Journey’s End

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For the first of July, a painting and a poem.

HibiscusChateau

In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there may be ‘tis cloudless night,
And swaying branches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey’s end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.

—J R R Tolkien

The time of the singing of birds is come

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Here in Washington, DC, we have the cherry blossoms; last year in the Languedoc, it was the almond trees. Happy First Day of Spring, and happy blossom-walks beneath whatever is blooming in your land.

AlmondTrees

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

—Song of Solomon 2:10-13

CakeWedding

Lynn & Donald

 

Hark!

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For Christmas Day, a painting and a poem. Merry Christmas, everyone, as we go onward together holding hands, listening for angels.

FirstDay2

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.
— Gary Johnson

CakeSprinkles

Ann

CakeFlowersRibbons

Stephanie

CakeSnowman

Noah

CakeMusic

Nevin

CakePolkaDots

Tony

After a fall of snow

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In celebration of this shortest day, this longest night of the year, a poem by May Sarton, and a chair in the National Cathedral Bishop’s Garden, painted during a snowier winter than this one looks to be.

ChairInSnow

Before going to bed
After a fall of snow
I look out on the field
Shining there in the moonlight
So calm, untouched and white
Snow silence fills my head
After I leave the window.

Hours later near dawn
When I look down again
The whole landscape has changed
The perfect surface gone
Criss-crossed and written on
Where the wild creatures ranged
While the moon rose and shone.

Why did my dog not bark?
Why did I hear no sound
There on the snow-locked ground
In the tumultuous dark?

How much can come, how much can go
When the December moon is bright,
What worlds of play we’ll never know
Sleeping away the cold white night
After a fall of snow.

—May Sarton

Merci

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The lovely village of St. Cyprien-Dordogne is where we were living last Thanksgiving, celebrating quietly and far from home. This year, back in our native land, and happy and thankful for the beloved company of family and old friends, we’re also grateful for those we came to know in our adopted land and anxious about the recent attacks on this spirited, creative, humorous and resilient people. I look forward to a day (probably centuries beyond my lifetime) when we might celebrate in harmony a universal Thanksgiving in appreciation for our beautiful world and everyone in it.

Below, a poem for this day.

AutumnStCyprienR

Te Deum
Not because of victories
I sing,
having none,
but for the common sunshine,
the breeze,
the largess of the spring.

Not for victory
but for the day’s work done
as well as I was able;
not for a seat upon the dais
but at the common table.
—Charles Reznikoff

A Calendar for 2016

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Here is a new calendar for 2016, each month featuring one of my seasonal still-lifes. (Unless you prefer to be surprised, you can scroll down to see the twelve still-lifes featured below.) The calendar is 8-1/2″ x 11″ and printed on sturdy satin stock, substantial enough so the images can be saved as prints.

A single calendar is $23; a set of three is $60. Shipping is 3-day Priority Mail, domestic US.

(If you are in my area, you can obtain a calendar from me directly without shipping—just let me know.)

Cover2016CalSm

For one calendar:




 

For a set of three calendars:




Here are the paintings featured each month, for those who can’t resist peeking ahead.Calendar2016Months600

Each Day is a Celebration: Exhibition

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On Thursday, October 8th, an exhibition of my paintings will open at the Art League Gallery at the Torpedo Factory in Alexandria, Virginia. It will run through November 1st. The show will include the work I did while living in France, as well as before and since. All the information is below. I hope some of you will come to see it—and perhaps even make the opening reception that evening. 

Harrington Card final-frontLR

 

Harrington Card back

 

CakeChrysanth

Tessa

Three zinnias from the Sunday street market

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It’s the first of September, which signals, along with the late afternoon singing of cicadas, that, alas, the end of summer draws near. Here are a painting, and a rather melancholy poem, for the day. (There is a cartoon in my sketchbook to accompany the creation of this painting, which I will post eventually.)

ThreeZinniasPost

Fair Summer Droops
Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore,
So fair a summer look for nevermore:
All good things vanish less than in a day,
Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay.
Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav’st to appear.

What, shall those flowers that decked thy garland erst,
Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed?
O trees, consume your sap in sorrow’s source,
Streams, turn to tears your tributary course.
Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav’st to appear.

—Thomas Nashe, from Summer’s Last Will and Testament

CakeBlackEyeSusan

Elizabeth