Dianne's Dish

"Dianne's Dish", oil on board, 8 x 8"

I heard a man say he sometimes feels there is a piece of glass between he and the world, sometimes between he and himself.  He didn't say whether he felt the glass was a barrier or protective, thick or thin, strong or fragile.  

Solace

"Solace", oil, 11 x 14"

Walking The Marshland by Stephen Dunn

It was no place for the faithless,
so I felt a little odd
walking the marshland with my daughters,

Canada geese all around and the blue
herons just standing there;
safe, and the abundance of swans.

The girls liked saying the words,
gosling,
egret, whooping crane, and they liked

when I agreed. The casinos were a few miles
to the east.
I liked saying craps and croupier

and sometimes I wanted to be lost
in those bright
windowless ruins. It was April,

the gnats and black flies
weren't out yet.
The mosquitoes hadn't risen

from their stagnant pools to trouble
paradise and to give us
the great right to complain.

I loved these girls. The world
beyond Brigantine
awaited their beauty and beauty

is what others want to own.
I'd keep that
to myself. The obvious

was so sufficient just then.
Sandpiper. Red-wing
Blackbird. "Yes," I said.

But already we were near the end.
Praise refuge,
I thought. Praise whatever you can.

Fairmount Fury

"Fairmount Fury" Oil, 12 x 12"

A City Sunset

Across the roof-tops of the town

I saw the flaming sun go down;

For some, another day of tears

Lay buried in the hurrying years.

The shadows folded; here and there

A yellow light began to flare.

For some, another golden day

Of gladness sped upon its way.

-    Charles Hanson Towne

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) 

Shallot and Red Anjou Pear

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

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“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

Turnip is a Vegetable

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

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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

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

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"Bum Soup"

Bum Soup she said it was,

boiled potatoes in milky water,

chopped celery and egg,

oregano.

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 my grandmother, Francis Blandina Moroski Linetty

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.

 Listen to Krista Tippett’s full interview with Michael Longley here, On Being.

Homage to Mr. Finney's Turnip

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

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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

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!