, and healthy, and happy as could be - and I couldn't stand it.

Most of the problem was that I needed the sunny space it occupied. The rest of the problem, I've realized, is that I just don't like shrubs. I also don't like ground cover. So a shrub that acts as ground cover just has to go.

I pulled and chopped and dug and yanked. I lurched and tugged. I used all my muscles, all my weight, all my dogged determination. And when I thought I must fail, I brought in the heavy artillery: Memories of my mother, pruning the wegelia.

My mother had a particular passion for pruning, and especially for pruning the wegelia, a row of graceful, pink-flowered bushes that lined one edge of our driveway.

Annually, she would wage war on these bushes, hacking away at anything she deemed superfluous.

There was a lot that she deemed superfluous.

Every year, she'd be out there for days, cutting and chopping and shaping and pruning, heaping discarded branches into piles and them hauling them to the street for the trash men to take. When she was done with the wegelia, she'd start on the lilacs, or the rhododendrons, or the raspberries, or any other bush that seemed to be getting the upper hand.

She was relentless, dogged, unstoppable.

So I thought of Mom, and I waged war.

And I won!

I hauled eight wheelbarrow loads of creeping juniper into the woods. Eight!

Soon, I will enlarge the newly revealed garden (it's lined with beautiful cobblestones, surprise!) and transplant my roses. I hated killing that healthy plant, but I think there's always a little collateral damage when it comes to gardening.

Magic

Magic

Oil on canvas, 12x12. Commission

Saturday was my last day painting in West Hartford for a while, and as the day wore down, I found myself feeling a little wistful about it.

It's not an easy gig. It means getting up at the crack of dawn, packing the van, making sure to bring all the right stuff for all contingencies. It means driving nearly an hour and a half, finding a place to park (right in front of the gallery, really, if I am going to make it work all day) and loading up the meter with quarters.

By the time the store opens at 10, I am all set up. I plug in my little iPod music machine and begin painting.  I stand for five or six hours. If it's hot, I swelter. If it's cold, I freeze. I paint - good, bad, and everything in between - in public, with all the world watching. Sometimes, I am miraculously lucky, and can't make a bad stroke. Sometimes, the painting comes very hard. (This Saturday was like that).

So it is hard, and tiring, and frightening. But there is something magical in it, something life-affirming and joyous. And I am aware that, in a funky and American-eccentric way, I am carrying on the long tradition of the European street painter.

The painting is fun, and when I make a good one out there, it's great. But for me, the best part is the people I've met. Lizzie and Al are my special favorites. They are a father and daughter who have come to visit - and paint - for most of the Saturdays I've been out there. Lizzie was a little nervous, at first, to paint - and that is understandable. It's scary, to put brush (or knife) to canvas, while all of West Hartford walks by and watches. But with some urging from her dad and myself, she began to paint with me, and she was superb.

This Saturday, no urging was needed. She stepped up to the canvas and painted with ease and happiness.

Thea is another friend I've made there in the Center. She's a tall, exotic beauty who adores dogs, and really gets my paintings. She commissioned me to make one of her mother's aging dog, and while my painting brought tears to her eyes, her gift brought tears to mine.

So I'm out of the Center until some time in July. Next weekend is Erika's wedding. Then there's my birthday. Then our yard sale. Then Paradise City. Then I go to Canada, painting. Then, July 3 and 4, the Niantic Art Festival. Then, with luck, and if Center Framing will have me, I'll be back on LaSalle Road.

p.s., I'm making postcards with my summer schedule of shows and outings. If you're not on my mailing list, please send me your street address and I'll make sure to add you.

Meantime, thank you for reading!

Maryland Hill Farm

Maryland Hill Farm

Oil on linen, 16x20, special online price, $250

Beside me, as I made this painting, ran a small but energetic brook. It was only maybe five feet across, but it rushed and raced and crashed onto its rocky bed, tossing up spray and cool air and the sounds of a much bigger stream.

I was talking with a friend recently about how so many people seem to need to do this very same thing, to make themselves appear as big and important and powerful as possible. Everywhere you turn, some days, people are telling you how wonderful they are, how much more talented or professional or knowledgeable than that other guy over there.

I worked for decades in an industry where industrious and constant self-promotion helped you get the better jobs, the better pay, the better connections. I look back and see how that sort of activity changed me, made me into someone I really didn't like, and I feel lucky to have gotten out with my soul intact.

Now, of course, self-promotion is part of the job. But it is so different. Now, I am not spending my days saying how great I am, how much better I am than others - now, I spend my days not asking people to look at me, but please, please to look at what I made!

On another note, I'm reposting my painting and Nancy Reed Jones's from the day we painted together in Montgomery, N.Y. (Spring in Benedict Park)

Here's mine:

Here's hers: 

And we were side by side. Cool, huh?