the mantle has been empty far too long
I’ve been meaning to create another portrait
what else is an empty fireplace wall for?
it seems an eternity has passed
since working with a linen base and liquid pigment
pencil and paper are sometimes sorry replacements
on August 3, I set out my paints
and selected a canvas
large enough for a big dog
yet, not overwhelming
for a little one
our last Shepherd, Chama was a regal type
her stoic beauty typified her grace
I did my best to present these qualities
when I painted her formal portrait in 2002
our current dogs
Rocky the Shepherd
Mojo the Dachshund
what is it about this dynamic duo
that makes my family laugh often
they are quite goofy
yet, they can be fearless too
as small dogs usually go-
Mojo’s 13 pounds sees 90 in our Pella glass door
while a Shepherd cuts an intimidating figure
Rocky acts quite silly
when conceptualizing a portrait
there is but one goal–
doing justice to
outlook(s) on life
natural as the air they breath
in the case of Rocky and Mojo
I’d say joy
and since purple was not quite right
I chose the colors of a
blissful sky, a wistful ocean,
an icy fruit-sickle on a steamy day
Chama (Chama the Shepherd looking at her portrait), oils – 2′ x 1 1/2′
painted in 2002 (sorry for poor photo quality)
Yesterday’s doll conversations brought back fond memories of a cherished childhood friend. His name was Charlie. He had curled pink fur and bright blue eyes that somehow didn’t seem right, but were. I remember many a dark night when Charlie was my cuddle pal.
I can’t remember why I cut Charlie’s long ears off. They were most likely cropped to better match his eyes. I can’t recall what eventually became of my beloved pink buddy. Maybe he ran away in fear. His little lunatic owner might chop off his balled tail which didn’t look quite right, but was.
It’s funny how sometimes making new friends can remind us of old lost ones. My blog buddy, Deb has an impossibly adorable dog named Charlie. If you’d like to see precious Charlie along with all his other four-legged house buddies visit C-Dog. Deb is a brilliant wordsmith and a great champion of animals in every conceivable color, even pink. And Fawn of Trigger’s Horse, handles her mom’s cherished doll collection with warmth and pride. Fawn is a volunteer extraordinaire and a multi-talented craftsperson.
Thank you. May you dream of your favorite childhood friend.
Charlie Dog drawn yesterday with misting eyes and markers
There is something so absolutely pacifying in a wagging tail or a wet nose against a palm. Animals bring magic to our lives. They make us smile-
It is so very sad when animals languish in shelters. Are we not their caretakers? It is so very sad when magnificent creatures are cut down because it is easy. One wouldn’t dare approach a gorilla bare-fisted. Our power is in body-splitting metal equipment only, we own nothing naturally. We trigger from a safe distance then take our prizes in hands and horns and leave the rest to waste. How sad for us.
I hold hope, as many of you do. We are better than those few who maim for profit. We are better than those who buy then throw on the street because the puppy didn’t fit ‘the dream.’ We will be better. We are good and kind and animals too…
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of fantastic jungles and leap from vines of silken pillows.
Peace my friends…
Delicate Daughter and Mojo the Dachshund taken in 2013, gorilla and rhino sketched in 2008
There once lived a little red fox-
Her auburn fur edged with gold, flickered in the sunlight whenever she ran about the forest. She was smart and lovely, yet she was unhappy. Though she could do all things in perfect fox-form, she dreamt of being a kangaroo. Daily she practiced graceful long jumps. The little red fox could even leap much higher than her older brothers. But this amazing athletic prowess, didn’t satiate her bounding appetite. She wanted to be a kangaroo. One misty morning with dew saturating her delicate toes, the little red fox came upon a purple-spotted mushroom. It was a purple-spotted fungus, the likes of which she’d never seen.
“My dear child,” bubbled the purple-spotted mushroom from his damp earthen throne, “you are unhappy.”
“Yes,” replied the little fox, not even a bit concerned she was talking to a purple-spotted fungus.
“I can make you happy,” whispered the mushroom low, as not to share his secret.
“How?” asked the little red fox, unable to contain her excitement.
“One bite of me and your dream will come true.”
The little red fox wasted not a moment, she chomped on the purple-spotted mushroom. When she awoke next morning, she could not push up on her strong front paws as she done all the previous days of her life. She rolled to her side, then much to her surprise, sprang up. So forceful was the leap, she soared fifty feet across the forest floor. The little red fox landed by a large puddle that had collected between gnarly tree roots and rock. She caught her reflection in the shimmering water. Her wish had been granted – her dream realized. Instead of being jubilant for the change, she sobbed mightily. She was neither a little red fox nor a complete kangaroo…
Hope you enjoyed my little fable.
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of being content in your own skin…
(Fox Up Close: Prisma, 2000, Foxroo: acrylic on canvas, 1999, Snowman with Fox Mask: Prisma, two days ago)
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-
One must have an animal menagerie to bounce upon too-
Goodnight and may your night be filled with dancing animals and happy music…
As a kid, I found any morning walk to my bus stop after a heavy rain daunting. Neither me or my earthworm friends were very happy. I couldn’t bear to watch the endless sea of pinkish-brown bodies wriggling on the wet blacktop. Whenever this upsetting scene accosted my eyes, my inner-tomboy morphed into a worm-plucking machine. Running in a serpentine pattern, I’d grab as many worms as my little hands could carry. Then onto the nearest lawn went the hapless earthworms. I’d continue saving worms until the bus arrived. Once seated, I’d wipe my dirty hands on my navy-blue knee socks so the nuns couldn’t think I’d been digging for the devil.
I don’t save earthworms much these days. I’d like to think that over the last forty years their little earthworm brains have evolved and they’re better equipped at saving themselves. I’ve since taken up offering roadside assistance to bewildered dogs. To prepare myself for this challenge, a nylon leash is stowed in my car and I watch The Dog Whisperer, whenever I can. To date I’m happy to report-I’ve reunited several lost pooches with their owners (though one little dog with oddly big teeth scared the crap out of me).
Bringing me to the reptile saving. A few years back there was an incident which compels me to save turtles for the rest of my life. I learned a terrible, horrible and valuable lesson. Every spring where I live many turtles venture out onto the road. While driving the tank, if I happen to spy a slow-moving shell I pull over and return the turtle to safety.
On this particular spring day several years ago, I’d been rushing to collect the big son (who was much smaller at the time) from elementary school. We had to find a birthday gift then get to a party. On the way to his school, a large snapping turtle – the kind that live 150 years – was making his way across the road. He was better than halfway and the road was not heavily trafficked. A fleeting thought entered my mind, “Pull the car over and make sure the turtle gets across.” Followed by the next fleeting thought, “No time. Everyone will see that giant turtle. It’s impossible not too. He’ll be fine.” I continued on my journey feeling nary a twinge of guilt. I picked up the big son and we proceeded to Target.
On the return ride, my jaw dropped open, my mouth hung agape. I was in disbelief. The huge, ancient, beautiful turtle didn’t make it across the road. I was broken-hearted but the guilt was far worse. I vowed from that day forward, much to the giant husband’s chagrin, to save every single turtle or reptile, no matter the time, place or situation.
I will admit that picking up and carrying that giant snapping turtle last year was not very smart, but the darn thing wasn’t moving fast enough and I had to help him cross the road.