Happy Birthday, Dad

In the Field, 7 a.m. Oil on canvas, 8x10, $65.

Yesterday, my dad turned 81. To celebrate, he played golf. How great is that?

Dad has refused to get old. He and his wife have traveled, by car, by plane and, for many years, by bike, throughout the world. They went skiing everywhere. They moved to Tubac, Arizona, a few years ago, returning to New England a couple times a year, to visit and escape the summer heat. In Tubac, they play a lot of golf, are active in the arts community, and go on what sound to me like brutal, daylong hikes. Dad drew cartoons for us when we were kids, and took up painting a few years ago. He makes wonderful watercolors of the people and landscapes of the southwest.

Time has taken some minor tolls on Dad, but they're barely worth mentioning. The fact is that, at 81, he's more active and in better shape than most people half his age.

I suspect that Dad might, at times, rue the fact that two of his three kids are engaged in activities that will never make us financially stable. But it's safe to say that it was his long-held desire to be a writer that sent my siblings and me in that direction.

So, thanks, Dad, for helping us hear the song of the creative life. Enjoy your 81st year!

Autumn Blowing In

Autumn Blowing In
Oil on stretched canvas, 10x20

Call me at 860-442-0246 or email me

if you are interested in buying this painting

This wind, it's what they'd call "a freshening breeze" in another century. It came out of nowhere, and brought rain with it last night. Today, it's tearing leaves from the trees, and brushing autumn along in front of it.

I've always loved a windy day. There's excitement in it, in the rush of air, and scents, and the very chaos of possibility.

A couple months ago, I got a great book on Andrew Wyeth, for $2 at a library book sale. It's probably a $100 book, and weighs enough to make you remember that paper is, in fact, made out of wood.

I spent part of yesterday poring over Wyeth's work, and the marvelous writing by Richard Meryman, and thinking about my painting in light of Wyeth's. One thing Wyeth and I share is a fascination with landscapes that are about nothing, and that contain nothing. He had the skill and vision to play them down from there; it is my tendency to play them up. And that's fine. I don't want to be Wyeth, and never will be, but I love his low-color approaches, his astonishing attention to detail, his quiet and intense brooding. I exult in these landscapes of nothingness, finding life and glee and optimism, where he finds death and sorrow and that luscious range of browns and sepias and colors of the quiet soul.

If I don't want to be Wyeth, well, I'd be happy to be one-tenth as successful.

Wading In

Wading In. Oil on canvas, 6x18
sold

I'm feeling at loose ends today. Part of it is the weather, changing and spinning, whisking in on this late September breeze. Part of it is my Wallkill River School show ending, and the inevitable sense of coming down that accompanies the finishing of a show. Part of it is our old dog, Kaja, and her creaky and slow recovery. Part of it is wrapping up the dog project for Center Framing and Art. And part of it, I'm sure, is my constant wondering about the value of what I'm doing.

For now, I am not going to dwell on the questions or the answers. I'm going to do what the young man in this painting is doing. I am going to wade in and keep searching. Sure, the water might be up to my knees, and I might wade in even deeper. But I'm going past the edge, past the lip of the waves, and I'm going to see.

Thanks for coming with me.

On Golden Field

Rainbow's End. Oil on stretched canvas, 16x20, $200

sold

This morning, while Peter stayed with Kaja, I drove to Westerly with a sample for the vet. On the way back, I looked for a painting. It feels like an age since I painted outdoors, and my soul was hungry for it.

When I drive the Miata, I often take back roads. It's a teeny car, and it's a 1987, and really, there's usually no reason to take the highway. This is Connecticut, after all, and we have lots of roads here.

I've been watching this field all summer. It borders 184, and it's always interesting. The light hits it well in the morning and the afternoon, and it's got a combination of wild and tame that I really like. And this week, it turned yellow. Bright, golden, sunny, unearthly yellow - full of flowers like late yellow daisies, knee-high, happy to grow in very wet soil.

As I painted, I fairly danced with the color and the high blue sky and the brilliant autumn breeze, and the knowledge that my old dog is on the mend and peaceful and happy, too.

Thanks for reading.

My Noble Girl

Miniature schnauzer. Contact Sandy at Center Framing & Art in West Hartford, Conn., for price and shipping information.

Yesterday, Kaja, our big red German shepherd/chow, lurched and wobbled toward me, a look of terror in her eyes. I got her to lie down, and she had a series of strokes and/or seizures while I held her. Her eyes rolled, her tongue lolled out, and she shook and went rigid, again and again.

Between events, she stared at me, pleading for me to make this stop. All I could do was hold her and stroke her and tell her what a good girl she is.

I couldn't get Peter on the phone for what felt like an eternity. He had the van, and I had the Miata, and while I could have lifted our 75-pound dog, the Miata could not have held her wracking tremors.

By the time he got home, the seizures had finished, and she was panting and spent, but able to stand a wobbly stand. We took her to our veterinarian, and he looked her over, drew blood, told us to take her home and keep her quiet, that she was going to be fine.

Today, she's better. She's tired, and she's still wobbly. Her arthritis, which has been a problem for a while, is taking more of a toll on her. But her glee showed up a few times on her face today, and she's been as barky and loud as usual.

This dog has been a true and noble friend for 13 years. She's the smartest dog I've ever known, and the most noble. She loved me from the moment she laid eyes on me, and would destroy anyone who tried to hurt me. She has greeted me, wagging and loving, every morning since we adopted her from a shelter in Maryland.

Kaja is the model for the Kaja in the fictional piece I'm writing for the Zest of Orange, a weekly newspaper by a group of writers and editors who worked at the Times Herald-Record. In the story, Kaja is strong and smart and noble and heroic. The fictional dog is nothing compared to the real thing.

The real thing.

Woolly Bully

Bulldog. Oil on canvas, 12x12, for Center Framing & Art in West Hartford, Conn. Contact Sandy for price and shipping info.

This afternoon, I started the 12th and final dog portrait for the project at Center Framing & Art. It's a minature schnauzer, and while there are still a few details to finish, it's well on its way.

The dog project has involved a different kind of discipline than the daily painting involves, and, to be honest, I didn't like it at first.

Every time I paint in public, two sort of annoying things happen. One is that everyone asks me how long it's taken me to make the painting I'm working on.

I think this is an odd question, really, and I don't understand why people want to know. What possible difference does it make? Do people ask a quilter how long it took to make that quilt, or a photographer how long it took to make the photograph? Since I paint very quickly, I'm put on edge even more by the question.

The second thing that happens is that people always tell me what I should paint.

If I'm in the right mood - and most of the time, honestly, I am - I'm grateful for these suggestions. But I must say that, more often than not, I go to the place I'm told I should paint and find that there's nothing there for me.

When I started the dog project, it felt a little like that. Sure, I love painting dogs - but with this project, I was painting someone else's choice of dog. Still, the idea appealed so much to me that I continued. And as the paintings piled up, the project took a different shape. I guess it became mine. It went from me filling in someone else's outline to me muscling up the content and forcing the outline around it. A big difference.

I must say, though, that I am just longing to get outside and paint!

Less Is Enough

Shi Tzu. Oil on canvas, 12x12. Contact Sandy at Center Framing & Art in West Hartford, Conn., for price and shipping information.

This is another "less is enough" painting for the gallery project. I realized that I couldn't give Sandy 11 portraits with strongly colored backgrounds and a lot of paint, and just one minimalist piece (see the poodle I painted a while back). If I was going to give her the poodle, I'd have to give her at least one other similar painting.

This little shi tzu pup seemed ideal. I might put a little more white paint around her nose, but otherwise, I think I'll leave her sketchy and wispy, more expression than dog. What do you think? Does she work?

If you're in or near the mid-Hudson Valley, you have about a week to get to the Wallkill River School Gallery in Montgomery to see "Here & There," my show with George Hayes.

The gallery is open from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., every day but Monday. For information and directions, click here. I have some really good paintings in this show, and also am taking orders for books of my work. I'd love to show up on the 30th and find that everything had sold, and I had nothing to bring home except a bunch of orders.

Remember, art makes a great gift, and we're coming up on the gifting season. How cool would it be to give a painting to someone you love, instead of giving that person something from Target? And if there's a painting you love, let me know and I'd be happy to contact your spouse, or children or best friend, and suggest that they buy the painting for you.

Also, I'm teaching a pet-painting workshop at the Wallkill River School on Saturday, from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Sign up, and you'll finish the day with two portraits and a great sense of possibility!

Thank you for reading!