Author and Poet
Leader and Sage
Activist and Storyteller
Wife and Mother
Designing and painting a wall mural is a formidable process. The execution is simply an expanded version of what one would do on canvas. This is not the arduous part. The difficulty comes with the passage of time. What happens when a room gets redecorated or repurposed? The mural is often a victim of circumstance. Many wall paintings are eventually covered over with contemporary hues. The delicate daughter’s carousel had its day in the sun too. I created it years ago when she loved playing with dollhouses and reading picture books. This mural was painted over with Georgian Gold when it became the guest room.
I began this Merry-Go-Round with research and the painting of this wooden sign-
The Paint horse below was created in homage to the animated movie, Spirit. Her name is Rain. She is Spirit’s horse girlfriend-
Then of course, there’s the proud Mustang stallion, Spirit-
See how the equine pair frolic about the Wild West-
And what’s a carousel without a doting cherub –
One must have an animal menagerie to bounce upon too-
There can’t be a carousel kingdom without a prince of the forest and a king of the jungle –
So merrily life goes ’round and carousels spin. We ride and laugh aloud. Sometimes we even get sick. The Merry-Go-Round stops and waits for the next group of riders.
Goodnight and may your night be filled with dancing animals and happy music…
Pointless, if unappreciated
Vanished, if not honored
Forgotten, if not remembered
‘Standard’ Pencil on Marker Layout
Once again, I was trapped in a dark room for seven hours. Keeping large classes focused on laborious computerized tests can make one quite mad. There were brief moments where student test takers dwindled. In these brief respites – white noise humming in my ears – my frazzled fingers sketched with a chewed pencil. There’s something lovable about printer paper.
I had time to doodle out two sketches, the woman above and the dude below-
Guess which one I drew first 🙂
Have a wondrous, creative and honorable Memorial Day weekend…
This past weekend I visited my folks. My mom had purchased tickets (an early birthday present for me) to see my all time favorite Broadway actor – Mandy Patinkin sing with Patti Lupone (another favorite). My sis, delicate daughter and amazingly vivacious 78-year-old mother stopped at a Vegan Cafe before the show –
(sister, delicate daughter, beautiful mom)
The show was fantastic, no surprises there-
The big surprise was my dad’s special gift for his wife. My mother – bless her young heart – plays tennis, serves as an Art Committee Chairman, enjoys swimming…in short she loves life and lives it well. She got the idea into her head this year, she’d like to take up kayaking. Her six children advised against it. My father – usually a conservative thinker – threw caution to the wind and gave his spirited wife a shiny new, red kayak for Mother’s Day-
I love my mother dearly. She is so many things to so many people. Her talents are many. She has a beautiful soprano voice. She sang the Ave Maria at her wedding, as well as mine-
I painted this watercolor portrait in 2009 for my parents’
50th Wedding Anniversary celebration
I hope when the shiny red kayak touches down on the lake for its maiden voyage, my mother can paddle as well as she sings…
As a child, I never cared for dolls. My inner-tomboy wouldn’t allow it. There was however this one special baby doll, that my father brought home on a dark night long ago. Oh, she was beautiful. Her silky brown hair was fashioned into pixie and she had dark, malted milk-ball eyes. She wore a simple blue dress decorated with one little yellow daisy. She was the first doll I’d ever seen with eyes and hair like mine. It was love at first sight.
But my younger sister wanted the new doll too. She needed to add the brown-eyed beauty to her massive doll collection. My sister feared her sibling’s unusual desire for the plastic newcomer. She realized claiming her divine doll right in this situation, might be ineffective. My younger sister employed a more sinister tactic – she cried. Her blue eyes were quite convincing.
My inner-tomboy nearly relented that evening. Except as luck would have it, my inner-tomboy fell out of her upper bunk bed onto her head, ironically while showing off how far she could lean down without falling. She cried too – which she didn’t do often. My father who was within earshot came running in. In that tear-ridden moment, I asked for the brown-eyed, baby doll. Gazing at my pathetic face, my father told my sister she had more than enough dolls. And for the price of one head bump, the only baby doll I ever coveted was mine.
Sadly, I can’t remember what happened to my precious doll. Many years later, while at a younger brother’s high school graduation, I spied a beautiful, brown-eyed girl gripping a dirty, bald-headed Cabbage Patch Doll. She cupped the dolly tenderly to her shoulder. The afternoon sun was lighting her flawless face like an angel. I took a photo.
I came home that evening, took out my pastels and drew a cherished childhood memory –