sketchbook

nesting

Just a snapshot of the finished piece.  This is a bit of a departure from what I've been doing with my paintings, but I decided not to force it into the usual familiar territory, and to just let it be.  Could be the start of a whole new year, good timing for January!  I'll have to wait and see where it takes me.

a days work

We had a snow day today, which turned into a rain day, which turned the snow to slush so I hid out in the studio under a pressing deadline while listening to the raindrops beat a constant rhythm on the skylights overhead...

24x24" 

so far acrylic and oil on panel

progress tomorrow?

a little blue morning

a sketch, some panels, thinking about empty nests...

words

The longer you look at an object, the more abstract it becomes, and, ironically, the more real.
Lucian Freud

January thaw (not cooped up)

the thermometer reached 51 today

the back yard is an icy muddy slushy March-like mess

some of us enjoyed a break from cabin fever

have you met my girls?

abalone

sketchbook

its a wrap

sunday morning

a day on the ice

Hosmer Pond, Camden, Maine

update from the print shop

Occasionally I make the trek down to Damariscotta to use the press at Midcoast Printmakers. I have been working on some plates with drawings from my late fall bike rides. Passing fields of spent queen anne's lace silhouetted against the clear blue sky...I miss my bike.

tiny, 4x4" drypoint on plexiglass plate, printed on Reeves bfk

6x6" copperplate etching, printed on lenox

put a bird on it

September Sky

24x24"

This is a piece I made for the Belfast Poetry Festival back in October. I was paired with the poet Richard Miles from Harrington, Maine. Over the course of about 8 weeks, we corresponded via email- exchanging working images from my studio and bits of writing from his. It was the conversation between the two mediums that produced this painting and the following poem by Richard.

A goddess spoke the word gold, her breath

passing over water, transforming it.

Before color, first seeds out of the explosion

set out on their long path to perfection.

Possessed by flowers and blackbirds,

I wait on a stone and observe.

The birds shriek and the flowers click open

spreading their fragrance wide.

I shall make gardens this way

with syllables and floating digits.

All belief and liberating wind:

our essence in process

will be gently coaxed out,

uttering its own name, a-shine.

-Richard Miles