Monday, March 6, 2017

19th and Wylie

"19th and Wylie", 3 1/4" x 4 1/2", oil pastel on 300# oil paper

What Kind of Times Are These

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.

-Adrienne Rich

(+ thank you Karen, Nicole and Elliott) 

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Shallot and Red Anjou Pear

"Shallot and Red Anjou Pear", oil on Ampersand gessobord, 7 x 5" 


“Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.”

― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Turnip is a Vegetable

"Turnip is a Vegetable", oil on Ampersand gessobord, 7 x 5"

Click to Bid

Call any vegetable
Call it by name
Call one today
When you get off the train
Call any vegetable
And the chances are good
The vegetable
Will respond to you.

- Frank Zappa

Friday, January 20, 2017

Into the Soup

"Bum Soup", 5 x 7", oil on Ampersand Gessobord

Artsbridge Members Show, opening February 4, Prallsville Mill, Stockton, NJ

Click Here for Artsbridge Information


"Bum Soup"

Bum Soup she said it was,
boiled potatoes in milky water,
chopped celery and egg,
Salt and pepper.
Pin money saved
for Bingo,
bosomed, safe,
for after Mass where,
tissue on her head,
she would pray
for protection.

-Sharon Egan
for Francis Blandina Moroski Linetty

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Purple Potatoes and Radicchio

"Purple Potatoes and Radicchio", 5 x 7", oil on Ampersand Gessobord

"One of the most marvelous things about poetry is that it's useless. It's useless. 'What use is poetry?' People occasionally ask in the butcher shop, say. They come up to me and they say 'What use is poetry?' And the answer is no use, but it doesn't mean to say it's without value. It's without use, but it is valuable. The first thing the dictators try to get rid of are the poets, and the artists, and the novelists, and the playwrights. They burn their books. They're terrified of what poetry can do." 

- Michael Longley

“The Ice-Cream Man”
Rum and raisin, vanilla, butterscotch, walnut, peach:
You would rhyme off the flavours. That was before
They murdered the ice-cream man on the Lisburn Road
And you bought carnations to lay outside his shop.
I named for you all the wild flowers of the Burren
I had seen in one day: thyme, valerian, loosestrife,
Meadowsweet, tway blade, crowfoot, ling, angelica,
Herb robert, marjoram, cow parsley, sundew, vetch,
Mountain avens, wood sage, ragged robin, stitchwort,
Yarrow, lady's bedstraw, bindweed, bog pimpernel.
Krista Tippett says Longley’s poetry, “invokes beauty and normalcy, reasserting the vitality of ordinary things, precisely in the face of what is hard and broken in life and society.”
 Listen to Krista Tippett’s full interview with Michael Longley here, On Being.

Friday, January 6, 2017

Homage to Mr. Finney's Turnip

"Homage to Mr.Finney's Turnip", 5 x 7", oil on Ampersand Gessobord

Mr. Finney's Turnip

Mr. Finney had a turnip,
And it grew, and it grew,
And it grew behind the barn,
And the turnip did no harm.

And it grew, and it grew,
Till it could grow no taller;
Then Mr. Finney took it up
And put it in the cellar.

There it lay, there it lay,
Till it began to rot;
When his daughter Susie washed it
And put it in the pot.

Then she boiled it and boiled it,
As long as she was able;
Then his daughter Susie took it
And put it on the table.

Mr. Finney and his wife
Both sat down to sup;
And they ate, and they ate,
Until they ate the turnip up.

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Carole Wick, Raw Sienna and Me

"Satsuma Orange and Bosc Pear", 5 x 7, oil on Ampersand Gessobord

For a group of artists in New Britain, PA, the annual Christmas party in the home of Carole Wick is highly anticipated each year.  In addition to beautifully decorating her home for the holidays, Carole even decorates her barn, the summer space where she occasionally hosts classes taught by master artist Kass Morin Freeman.  In her eighties, Carole is sugar free, walks five miles every day, paints, knits, gardens, cooks and arranges her living space with the most creative hand I’ve ever seen. 

One Christmas, Carole knitted and felted lovely purses for each member of the group.  My purse was a beautiful raw sienna color because, she informed me, raw sienna is my favorite color.  Whoa!  Have you ever heard something so completely true about yourself, that you were completely unaware of, that was an important piece of who you are, that you never would have figured out unless someone told you?  Ever since, raw sienna and I have been committed, confirmed BFF’s.

Since I’ve moved to the city I haven’t attended the New Britain Art Group Christmas parties but raw sienna and I are going strong as ever, especially during this season when beautiful Bosc pears are at their best. And of course I’m fondly thinking of Kass, Carole, Donna, Barbara, Kathie, Mary Pat, Jolynn and missing Barbara White. 

Happy New Year, ladies!  

Tuesday, December 20, 2016


"Savannah", oil on canvas, 6 x 6"

Savannah loves, and is very much loved by, Cynthia Roberts.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Bosc Pear on Phoenix Bird Cup

Bosc Pear on Phoenix Bird Cup, 5 x 7", oil

“After we have finished here
The world will continue its quiet turning.” 

-          Billy Collins, from the poem “While Eating A Pear”

Tree at Lemon Hill

Tree at Lemon Hill, 5 x 7, oil

"Buoyant, bizarrely benign. Relics
Of an outmoded design. Some like to imagine
A cosmic mother watching through a spray of stars,”

- Tracy Smith, from her poem, “My God, It’s Full of Stars”

My paintings can now be found in the the charming shop of the Mt. Airy Art Garage at 6622 Germantown Ave in the Mt. Airy neighborhood of Philadelphia. If you stop in, I guarantee you will meet the nicest people and see fabulous art, jewelry, handmade clothing, leatherwork, art books, quilts and much more.  

Thank you Elliot, a wonderful poetry-reading yoga instructor at Life Sport Fitness, for reading Tracy Smith during pigeon pose.