#153 Spring Teaser

This past week and weekend were a welcome weather respite here in Maine. Even the skiing at Sugarloaf was springlike except for the very top where a steady south and then NW wind kept the snow hard and my nose red.

The temps are expected to plunge back down this week, of course, which makes perfect sense to all of us longtime Mainers. The unwritten rule of thumb is don't even think about spring until the end of March. Even then I've seen three feet of snow drop over the mountains in April.

I figured I'd throw out a springlike thought before we revisit winter. It's just a reminder that regardless of what happens, the spring equinox is, as it has always been, less than a month away.

Spring Teaser • 8" x 8" watercolor framed to 12" x 12" • $200

SOLD - Fully Awake On This Full Moon Night

So, it's another sleepless full moon night in Maine. But when there's snow below and a clear starlit sky above, and not a human peep to be heard for miles around, there's no place in the universe quite as beautiful and magical. On this particular night, I am grateful I am fully awake.

Fully Awake On This Full Moon Night • 8" x 8" gouache framed to 12" x 12" • $200

#151 The Cherubs of Poplar Falls

I've hiked into Poplar Falls many times, but several years ago I was in there one winter afternoon when they were frozen solid. A spectacular sight, I took some photos and figured one day I'd try a painting.

I'd been noodling the photos recently, and as I started this study I began to see cherub-like things fading in and out of the snow and ice. Maybe I just conjured them up looking for an angle, or perhaps they're memories of something that was there and visible to only believers. In either case, they are now part of the experience.

I've found there to be a fine line between what I see and what I remember, between what is true and what I imagine to be true. The cherubs of Poplar Falls reside in the blur between the two. And as has been their purpose throughout time, it's my guess they are there to protect, in this case, Poplar Falls.

The Cherubs of Poplar Falls • 8"x8" watercolor, graphite and gouache framed to 12"x12" • $200

SOLD - Thoughts of Winter Down East

The coast of Maine is beautiful year 'round, but it's always amazing to me how fast a vibrant summer community can pack itself up in a suitcase and ship out with the rest of the summer gear. It's a bit unsettling when the only signs of humanoid life are an occasional local handyman, the ghost-like tinkling of wind chimes on a shuttered cottage, or the slow whiney creak of rusty rooftop sculptures and weather vanes. 

I have often thought it would be fun to live in one of those coastal houses during the winter when the rent drops. But the reality lurks in thoughts of long and lonely, black, cold and stormy winter nights, when the wind howls like a banshee, clamoring and clawing at the door to take you away in its hearse to hell. And then there's the relentless pounding of the ocean's fists on the breakwater, the only baracade between you and your most terrifying fear - the abyss that is the bottom of the ocean. Even lobster boats that over-winter in the harbor, so quintessentially Maine in the summer, become vessels for ghosts of fishermen-lost, who take the helms and head out for open ocean - now their eternal limbo.

I realize there are folks who live in these places year 'round and would call my imaginings absurd. But they are not cursed with a undisciplined imagination where a proposition like this for someone like me is most certainly, a road to insanity.

Thoughts of Winter Down East  • 8"x8" watercolor and gouache framed to 12" x 12" • $200

SOLD - Monochrome Cold

I have been forcing myself to go outside for a walk every day. When the landscape takes on that blueish gray monotone look, you know it's January, and you know it's damn cold out there. I think the subzero temps affect the colors of the landscape somehow, or maybe it's my eyeballs glazing over with a tinted protective anti-freeze.  Regardless, it happens and I call it Monochrome Cold.

Rising to the occasion, I haul out my ice cleats and100-year-old LLBean full length down coat. My TRAX won't work on this solid ice. Gail and Larry Warren have tried everything - they're big walkers up in Kingfield. They recommended the product below. It's the only thing that works, they both agreed, because these things penetrate solid ice:

http://www.ems.com/product/index.jsp?productId=21078496&emssrcid=PPC%3AgooPLAs%3AbrandKahtoola&utm_source=gooPLAs&utm_term=brandKahtoola&utm_campaign=Product+Listing+Ads&device=c&network=g&matchtype=&gclid=COb13ej8nrwCFXHxOgodnxsAmw

As for my coat, it's totally out of date and way off every year's fashion color chart. But it works, and by the time I get wrapped up in it against the cold, no one can figure out who I am anyway. They just see an animated down sleeping bag with arms and legs.

Monochrome Cold • 8"x8"  watercolor framed to 12"x12" • $200

#148 Colors

When I first arrived in Portland after having spent 30 years in the western mountains, there were two things that struck me like bolts of lightning.

One was the produce section at Hannaford. I was blown away by the variety of colors and the diversity of the fresh produce laid out like the garden of Eden. It was awesome and I walked to that produce section every day for months before I could believe it.

The other thing was my first walk downtown. I saw old people and babies, Blacks, Asians and Indians - all pretty much non-existant in Carrabassett Valley. I was scared and fascinated at the same time, because though I had been raised in a very diverse town, I had forgotten how to be in a world where not everyone looks like me. I had never lived in a city before - this move was a big experiment - but it really didn't take me long to feel more and more comfortable in my own skin again. I found I belonged here with all of these different people from all over the world. I didn't want to stand out. I wanted to blend in.

Diversity is challenging because it means we all have to continually stretch our knowledge way into the unknown. It forces a choice between hate, and unconditional love and compassion on a very deep and meaningful level - not as a belief, but as a real core feeling.

I choose love and compassion every day on my walk. I have found it stimulates a profound gratitude for being a part of this beautiful rainbow called humanity. I have also discovered that I would much rather be splayed out in the fresh produce section than crammed into the boxed and canned.

Colors • 8"x8" watercolor and gouache framed to 12"x12" • $200

SOLD - Minor Thaw

Whoa! is all I can say coming back to Maine after a three week (not my idea) hiatus out of state! Even with the minor thaw going on out there, the skating rink that is our driveway has not softened and the avalanche looming over our heads on the roof has yet to let go, not to mention the volcanic craters on our road with the mud oozing like lava around them.

Let's face it. We now have a seventh season here in Maine. There's summer, winter, fall and spring, black fly and mud seasons. This not so fun roller coaster ride that is the big freeze, thaw, big freeze season needs a name. Any ideas? No cussin.

Minor Thaw • 8" x 8" gouache framed to 12" x 12" • $200