Mar 242014
 
The Horse Thief, 8x10, Oil on Canvas, $325

The Horse Thief, 8×10, Oil on Canvas, $325

For this, my latest small painting, I was thinking of the marvelous black and white oil sketches by Howard Pyle I’d seen at the Delaware Art Museum last year.

Dick Turpin by Howard Pyle

I had originally planned to paint it in black and white, but started sketching in the dark green of the evergreens behind and the scarlet mask and that was the last of the black and white plan.  I also thought of the magical and weird paintings Jamie Wyeth has done (see below) in similar lighting, i.e. the last rays of sun or strong moonlight. .  I’ve been fortunate enough to see some of them in the Farnsworth Art Museum in Rockport, ME.  They are all large paintings.  Frankly, I can never get enough of Jamie Wyeth’s paintings.  I wish more of them were in museums, but I’m sure they’re mostly owned by private collectors.

 

The Wanderer by Jamie Wyeth

Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth

Scotia Prince by Jamie Wyeth

Cat Bates of Monhegan by Jamie Wyeth

Catching Snowflakes by Jamie Wyeth

The Thief by Jamie Wyeth

 Posted by at 2:19 pm
Mar 072014
 
The Corgis of Vogelsang, 6x6, Oil on Canvas, $100

The Corgis of Vogelsang, 6×6, Oil on Canvas, $100

These adorable Corgis live in a restored, historic log home in Mineral Point.  It is late in the afternoon and they are enjoying their tea-time repose in the last rays of the sun.  Corgis are such charming little dogs; it’s no wonder they are the favorites of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip.

Corgis were originally herding dogs, especially for cattle.  Unlike the Border Collies, racing around the herd to bend it this way and that, Corgis herd by nipping the heels.  If the cow kicks out, it will generally miss, because the Corgi is so short.  It can flatten itself and be missed entirely.  If attacked, it nips the cow’s nose.  They are redoubtable little fellows.

Here is a poem about how our most satisfied moments in life are imagining what we will do and what we might have in future.  How do we keep the fantasy of our future selves alive?  Such fantasies always bring us the most happiness.

SHOPPING

My husband and I stood together in the new mall

which was clean and white and full of possibility.

We were poor so we liked to walk through the stores

since this was like walking through our dreams.

In one we admired coffee makers, blue pottery

bowls, toaster ovens as big as televisions.  In another,

we eased into a leather couch and imagined

cocktails in a room overlooking the sea.  When we

sniffed scented candles we saw our future faces,

softly lit, over a dinner of pasta and wine.  When

we touched thick bathrobes we saw midnight

swims and bathtubs so vast they might be

mistaken for lakes.  My husband’s glasses hurt

his face and his shoes were full of holes.

There was a space in our living room where

a couch should have been.  We longed for

fancy shower curtains, flannel sheets,

shiny silverware, expensive winter coats.

Sometimes, at night, we sat up and made lists.

We pressed our heads together and wrote

our wants all over torn notebook pages.

Nearly everyone we loved was alive and we

were in love but liked wanting.  Nothing

was ever as nice when we brought it home.

The objects in stores looked best in stores.

The stores were possible futures and, young

and poor, we went shopping.  It was nice

then:  we didn’t know we already had everything.

—  Faith Shearin

 

 Posted by at 1:43 pm