Tuesday, February 12, 2019
I've driven the same stretch of Route 27 for about a quarter of my life now. It's not bad as roads go once you get past Augusta. The Belgrade Lakes region is lovely, as are the fields of working dairy farms through Farmington. The intervale running beside the Carrabassett River before you get to Kingfield is unique in this state as is the drive north along the river and up through the valley with its rolling ridges and some of Maine's highest and prettiest mountains towering in the background. If you cruise northwest all the way through Carrabassett Valley, you will pass Stratton, Eustis and Coburn Gore, and in to Quebec, Canada if you feel the need for a weekend hiatus from the hijinks of our great country.
I've seen some of nature's best along this route. I've also witnessed some of man's worst - like the slow and insidious erosion of Maine's countryside to strip malls with bright lights and acres of black asphalt parking lots. But until they all return to dust, there's a pretty little piece of Route 27 right around New Vineyard that is still in tact and I hope never changes. Even during the coldest, darkest and most colorless months of the year, there are still parts of the countryside that belong only to nature. I hope we see fit to leave them that way.
Route 27 Through New Vineyard • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $250
Tuesday, February 5, 2019
The only constant is change - I get it, but this city was way more interesting when it was authentically gritty and hard working, when gulls would fling dead herring at tourists on Commercial Street, when streams of sticky, smelly bait juice flowed under foot making a walk in some parts of downtown treacherous, when there were bars where you tipped more than you paid for your beer, and because of that, you likely got a "howdy ma'am" from a drunken sailor who couldn't help himself but be happy trying to find his way home.
The Way It Was • 8"x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $250
Monday, January 28, 2019
I've watched cats get off-the-ground-and-in-to-the-air-like-a-cyclone-wound-up batting an apple around the floor. You have to wonder what thoughts are whirring in and around their tiny processors. And although I've never witnessed it, I bet it's not unusual for one of these psychos, in a full on frenzy, to end up having taken bite taken out of an apple at some point. And if a bite is taken and ingested, what happens?
As it turns out cats can eat a slice or two of apple now and again without harm, but those apple seeds are killers. Unbeknownst to me, apple seeds contain cyanide. They contain only a small amount so they won't harm humans, but cats are too small to handle them. I find it unlikely however, that the attention span of said cat will get them that far into an apple core anyway, no offense.
Wednesday, January 23, 2019
When the local bears relax into hibernation, I wake up. I become a processing center for calendars - thank you to my fans for a fabulous year, and buy into holiday merrymaking like a fool. So when January rolls around, unlike getting back into the saddle, pedaling a bike and swinging a baseball bat, I begin the slow tortuous and arduous process of getting back into painting. What is it that makes us think we can start where we left off? Is it an invincible boomer thing - a reluctance to look our future in the eye without tinged lenses? Maybe.
In the meantime, here's a simple wintah painting. While I understand many are up to their ears in it already, winter is still an awful/pretty time of the year here in Maine when we settle down and take a minute to look around.
Wintah Wake Up • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $250
Monday, December 3, 2018
Evergreens know they've got something over their deciduous neighbors, seasonally devoid of their flashy fall outerwear. These firry pyramids stand out very prominently now - tall, strong and firm like mythical ancients offering warmth and shelter, and a welcome contrast to the monotone winter landscape.
Watching The Trees • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $250
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Normally I would make a big deal out of compiling a list of everybody and thing I am grateful for on Thanksgiving. But I do that every day. So this year I am going to take a leap and offer some advice instead.
There's a wonderful Native American tradition called "Talking Stick." One person holds a stick in hand. Whoever holds the stick speaks. No one else can interrupt. No peeps, guffaws, chuckling, smirking, nodding or other revealing body language, nothing. Total and complete silence and stillness. When that person is finished speaking, the stick is passed quietly to the next in the circle, or at the table, as in dinner table. Everyone has an opportunity to speak without interruption. Depending on the time of day or night, it might be prudent to have a timer on hand.
I offer this because friends and families will eventually fall into intense conversation. It's inevitable - these are intense times. And with the current state of affairs, there will be some honest opinions tossed out before it's too late to catch them and stuff them back down one's throat. In this day and age of edit and delete keyboarding, what one does or says out loud cannot be edited or deleted.
It is my sincerest wish that this planet, and all who live on it, are in a better place by the time next year. Too many people are suffering.
Friday, November 16, 2018
And Then Boom, It's Winter! • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $250