Tag Archives: artist

A Poor Imitation

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Months ago, my son had asked me if I could recreate a painting for him. The particular artwork in question – he’d decided long ago – was his favorite of all time. Since I’d painted a picture of fish for his sister, I told him I’d create art for him too. The painting he wanted had been living as a blurry photo on his phone for quite some time. He’d seen the art – years ago – hanging on the wall of a restaurant.

Neither Max or I were able to locate a decent reference image – my son’s photo was so blurry in fact, I saw nothing but white in the air and dark lumps on the ground. My son’s description from memory was “men on horses and some cabins.” We went as far as returning to the restaurant (under new ownership for several years) and inquiring about the painting that had once hung on their far left wall.

Now I’ll tell you, I don’t like painting landscapes – I never have – meaning – I’ve avoided them my entire life – so my best attempts at recreating any are fake – I muddle my way through in an effort to get something close to the needle of credibility. The painting above is the result – my son – of course – loves it – because his mom made it for him. Any artist looking at this might smile and keep the honest review beneath the tongue.

And, as karma so often intervenes, months after I’d finished the painting, Max and I walked 2 blocks from the house to get coffee. The coffee-bar’s proprietor was a collector of books, art, antiques…and when we showed him the photo of my painting – he immediately knew whose artwork I’d been trying to recreate (in fact – the framed reproduction below was actually in another room of his coffee bar)- dang – was I off.

The Last Cantonment, 1783 – John F. Gould

John Fleming Gould (1906-1996) graduated from Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, NY, and later instructed at Pratt for 22 years. He was a prominent illustrator for the Saturday Evening Post for more than 8 years. Many of Mr. Gould’s works hang in private collections. He was partial to historical subjects, especially in the Hudson River Valley from the Statue of Liberty to Albany, NY.

I’ve provided more visual snow for some of you. who don’t really need to see anymore snow.
I hope you’re all keeping warm,
am:)

It is with a heavy heart that I update this post.

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Holding My Friend to a Promise (originally posted 12/9/24)

For over thirty years my friend Robert Milby has been reading his poetry throughout the Hudson Valley, NYC, Long Island, NJ, PA, and New England. An engaging speaker, Robert has made 1,500 public appearances and has done hundreds of readings, open mics, lectures, presentations, participated in radio commentary and festivals, and has been spotlighted on independent tv shows. Robert has shared his enthusiasm and poetic talents through reading and writing workshops in schools and culture centers and has been a guest poet at higher educational institutions. 

Robert’s numerous works have been included in magazines and anthologies. Add to his stellar resume and his four poetry books, his chapbook, Gothic, Orange was published through the County Historian’s office in 2018. He has been a Kirkus Reviewer, a “Best Poet” winner and a longtime Woodstock Poetry Society member. In 2017, Robert was honored with the title, Poet Laureate of Orange County, NY. His relentless devotion to poetry has never ceased. Until now.

Robert is battling stage IV pancreatic cancer. As a freelance writer, he has been unable to work for the past nine months. I understand this is a difficult time of year to ask for donations, but any amount you’re able to make will help Robert pay for his mounting medical expenses. (Go Fund Me link)

I would have given up reading my work in public, if not for Robert. His dedication and encouragement inspired me to share my own work beyond the written page. A deep-reader and researcher, Robert promised me that he’d share his voluminous knowledge of UFOs over coffee one day. I am holding him to that promise.

Thank you in advance for your generosity. (Go Fund Me link)

The Day I Stopped Believing in God

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Thirteen birthday-attendees ride the little train through the painted tunnel and scream when the tunnel turns oil-black. Afterward, the animated girls leap onto the spring-loaded playground.

I fix eyes on the ponies dusting-up the ring from the perch of a bouncing rooster. After a few minutes, the birthday girl’s mom, Mrs. Bee, leads us over to the ring. I take Parochial-school position for biggest girl — end of the line.

Each time a young handler instructs the next rider how to safely mount, my heart leaps. I bound up the wooden stairs when my turn arrives. Butterbean’s handler wears a cowboy hat. His broad teeth shine like the sun. His slim eyes are eclipsed by his hat brim.

Those darkened eyes look me over. Out the sunlit mouth, a question trots out, “What do you weigh?”

I haven’t yet perfected the art of the lie. The truth sinks me 20 pounds above my classmates.

The cowboy’s teeth vanish behind a cloud of smirking lips, “You’re too big to ride this pony.”

I swallow the screaming. I reverse-off the podium.

My cheeks brighter than the eyes of giggling classmates and the red balloons bubbling beside Sally’s birthday cake, I clod, head down, praying for my early death.

Today, I no longer believe in God.

(Misty of Chincoteague – painted when I was 13 – I remember being quite proud of this acrylic work thinking at the time)

I hope for those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving that you had a beautiful holiday. I had 24 family members in my home, and we had a wonderful day. Today, the little girl who was turned away from a pony ride, is heading to the gym. Later, she will run her three miles when the sun warms the land a tad more. She is always running, trying to stay just ahead of the little sad girl.

am:)

Gifting Pony Love

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Every library Friday, I check or attempt to check-out the illustrated book, Pegasus as retold by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Belephron astride Pegasus, the mighty pair battling the Chimera, the pearl-winged horse nuzzling little children.

Sometimes the school librarian says, “You’re not giving anyone else a chance to read this book. Do you think that’s fair?” And Pegasus is taken from me.

On the days I’m permitted Pegasus, the over-sized book holds steadfast beneath my arm like I imagine Jesus carrying his cross.

One Saturday following a library day that I wasn’t given Pegasus, my little sister’s friend tells me how much she loves horses. I see the pony-love in her eyes. I give her my only two Breyers’ horses because I don’t want them separated.

I love horses more than anyone. And now, I have no horses all over again.

Ah, the memories that long ago made me sad, make me smile today:)

(Black and white drawing of my Breyer’s Paint Pony done when I was 13.
The Pegasus book I lived with as a child, I own at 61.)

A Bony Cat and a Bowl of Milk

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Too many mornings spent waiting. My Converse forever damp from crossing the neighbor’s lawn. Daily curb squatting since noticing the bony cat. Cereal bowl sloshing in my hands.

Finally on this damp morning the bony cat sidles near, laps up the Fruit Loop milk, then she bites me and sprints away.

I’m tiptoeing home to wash the blood off my thumb and to hug our German Shepherd who’s never bitten anyone except the paperboy but that was the day he tossed a Community Life at her head.

(Pictured here: back row left to right- my wise older sister Virginia, my baby sister Dolores sitting on Uncle Robert’s lap (mom’s brother), Grandma Gulli (mom’s mom), my other wise older sister Grace holding onto Tima, our beloved family dog, front row- my little brother Vito, I’m squatting in center. and our baby brother Robert in bouncy seat)

Snorky’s Sandlot

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Snorky’s brown belly and back end are married together by a band of hamster white. His whiskers twitch and his tiny hands fondle food like Play-doh.

This morning I found Snorky curled into a frozen smile.

I will bury him in the sandy cemetery below the clothesline where our underwear already hangs in sad-mouthed shapes.


(Some childhood memories dig in like hamsters on spinning wheels-my siblings and I had quite a sandlot)

3,000 Pieces of Candy

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‘Tis true – we dwell in a ufo-embracing town – the kind that breathes Halloween – aliens, creatures, princesses and all – in every deliciously macabre direction

Armed with 3,000 pieces of candy, we’re ready for the costumed onslaught.

Happy Halloween
Be safe
Be smart
and remember – over-sugaring doesn’t make us sweet;)
kindness comes from within

am:)
(featured above – my little pumpkin kid – a great dancer who can pirouette atop any pumpkin)

Created

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Monsters do not exist – they are created.

Voting draws near – choose wisely

I’m ready for Halloween. 3,000 pieces of candy purchased. (I do not exaggerate – Trick-or-Treat is rather insane here in upstate NY:)
(Boris Karloff’s likeness served as my inspiration for this Frankenstein art. Photo background is from Canva)


am:)

Happy-ish Halloween Countdown

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These days I don’t get around to WP as often as I should, but it’s not for lack of desire. I’ve been spending the bulk of my creative time, offline, repurposing my cryptids and creatures. Additionally, I’ve been sketching, painting, barrelling through my menagerie of books and listening to history podcasts on my way to the gym. I’ve discovered, since reteaching myself history, not much has changed, yet everything has. And each day, after reading the news, I return to my quiet, non-territorial creatures who live, accept and love more honestly than mankind.

Art above – (Front of a blank card) I’ve been creating bookmarks, blank cards and good old-fashion postcards (remember those). Using the designer-light program, Canva, I merge my art with manipulated backgrounds then download the files for printing. I hope to bring these printed items to local shops, and I plan on selling them at the next enormous UFO Fair, June ’25.

I hope you’re all doing okay.

am

Never-Nearly

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I’m honored to have my story “Never-Nearly” published by 101 Words, a site dedicated to the art of creating a color explosion with a few pigments.

Pencil sketch done a few months ago of my dear talented artist/writer friend, Clayton Buchanan, with his son, Baird.

“About 101 Words

In the early 2000s, I saw a local newspaper ad soliciting 101 word stories. For some reason, I was drawn to the idea and submitted a few stories. I don’t remember if they got published.

The limitation concept stuck with me, and I started 101 Words in December 2005. In those early days, I only posted my own stories and a few from friends. I didn’t open it up to the public until 2007.

In November 2014, I decided to go all in and turn 101 Words into something special.

My vision for 101 Words is a comprehensive ecosystem and community that can support writers, editors, and readers. This vision is a work in progress, and I hope you stick around to watch it grow.

— Shannon”

Thank you for stopping by.
AnnMarie:)