Marsh, Clinton

Marsh, Clinton

Oil on canvas, 10x10

By subscription; contact me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com to subscribe.

I am going to sell the 100 10-inch-by-10-inch paintings by subscription and lottery.

Here's how it will work. You pay me $100, and that entitles you one painting from the 100.

The first 40 people who subscribe will have their choice of any of the 100 paintings, when the group is completed. Those 40 get their choices according to their place in the list. The first one to subscribe gets the first choice of all the 100 paintings. The second to subscribe chooses second, etc.

After the first 40 subscribers have made their choices, the remaining 60 will be entered into a lottery to determine their selection order.

I will put these up on a special page on my website, or here, or both. 

What do you think? Is this a good way to do it?

According to my pricing structure, these 10 by 10s, at $100, are 30 percent to 50 percent below what they would be at a show, and even more below what they would be at a gallery. The $100 includes tax, which makes them an even better deal.

While I can't promise that the 100 will be finished by Christmas - they probably won't - if anyone wants to give one as a Christmas present, I'll supply you with a nice gift certificate card that says what number the recipient is in the order...

Comments? Ideas? Refinements? Interest? Let me know!

 

Here's  my painting in front of the marsh in Clinton.

Wyoming

Wyoming

Oil on canvas, 36x40

sold

On my first painting trip, I was driving through Wyoming and decided to get off at every exit. And why not? There aren't that many exits, I had no one with me, and I was looking for stuff to paint.

I headed into the prairie on a dirt road off one exit and encountered this group of cows and calves. They stared at me, and frankly, a couple of them were staring pretty threateningly. I took some photos and left. They had horns!

I was showing Lori, the owner of Center Framing and Art in West Hartford, my iPad, and she saw an earlier version of this painting and begged me to go at it again.

I was happy to. It's one of my favorite photos, and I like re-addressing the same scene, and doing it differently. It's fun, and it seems to provoke creativity. And I really like this painting. I will say that the photo I've taken doesn't do it justice. I'll try again - but I have noticed that the larger the painting, the less well the internet pictures handle it.

If you click here, you can see more paintings from my trip to Wyoming.

***

Going to New York state this weekend? I will be doing the demonstration at the Wallkill River School's plein-air group on Sunday. I'd love to have you there! The group is just wonderful, and doing a demo is fun. Check out the Wallkill River School's website for details.

***

And if you're looking for something fun to do on Columbus Day weekend, I'd like to suggest the Paradise City Arts Festival in Northampton, Mass. This is the fall version of the show I did in the spring. I've never gotten into the fall show before, but it is supposedly bigger and better than the spring show. And that one is pretty spectacular!

I will be in Booth 407, in the Morgan Barn II. If you go to the show, please stop in. And you can see this painting in real life!

Our Old House

Our Old House

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100

sold

This peaceful-looking little stream ran through a culvert below our driveway at our house in New York. The driveway dipped from the level of the house, down to cross the culvert, and then up again to meet the street.

Behind our house, the Neversink River ran, its water tea-colored and clean. Birds flew up and down it regularly, and ducks swam on its surface. Great blue herons fished nearly daily, and from time to time, you could see and hear eagles.

And then there were the floods. The river would rise quickly, pushing its way up toward our house. And at a certain point, the river would split and come around in front, turning this usually quiet creek into a raging torrent that would tear up our driveway, breaking concrete into chunks, throwing boulders downstream and, potentially, trapping us in our home.

Most of the time, this was a beautiful, lovely place to live. In the floods, it was a terrifying, horrible, frightening spot.

I've gotten over my fear of heavy rain, and now, I can think of our house in New York with pleasure, remembering how beautiful it was, how much fun it was to listen to the river, and see its wildlife, and live along its banks.

jacobson arts is located in gales ferry, CT

Dead-End Road, Salem

Dead-End Road, Salem

Oil on canvas, 10x10, $100
sold

I was as lost as a person can be, 15 miles from where they live. I don't think I could find this place on a map today, but that's OK. That was the point, really.

It was getting on toward dusk, and rain was threatening when I found this little autumn lane and pulled over to paint. I doused myself with bug spray, but as evening drew closer, the mosquitoes thickened.

About an hour after I'd started painting, a big official-looking truck turned down the little road and pulled up beside me. The official-looking guys inside dropped their serious expressions when they saw me and started smiling.

They were state conservation cops, out to find people poaching deer and hunting without licenses and otherwise marauding in the wilderness. But they turned to me and said... "You know, you're supposed to have a permit for that!"

"I knew it!" I said, "I knew the art police would track me down sooner or later!"

At any rate, they were happy to see someone out innocently enjoying the woods, and we talked about painting, and Salem, and their jobs and mine, and then they turned their giant truck around and headed out.

Not 10 minutes later, the mosquitoes got so bad, I had to pick up and leave. I am still scratching today.

Northampton Field

 Northampton Field

Oil on canvas, 30x40

Please contact me for price and delivery information

Deep in my soul, I've come to realize, there is a thing that needs discovery, needs to go to new places and see new things. Deep in my soul, there's a rambler, a hobo, a rootless wanderer who would be as happy being a drifter as being anything else.

This has had some results in my life, including an inability - or unwillingness - to stay in the same place or the same job for more than a few years. In my 24 years with Peter, we've moved nine times, and each of them - except for this last one - has been because I wanted to go. Go, go, go.

It seems only fair that we stay put now.

So I've taken painting trips, and they have satisfied my needs. But this year, the demands of my day job and the long and painful demise of our dear dog Kaja made a trip impossible. Now, she is gone, but the job remains, for better or worse. I am looking forward with all my soul to going somewhere in the last week of October - and I don't even care where, as long as it's someplace I haven't been.

Saturday, seized with desire, I threw off my plans, packed the van and headed to the Northampton, Mass., area. I'd painted up there during the Paradise City shows, but always doing early-morning plein-air pieces, always rushed, always hurrying.

Saturday, I took my time, got myself lost, and made the largest plein-air piece I've ever made, 30 inches by 40 inches, and every inch of it luscious and rich and free. I love this painting. I love the place where the shadows of the trees meet the brilliance of the yellow field. I love the swirly, thick sky. I love the curve of the road and the hint of autumn in the foliage, and most of all, I loved going away, being alone, seeing something new. It restored me.


 

Here's my painting, in the field. Not one person passed in the hours I painted.

Woody

Woody

Oil on canvas, 12x12

Commission

Sometimes, the dogs really drive me crazy, and there's been a stretch of that this week. With the cool weather, they've been rambunctious, loud, and just too much on the alert. They're racing around the house at top speed, leaping onto each other and the furniture, sending all sorts of things flying - and when they're not playing like lunatics, they're arguing and growling at each other, barking for no apparent reason.

Usually, I find all this amusing. This week, no.

I think this is more a comment on me than on them.

I need to relax a little. I need to get away. I need to stop working so many insane hours every day. I need to give a little more, and worry a little less.

The dogs are my friends, and my comforts. I am looking forward to the day when I wake up and laugh at them again. I hope it comes soon.

Griswold Farm

Griswold Farm

Oil on canvas, 10x10
sold

I love to go places I've never been, and drive down roads I've never driven down.

In July, as I drove to paint sunflowers, day after day at Buttonwood Farm in Griswold, I saw a couple roads that looked inviting. But I was always in a hurry, always with a destination in mind, and so I stayed on my course.

Last week, I took a drive down one of them, and found myself in a place that just didn't feel like Connecticut.

And I was hungry for that. For a place that felt like another state, another country.

I toodled all over the place this afternoon, before and after making this painting. And I returned home feeling refreshed - and once again glad to be coming home to a place I know.