Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Waiting




We spot the first sail out in the bay, and life as we know it takes off like a caged bird set free. We try to work, but what's the point if our boat is on the hard. We don't bother to brush our teeth until we are forced to leave what feels like a cave now, for food.  And who cares what the news says today - the weather is our master now. Something we cannot control we are now a slave to as we watch the skies like a hawk for the sun and a decent breeze. It's a miserable existence - it's spring in the life of a sailor.

Out of necessity we learn to breathe deeply to relax so that we can put things back in to perspective. We realize the need to work and earn money so that we can toss all of it, every cent, to that bottomless whirlpool in the ocean we call our boat. We acknowledge that we have to brush and floss our teeth or it will cost us a new jib. And we have to pay attention to the news and continue to participate or there will be no planet to sail on.

We learn not to be so selfish and get used to patiently waiting by counting our blessings. We remind ourselves that life will, and must, continue to go on regardless of whether or not we are on our boat, in the water, skipping along a flat sea to the sound of our sails filled with a beautiful little summer breeze heading downwind and east.

Waiting • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $250

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Waiting For A Mistake


It was the spring of 2017 and the yard was hosting a feast of epic proportions. On the table were grubs, just grubs - but millions of them, all for the taking. The uninvited guests came from far and wide - the word was out, the party was on. Skunks silently dug divots while moles tunneled underground during the night as the homefolk slept.

And when the sun threw wisps of light across the morn, and the guests had slid back and down in to an inebriated slumber, then and only then, did the crow come. It swept in, quietly circling, searching for what might have been left behind, then floated lightly to the ground to patrol the small shallow holes and squiggly fat lines that splattered and raced across the landscape like an accidental masterpiece left by drunken artisans. It waited for a mistake.

That's what they do, the crows. They wait for a mistake.

Waiting For a Mistake • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $250

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Getting in to Gray


I've decided to embrace the weather because hell, why fight it? Besides, gray can be beautiful. It's always subtle, quiet and soft. It tones us down, cools our jets, turns off the higher frequencies.

Gray conjures up images of dank, dark cities - fogbound seaports, where a murder is committed in a back alleyway as lamposts, casting eerily diffused gangrene light, turn the color of a trickle of blood running the gutter a sticky brown.

Today however, I envision a sleepy summer house set alone. When they from away return, there will be flowers in bloom. A gull with a broken neck, dead and petrified will drape their doorstep. It is there now.

Getting in to Gray • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $250

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Sweet City Garden


I was out on a fast walk around the hill the other day, and happened upon this little parade of daffodils against an older house on a more obscure side street. With all of the metal going up around here, the slick new designer paint jobs on re-habs, not to mention Hamptons-style landscaping, this was a welcomed relief to the eyeballs. It was simple, it was humble, and it was a real Maine scene. I hope it's around come next spring, but the way things are changing, it may not be. So, for the record, I've decided to preserve this sweet little old city garden.

Thursday, March 16, 2017

Getting Dumped On and Back In To Winter

 
It's a March thing. It happens almost every year. We start looking at seed catalogs, and then BOOM, it's a good old fashioned nor'easter. Nothing like getting dumped on and back in to winter to keep you humble.

Getting Dumped On and Back In To Winter • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $250

Friday, March 10, 2017

Yeowlers


The moon was west of overhead, the night cold and still in the city, when a piercing cry ricocheted through the streets like a lance being ground through a thick coat of armor. The season of yeowlers had begun. I pulled my earplugs, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, got out of bed, opened and then poked my head out the window to look around, and found I was the only sleeper awake at that hour. How can people not hear this, or maybe they do and just put their pillows over their heads?

I never can spot them, but when the weather allows for open window snoozing, their mournful quest for life and a good mate has all of the drama of an opera, a good sad one. There are anywhere from 11,000 to 30,000 homeless cats in Maine alone. Although many lost and neglected end up in Maine’s licensed animal shelters (around 90 in all), in 2012 more than 5,000 cats were euthanized because homes could not be found for them. About one of every five cats that enters a Maine shelter is euthanized. Puccini for sure.

Yeowlers • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $250

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

An Alternative Winter


In spite of the mini skyscrapers lining the roadways, Maine is suddenly feeling like spring. But we who know better, know better than to get all giddy. We've been fooled before. We've  all witnessed  March barrel out of the heavens like a howling other-worldly avalanche.

So, for those of you who don't understand this to be what it really is - a brief mental respite from our deep winter drift, I offer this landscape. It's an alternative to what is really out there. Please don't believe it.

An Alternative Winter • 8" X 8" acrylic framed to 12" X 12" • $250