Tree with an Itch

Posted on June 8th 2021 by Catherine Redmond

Tree with an Itch, 2021, Archival Digital Print

The Eastern Catalpa has frequent itching which Nicky helps treat. Now Nicky came to me three years ago, a stray who must have been left because she is spayed. About the same time another starving Maine Coon Cat — whom I also named Nicky aka Nicodemus because I thought they were both male — and because I had only glanced at both of them on separate occasions out of the corner of my eye and I thought they were the same cat. Slowly over the months this Nicky got closer. Today she is almost tame.  No touching though.  But, the other Nicky, the Maine Coon, now named Demus, remains very wary. Both have been fattened and are fed outside twice a day. One wonders at the callous treatment of these sensitive beings and also my good luck that they live with me on the land.  .



Posted on May 15th 2021 by Catherine Redmond

Truck and Red Maple, 2021, Archival Digital Print

The moment when conjunctions of two or three forms sit in the space with such precision and rightness, we know that surely the universe seems perfectly planned.  This Red Maple had a brother who was closer to the picture plane, but it was taken down in a wind storm several years ago.  The stump shows on the right,


Seeing through a Lens

Posted on April 27th 2021 by Catherine Redmond

Chickens and Geese, Archival Digital Print, 2021

I’m thinking here of those early French photographs I saw at The Met a long time ago. It was the Gilman Paper Photography Collection, a trove of early photographs that changed me.  That show altered the course of my thinking about photography and its possibilities.

Violets and Everything

Posted on April 19th 2021 by Catherine Redmond

Spring Morning, 2021, Archival Digital Print

At last! Spring! We earned it this year enduring a mean winter that even now is hanging on with its icy claws. Sleet/snow last Friday, can you imagine?

Everything is in bloom and I feel so grateful to have been guided up here to the Hudson Valley.  The land has taught me. I’ve become more sensitive to the quiet and the subtle changes in light and color, the goings on of wildlife and plants.

But more than that, I have had time to reflect more deeply on what painting and drawing demand.  It is remarkable what a simple piece of vine charcoal can do.  Even a pencil.  All the world of images ready to come out and be seen stored inside, it just waits for some talent to pick it up and begin.



The Second Spring of the Pandemic

Posted on March 27th 2021 by Catherine Redmond

Hens looking for Worms, 2021, Archival Digital Photo

We are entering the second spring of the Covid-19 Pandemic. We are changed in ways that will take years to recognize and assess. As much as we want to return to the Before-Time, it isn’t possible.The future is always new but now we are conscious of this with more dread than usual. The hens peck for new worms and don’t care.  They just enjoy the fresh green of the grass and the fact that they can spend the day outside.


Night in the Cold Winter

Posted on February 7th 2021 by Catherine Redmond

The Night with Orion, 2021, Archival Digital Print

Last night, like always, I looked up at the stars

The dogs’ last visit to the run before we go to bed.

A new storm was coming in the morning.

Weather has become tiresome.

Up there Orion was where expected

His eternal trip around the sky.

We humans form patterns

Out of the random.


The Coming Storm

Posted on January 31st 2021 by Catherine Redmond

Expecting Show, 2021,Archival Digital Print, 2021

Suffused with longing for spring and yet an almost gasping consciousness of the spare beauty of deep winter.

Ours is a long season, longer and more expanded by the pandemic and isolation.

Longer and more shocking as memories of the Insurrection vomit up

On the clean snow

As we wait for more.





Right before the Snow Starts

Posted on January 5th 2021 by Catherine Redmond

Right before the Snow Starts, Archival Digital Print with Hand Coloring, 2021

That time when the clouds are full and the air smells of it

Every living thing knows that something is

about to happen,

The colors seem so full of themselves

I rush to get back to the house

The flock fed and


The house will feel

just right.


Posted on December 21st 2020 by Catherine Redmond

Found Arrangement, 2020, Archival Digital Print

Everywhere are arrangements to be seen and noticed.

An extraneous proof of a new print

A window, a view into another world

The edge of a paper cabinet

A perfect rectangle

A favorite book and

Always the plugs

Inside a hermit

though always connected

to the juice.

Lessons everywhere

Posted on December 12th 2020 by Catherine Redmond

The Studio and The Moon, 2020, Archival Digital Print

We are deep now in the pandemic, many of us straddling two domains. There’s the world of our isolated lives and the world of the media. Our personal lives can be anything depending on circumstances, ingenuity, curiosity and the ability to reflect and learn, whereas our media life is filled with death and suffering and the continual sideshow. Hope now must be self generated. Learning about the people we’ve elected is sobering.   I have concluded that many in Congress are marginal and ignorant.  Perhaps this explains why they don’t understand the basic tenets of science and stand instead as beacons of ignorance. This governor of Florida looks like he would have been incapable of success in any other business he tried. Poor fellow, politics was probably the only home he could find that paid his bills.  As to Trump, lugging a long record of failure behind him, only politics was available to him.  At least he has been consistent.

One of the gifts this time has given us is the chance to remember and reflect.  We have gotten in touch with people we forgot about or had a spat with and the reconnecting feels good and mends.  This reminder of last chances and wanting to have a settled heart has been a benefit of this scourge.

The land is ever filled with beauty and solace.  The moon shines down on my studio.  The coyotes howl.  The deep winter is on the doorstep.  And, at least for today, I am safe.

I hope you, Dear Reader, are too.