Posts Tagged ‘Oil’

When Autumn Came

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2020

A painting and a poem for the autumn equinox.

This is the way that autumn came to the trees:

it stripped them down to the skin,

left their ebony bodies naked.

It shook out their hearts, the yellow leaves,

scattered them over the ground.

Anyone could trample them out of shape

undisturbed by a single moan of protest.

The birds that herald dreams

were exiled from their song,

each voice torn out of its throat.

They dropped into the dust

even before the hunter strung his bow.

Oh, God of May have mercy.

Bless these withered bodies

with the passion of your resurrection;

make their dead veins flow with blood again.

Give some tree the gift of green again.

Let one bird sing.

—Faiz Ahmed Faiz 1911-1984

Four Green Fields

Tuesday, March 17th, 2020

For St. Patrick’s Day, a painting, and the folk song by Irish musician Tommy Makem that inspired the painting.

What did I have, said the fine old woman
What did I have, this proud old woman did say 
I had four green fields, each one was a jewel 
But strangers came and tried to take them from me 
I had fine strong sons, who fought to save my jewels 
They fought and they died, and that was my grief, said she 

Long time ago, said the fine old woman 
Long time ago, this proud old woman did say 
There was war and death, plundering and pillage 
My children starved, by mountain, valley, and sea 
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens 
My four green fields ran red with their blood, said she 

What have I now, said the fine old woman 
What have I now, this proud old woman did say 
I have four green fields, one of them’s in bondage 
In strangers’ hands, that tried to take it from me 
But my sons had sons, as brave as were their fathers 
My fourth green field will bloom once again, said she

Monthly Paintings: Cathedral Calendar 2020

Sunday, December 1st, 2019

These are the paintings featured, one for each month, in my Washington National Cathedral calendar for 2020. (Click twice to enlarge.)

Melissa

Donna

A Calendar for 2020: Cathedral

Sunday, November 17th, 2019

Here is my new calendar for 2020, each month featuring one of a series of paintings at Washington National Cathedral and its gardens. The calendar is 8-1/2″ x 11″ and printed on sturdy satin stock, substantial enough that the images can be saved as prints. (Soon I will post the paintings for each month, so that you can see them all, unless you prefer to be surprised.)

A single calendar is $23; a set of two is $42; plus shipping. Shipping is Priority Mail, domestic US. If you are in my area, you can obtain a calendar from me directly without shipping cost—just let me know.

I’m sorry that international shipping costs make the calendars too expensive to ship overseas.

They will also be available at the Washington Waldorf School Holiday Bazaar on November 23rd, along with note cards featuring the Cathedral paintings and my other cards as well.

Single calendar:




Set of 2 calendars:




Artists of Woodley Park

Thursday, October 17th, 2019

Two of the paintings in my Washington National Cathedral series will be on exhibit in the Artists of Woodley Park show opening October 17, 2019. I’m looking forward to seeing work of the more than 20 Woodley Park artists included, and I hope some of you might make your way there this fall.

Stanford in Washington Gallery
2655 Connecticut Avenue NW

Washington, DC 20008

From December to March

Saturday, December 1st, 2018

From December to March, there are for many of us three gardens —
the garden outdoors,
the garden of pots and bowls in the house,
and the garden of the mind’s eye.
—Katherine S. White

Melissa

Chuck

Greeting to Spring (Not Without Trepidation)

Tuesday, March 20th, 2018

Well, it’s sleeting, and snow is on the way. But it IS the first day of spring. So, a poem by Robert Lax, and a painting.

Over the back of the Florida basker,
over the froth of the Firth of Forth,
Up from Tahiti and Madagascar,
Lo, the sun walks north.

The first bright day makes sing the slackers
While leaves explode like firecrackers,
The duck flies forth to greet the spring
And sweetly municipal pigeons sing.

Where the duck quacks, where the bird sings,
We will speak of past things.

Come out with your marbles, come out with your Croup,
The grass is as green as a Girl Scout troop;
In the Mall the stone acoustics stand
Like a listening ear for the Goldman band.

At an outside table, where the sun’s bright glare is,
We will speak of darkened Paris.

Meanwhile, like attendants who hasten the hoofs
Of the ponies who trot in the shadow of roofs,
The sun, in his running, will hasten the plan
Of plants and fishes, beast and man.

We’ll turn our eyes to the sogging ground
And guess if the earth is cracked or round.

Over the plans of the parties at strife,
Over the planes in the waiting north,
Over the average man and his wife,
Lo, the sun walks forth!

—Robert Lax

Lynn & Donald 1976

Bravo les Français

Monday, May 8th, 2017

Ils ont été plus sages que les Américains.

 

Darcy

Celeste

Uncle Mike

Maurice Sendak

Loveliest of Trees

Sunday, March 26th, 2017

I am experimenting with the eBay auction as a venue for my paintings, and I am beginning with “Cherry Blossoms,” a seasonally appropriate work. It begins tonight and ends April 2nd. (You can find it here.) And with this painting I include my favorite cherry blossom poem, from A. E. Housman’s A Shropshire Lad.

CherryBlossoms

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

–A.E. Housman

Turning from chilly winter ways

Monday, March 20th, 2017

For the first day of spring, a poem by Linda Pastan, and a painting.

Crocus&LaceF

Spring

Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
of light rain,
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms.

—Linda Pastan

CakeWedding

Lynn & Donald