A piece from 2014 published in the Avocet…was it so long ago…
5 am peaceful
wishing it were contented spirits dusting the cement grass with glitter not winter’s freeze
my dachshund’s paw prints sweet as a postcard one might send a faraway lover
I linger in the numbing quiet let the moment warm this blanketed silence hushed low like swimming beneath water where despair drowns then floats away in bubbles and dancing reflections
don’t want to twist the frozen doorknob and go back inside I’d love to remain out here 5 am with the sparkling dust and all that glitters in the beauty of this silence when the world is so peaceful
the original marker art that posted along with the poem in 2014
Yesterday’s post highlighted an artwork I painted for my son. The painting – Washington’s Last Cantonment – was created after I’d painted a canvas for his sister.
For the acrylic (above), I used several old reference images – some of the fish – like the large koi – were directly inspired from those images (apologies to the brilliant artists – I’ve been unable to locate their names to properly credit) – a few of the other fish swim in my head – and now – on my daughter’s apartment wall. She’d requested the specific water color…for interior decor ‘matchi-ness’:)
Both paintings are 4′ x 2′ – each a labor of love. As much as I don’t enjoy painting landscapes, water scenes run a close second. I find the most joy in creating cryptids and creatures. I don’t know why or what to think of that. Perhaps, I shouldn’t ponder fangs and claws too deeply. These thoughts might reveal lurking images in the sub-basement brain;)
Looks to be another cold beautiful day here in the Hudson Valley.
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:)
Beside the bright berries of the mountain ash, the bird’s eyes are dull. His heart — races. Will this be the creature I save? Into its parched mouth, I administer a drop of water. The frail ribs expand up and down like a bullfrog’s throat. The dull eyes go glassy. The breast stops flying.
My small sweating hands wrap the limp bird in tissue. I dig out a hole and bury the tiny thing beside the tree. Tears fall. The ground turns moist. I mutter a child’s prayer for things I don’t understand. The morning sun shifts. The ground has nearly dried.
Should I stand beside this grave for the remainder of my life—
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)
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.
(Above, a recent sketch I did of my dear friend, DS Levy. My reference was a photo taken when the amazingly talented writer known as little Deb had a typewriter already growing in her heart)
Man, it has been a long time since I’ve posted. Like you all, I’m juggling coffee mugs attempting to make a Venetian decanter. I’ve been doing quite a bit of writing and ‘arting’ offline. ‘Tis difficult wanting to do it all with the damn clock dictating the days.
I do hope you, your families and friends are doing okay.
Here’s a piece I wrote sometime ago while sipping coffee in the kitchen of my previous home:)
The Lollipop Vanishes
The cold isn’t done yet. It remains bluster-blue out there. Steam from my morning coffee marinates my face while a pen hanging from the calendar on my pantry door doodles pictograms. The wind spirits are still dancing. Shouldn’t have cracked the kitchen sliders open so early. Perhaps the swinging pen is scrawling a message from beyond, should I pray or wipe the door down?
Time flips on its head whenever clouds sail by that fast. Between sips of luke warm coffee, I remember me as a little girl in brown polyester, a tomboy with a pageboy, and a half-shirted party girl. Young woman with a career, an apartment, a sports car, a motorcycle.
As a lefty, I never learned biker right-hand turns. The bike went away. I totaled my car. The car went away. I bought another car. Got married. We moved from New Jersey to New York. We had children. Moved into a bigger house. Our large dog died. We got another dog. Plus a smaller dog for child anxiety. My children earned degrees.
Our family had a bad eleven weeks that killed my father and mother-in-law and gave my mother a massive stroke. My mother died three years later. I don’t remember being her caregiver. My children moved into their new lives. We downsized into a new “old” house. My husband’s hair turned grey. My older relatives are nearly done dying. A box of Clairol waits in the wings for me.
In one of my book clubs, I’m the oldest, in the other, I’m the youngest. I worry the elder members will pass on before reading the next book selection.
The lollipop vanishes, and the goddamn stick can beat you into the ground if you let it.
Look out there, the gray is fading to light purple. How lovely. That’s something I haven’t seen in a while.
anntogether 