I am so accustomed to living with dogs in the city that I forgot that all their instincts are about the land, their territory and doing the work their DNA suggests. Here my little French herder commands his homestead with vigilance and purpose. In his element? You bet he is. All he needs are some goats to move there and there.
These moments are everywhere now it seems. As most everyone knows, Starlings are birds brought over from England, and reviled here because they are raucous, loud, without a pretty tune, and eat up all the food from the diminuitive song birds, yet I have always loved them, their blunt tails and bad manners. What enchants me here is that these speckles are part of their winter plumage, yet in New York, I never noticed their fashionable tweeds.
The reminder of repetition and constancy through time in what the viewer sees in the world. Because of artists before us, we see with eyes informed by the past. Delvaux sticks with me though I can’t say why. Looking at the moon rise among the trees the other night, I didn’t see Blakelock (my usual association here) but Paul Delvaux. I expected to see pale nudes and gentlemen in bowler hats.