My peach tree has not blossomed yet. The buds aren't even bulging. I'm worried. Does it know something I don't? Is it something about the weather yet to come? Is it the smartest tree in the forest for holding back?
Will I take a walk along the shoreline one day and light a fire in the living room the next and wonder why I am fooled every year into thinking summer is nearby?
So many questions.
So Many Questions • 22" x 8.5" acrylic unframed • $350
Click here to purchase this painting #525
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Click here to purchase this painting #524
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To prepare for a jump with two feet into the rainy weather ahead, I figured a full-on submersion was the only way to fully embrace it. I started this painting a few years ago and found it under a pile in my studio - the same pile from last week, and decided to try to tackle it not only because it reflects the wetness out there, but to get into the spirit of cleaning up old messes left behind and nearly forgotten while I'm at it.
Jumping Into the Spirit of Water Falling • 9" x 9" acrylic • unframed • $350
Found this old painting on the bottom of a pile cleaning out some stuff in the studio. I loved watching the high school kids practice out in Casco Bay when I lived on the hill in Portland.
Practice • 15.5" x 15.5" • Acrylic on 300# cotton rag watercolor paper • $350 unframed
There's always one more winter painting in me before the season ends up here. I didn't get to ski as much as I wanted for a variety of reasons and well... excuses, like the freaking cold, windy and gray days. The days I did brave it were always worth it because the surface conditions were superb. This mountain has the best grooming in the world.
I missed spring skiing - that was the hardest. I hope Sugarloaf made some money and is around next year when I get back into it with a ferocious appetite to freeze my ass off.
I missed the ride up through the valley too. It's one of the most beautiful in Maine. It never gets old any time of the year. But today it's so hot and sunny I'm beginning to forget what I missed already.
So Long To Winter • 28.5" x 21.5" acrylic on 300# cotton rag watercolor paper • $2,100 unframed
The first memory that slips into my head when thoughts turn to summer and sailing around the bays in Maine is Sommes Sound. I've taken a lot of photos when we've been up there, but never seem to catch it just right. So I decided to paint that sweet swishing song of sailing up the sound with the tide as I remember it instead.
The Song of Sailing the Sound • 22" x 22" acrylic on 300# cotton rag watercolor paper • #1600 unframed
It's snowing again in the foothills of Maine's western mountains and for the skiers up this way, it's heaven. But for many like me who have sown all of their cold weather seeds, it's free fertilizer but nevertheless, WTF!
So here's a little something I was working on because I was actually in the spirit at one point. Silly me. Even Tom got tricked into thinking he was going to spend a day down on the coast getting the boat ready for his annual spring chores. It's Stonington from one of our sail-byes down the Deer Island Thorofare last summer.
I'll put it aside for a bit. I think I've got it in me to do one more winter scene.
Tempting Thoughts of Summer • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $350
The Why of Everything • 21" x 21" acrylic on 100 % cotton rag watercolor paper • $850 unframed
I sent a photo of our field to some skier friends in Canada who are currently snowed under and were boasting about it. The field was in the midst of a transformation from winter to spring. It was the day after the spring equinox and I was boasting we would be gardening in no time. Within hours of sending them that photo, a snowstorm came sneaking in and dropped five inches of heavy snow.
So...as a reminder folks, winter ain't over until the old man says it is.
When The Mountains Dance • Acrylic on cradled birch • 30" x 22" • $2500
I did these three paintings a long time ago. They reflect an old 60s boomer wish I always had to take off for the west coast to surf into oblivion. My car, if I got there alive, would be a VW convertible with white walls and madras seat covers. Totally impractical but I figured better than my first choice which would have been a woody and hell to keep on the road.
In the meantime, I had no practical life skills, no money, was uneducated, and an idiot. It's probably a good thing I ended up in Maine where I survived those turbulent years more or less intact.So here's to dreams that thankfully didn't come true.
Here's To Dreams That Thankfully Didn't Come True • Three 10" x 10" acrylics unframed • $900
I think there comes a time in everyone's life when we realize we're no match for the planet. Whether it's trying to fight the weather, go up against the magnitude of planetary events, or try to capture it's beauty and grandeur, the planet always has been and always will be the master.
It's kind of like thinking you're going to be on the pro tour when there's no way in hell it will ever happen at this point in your life. So we throw in the towel and say, it is what it is. And that's okay and a relief because you've given it everything you've got. But then you keep looking over your shoulder and know you will return to finish it one of these days. After all, it took the planet a kazillion years to produce it. There's still time.
There's Still Time, Dagger and Sheep Islands, East Penobscot Bay • 24" x 24" acrylic on canvas $2100
There's always a period of calm before a first big snow storm is the final decision to put the landscape to sleep until spring. Maybe it's a meditation some of us do if we notice. A meditation on what is now in anticipation of what won't be soon. A look-see at the wondrous working of a perfect planet.
A Final Look-see • 23" x 21" acrylic framed to 29" x 27" • $2100
I know better than to question the inner workings of the mind of an artist, so I don't know why question my own this time. Guess it's because I am actually perplexed. For some reason it came to me that we have hopscotched into winter this year and this is what came out. Go figure.
Hopscotch Into Winter • 9.5' x 19.5' acrylic framed to 13.5" x 23.5" • $650
I was heading down valley when noticed a riot of yellow to the left over the airport. So I stopped and snapped a few pics. That's the Longfellow Mountain Range in the background. I used to climb Bigelow Mountain every summer to see what kind of shape I was in. It was humbling.
I haven't painted all summer, so I thought I'd begin with this. Can't climb it anymore, so I figured I'd paint it to maintain a sense of humility.
Carrabassett Valley Trailhead Path • 9.5" x 9.5" framed to 13.5" x 13.5 • $350
Last year at about this time, we took a ride over to Sunday River - hadn't been there for years. I have to say it sure had expanded. The ride up around the mountain and then back to our neck of the woods was beautiful. The views were stunning. And like all of the foothills and mountains in this state, it is always worth a Sunday drive.
We passed by this barn and field in Weld with Tumbledown in the distance. I hadn't hiked up there in decades, but was tempted after this trip. For those who are feeling the way I am now and again these days, this scene reminded me of how the soothing affect of just taking a ride upcountry into the hills and mountains can completely change ones attitude about everything, almost. Take a walk, a hike, a bike ride or whatever. It's way too beautiful out there right now to stay inside.
Tumbledown • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 10" 10" • $350
I haven't been to the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens in Boothbay for a few years. The last time I was there was with my daughter, granddaughter and daughter-in-law. It was all girls that day and lots of fun.
They were visiting from Seattle and I was a bit afraid this might be a little underwhelming compared to the big city scene out there. But as it turned out they were blown away as was I. It was August and everything was up, out and blooming. I got over-stimulated after a while but was pleasantly relieved when at one point in all of the busyness, I came across a pause in time and all the technicolor, and watched this young boy quietly crouching all by himself by a little pond that was engulfed in green. It was as if I had walked through a portal of some sort.
I guessed he might have been waiting for a frog or turtle to appear. I don't know if one or the other ever did - I had to move on. But I loved the idea that after he had waited so peacefully and for so long, that his wish finally came true and one appeared. I chose a turtle. I hoped that was okay with him.
A Pause in Time • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $350
Every summer I try to have one lobster dinner. The last year we had lobster dinner we bought a bunch from the Swan's Island Co-op. This year I didn't get one in, but I did have a roll. I had one just before hauling our boat and leaving the coast for the winter.It's an absolute must and one I can afford once a year. Like the Greeks and Romans did, I still consider lobster a delicacy mostly because it is. I don't even use butter. And I always thank the lobster because I kind of feel guilty, but not all the way yet.
As all Mainers know, lobster wasn't always a high-priced delicacy. European settlers fished and ate the readily available and surplus of lobster off the New England coast, and used them for garden fertilizer and fish bait. Lobsters were consider trash food and a symbol of poverty, fed to prisoners and slaves. Servants, when possible, forced employers to sign contracts refusing to eat lobster more than a few times a week.
The advent of canning made lobster accessible to the rest of the country in the mid-1800s. Railroads shipped fresh lobster to urban areas in the early 1900s and chefs began featuring them as an exotic fish item on their menus. It even became a symbol of Guilded Age luxury and a staple of upscale restaurants. And so it remains.
My one sacrificial lobster dinner and lobster roll is my donation to Maine's fishing community. The rest goes to NPR these days.
My One Lobster Dinner • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" •$350
