Cornfield, Late November, 2017, Archival Digital Print
The cornfield behind the homestead arcs now after it has been reduced to stubble. Here the herd of Deer roam foraging during the winter. The Hudson is directly ahead and the Catskills beyond. The effect of the river is profound on the light on the eastern side. It has inspired painters for over two hundred years.
Sagging Bookcase, 2017, Archival Digital Print
The marvels of bookcases! They hold our books of course, but memories, notes slipped between pages, ideas we forgot about, and trinkets and an occasional talisman we want to have near to touch and fondle. This bookcase was here in the house when I moved in. I assume it was constructed by the owner and never intended for a library like mine.
In my old place I had a hundred feet of bookshelves but ran out of space. Books were stacked everywhere. Now some are in my studio and in the house on the floor, in other rooms, and covering a wall in the guest bedroom upstairs.
Time Change, 2 P.M., 2017, Archival Digital Print
Rain was approaching so it was darker than usual, but even an hour makes a difference in our perception of time. We know that Winter is just at the edge and moving toward us. Last night a Coyote was so near the house, at first I thought it was a feral cat yowling. He called and my female pup answered. This back and forth, a plaintive duet, went on for hours as I tried to sleep. But, it gave me good dreams.
Late Sun, October, 2017, Archival Digital Print
Moments of beauty are still here. It is tempting, easy even, to get caught in the darkness of the political landscape. Although I don’t want to seem saccharine at such a dangerous time, but these gifts are here still. We forget to look around and be engaged by the beauty that is just as plentiful as the darkness. A moment of sun as the day ends; a sharp shadow that pierces a wall; the high soprano of a calling Coyote in the evening dark. These are the gifts of living.
Cloud Stutter, 2017, Archival Digital Print
September and October bring high drama skies. But they also invite new sounds. The night before, I arrived at the Homestead after dark. It was warm, very warm, and the frogs and crickets were noisy. But the treat was the Great Horned Owl in the tree near the house calling to his answering mate. Bubo Virginianis has the reassuring Hoo, Hoo, a-HOO that we expect all owls to say. But it is his call alone and for me sounds timeless and haunting.
September Moonlight, 2017, Archival Digital Print
Radiant Moon, she smiles on us
her full face indulgent
watching our folly
our superstitious natures;
She seduces the tides
gives witches their omens and
glides through the sky
praying for our salvation.
At Rhinebeck, The Last Day of August, 2017, Archival Digital Print
In the safety of our perch above the Hudson River, we scour the news for some good news as the Deluge of the Millennium seems more Biblical than mere unfortunate bad turn in weather. What is it about this period that seems so much larger than life?
Threatening Sky, 2017, Archival Digital Print
September is lurking in these skies.
In the Gulf a hurricane is threatening Texas.
This morning it was only 56 degrees.
Single, Small Sunflower, August, 2017, Archival Digital Print
The Sunflower, a smallish plant, smiled this morning showing its tiny face to the world. It lives among the Tomato plants on the back porch. I’ll leave it on the stalk so it will feed the birds in the fall.
from a still life series, oil on gessoed rag, each image on 8″ x 10″ sheet, ca. 2003
Each day I unpack a few things in the studio before I start work. On Monday I found this group of paper paintings way in the back of one of the flat files. These were the latest of a series that started in the late 90s. The first set was shown at my second solo at M.B. Modern in New York. It was a boxed set titled Small Mysteries. I’ll dig up an image and post it later. From there came more, two boxed sets about Glenn Gould’s piano, one shown in an Institute-wide Faculty Drawing Show at Schafler Gallery at Pratt, the other now in a collection in New York. These above were the beginning of an as yet unfinished new series about still life. They are part of the aria that streams through my mind about Black & White and the miracles it releases.