Spring

Spring - it's a magical time of the year. You get to be surprised by all kinds of stuff randomly popping up and out at you in all directions. I especially like observing trees - they become magicians pulling brilliantly colored handkerchiefs out of their sleeves.

The best part of spring is that you forget how pale everything looked the day before. In fact it makes me forget how pale I looked the day before - though I sure do pale in comparison to everything out there now.

Spring • 8"x 8" acrylic framed to 12"x 12" • $200

The Orange Chair

My neighbor Lydia picked me up at the jetport several years ago and in the midst of conversation on our way back into town via outer Congress, we both paused and wowed this orange chair that someone had cut loose on the side of the road. It stuck out in an otherwise rather bland gray mid-winter landscape like a neon sign screaming PICK ME UP PICK ME UP PICK ME UP! But we didn't.

The next day I opened the front door of my apartment building on my way to somewhere, and there sat the chair on our front stoop! Lydia had given in to temptation. She's a better shopper than I am - she actually buys stuff - I just look at it. It now stuck out on our otherwise drab gray front stoop like a neon sign screaming THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME! It was stunning, albeit a bit beat up, chipped and certainly not to be sat upon. But it looked splendid out there and I absolutely loved it. I used it for my spring seedlings - the orange and those beautiful light greens made for a stunning little corner arrangement, and you could see the blasted thing from way up the street. It made our place really special.

Sad to say and for the life of me I can't recollect whatever happened to that chair. I know that as the years passed it got soggy and lost whatever luster it originally had. It was after all, an indoor chair and we left it out there year round. Maybe it finally just fell apart or maybe someone picked it up. I feel guilty about not remembering. Oh well - for now it remains a wonderful springtime memory.


The Orange Chair • 8" x 8" watercolor framed to 12" x 12" • $200

Winter Waning

It's happening. Winter is melting away. Spring is a bit early this year much to the chagrin of my skier friends, but to the great joy of my gardening friends. For those of us who both ski and have gardens in the mountains, it's a tricky time of year. Do you wish for a longer ski season or a longer growing season? And then you throw in surfing and it becomes a trifecta.

The whole thing is further complicated by the global climate change debate which for me is no longer a debate worth having. It's now a fact that our planet's climates are changing radically. But that's another discussion.

Winter Waning • 8" x 8" acrylic on paper framed to 12" x 12" • $200

Crow with Apron

The mind is an intriguing thing. I have absolutely no idea why I painted this and will let it rest at that.

Crow with Apron • 8" x 8" acrylic framed to 12" x 12" • $200

Thinking on a Winter Day

When the going gets weird, I have learned to disengage myself for a bit and explore the inner recesses of my mind. It's called thinking - remember that? It would appear that thinking has become old fashioned these days because I really don't see a whole lot of thinking going on out there.  I mean how many people do you know quote this and that but when you ask them what they think, still quote this and that or preface their reply with "we think." It's pretty scary.  I do hope they still teach thinking in school these days. Do they?

I spent pretty much the whole day Saturday thinking. It was that kind of a day. I feel very fortunate to have had the practice because I too forget that my mind can create, question, solve and ponder endless possibility. I don't remember getting anything settled or resolved, but I sure had fun. It tickled and maybe my brain expanded just a wee bit.

I guess I feel like it's important to keep up, to the best of my ability, with our ever expanding universe.

Thinking on a Winter Day • 8"x 8" watercolor framed to 12" x 12" • $200

A Short Drive Out

I've been trying to get back into skiing this year. It's been great fun. The conditions are surprisingly good and the weather has been right on at Sugarloaf when I'm there during the weekends.

Tom and I got up and out of bed at 6:30 this past Sunday and were on the road and ready to get the first chair up the mountain. Our goal was to get a hold of some snow before it got scraped off. It's vacation week and it hasn't snowed. That means any snow on the trail is coming from grooming and is generally dust by 10 am. We were on our way north when we got a call from Nick up at the coffee shop. We had to pick up some milk. That meant we had to wait until 8:30 for Trantens to open. I was appalled - I could have slept for two more hours NO PROBLEM!

To kill some time we decided to take a ride on one of the roads that spokes out from town and into the countryside. It was very quiet and peaceful out there in the middle of nowhere. I wish more people had an opportunity to see what we saw that morning. It would remind them of what's really important - preserving those places so that we can all visit them when we feel like the rest of the world is going insane.

I sighed at the landscape and the farms - it reminded me once again of how beautiful it is in Maine during the winter months. I, like everyone else, get so focused on getting from one place to another that I forget to pay attention to the process of getting there. That particular morning we were paying attention and it ended up to be a stunner.

A Short Drive Out  • 8" x 8" acrylic on paper framed to 12" x 12" • $200

Crawling Tulips

I don't know if I'm using the word morph correctly here, but I've been watching this bouquet of tulips morph for about a week now. They are far from the same tulips I bought a week ago.  I would not expect them to be the same of course, but what's different about this particular bunch is that it's beginning to resemble and act like a daddy long legs. It appears to be on a cleverly disguised and barely perceptible crawl across the kitchen table. What it doesn't realize is that I've been watching!

I don't usually pay much attention to flowers - they're pretty and the colors are stunning at times - but this little bunch of tulips is really beginning to scare me. What if one of these nights the darn thing makes one of those inexplicable biological leaps from flower to beast and realizes it can crawl - sort of like the missing link thing? What if it already knows it can crawl and is just waiting for the proverbial black monolith to land at which point it will prove the urban myth true that spiders clean your mouth out while you sleep?  Woman found dead in her bed apparently having choked in what appears to be an attempt to eat her tulips. Oh for heaven's sake Claudia, get back to work!

Crawling Tulips • 8" x 8" acrylic on paper framed to 12" x 12" • $200