Tuesday, January 26, 2016
This blog has been sorely neglected by me and I will sheepishly admit that one of the reasons is I have a new blog. The new blog is receiving lots of attention from me as this one languishes. I plan to still try to post on this site but thought I would let anyone who might still be popping by this one know where else they can find me if they feel so inclined.
The new blog is:
please come visit
|Source: Roger Hargreaves|
Friday, November 6, 2015
|November First - Andrew Wyeth|
For me the end of one week is usually designated for beginning to worry about what the next will bring; however...
today starts with a newsy/talky (mostly me talking) phone conversation with a smart, patient young woman who happens to be related to me. Once I disconnect, it's off to the auto repair shop to find out why the repair bill is so darned high - labor costs are a killer. The bill paid (with a surprise discount) the revived car sits in it's customary spot snuggled among mounds of pin-oak leaves.
Back home, dishes are quickly done - the fireplace warms the living room against a blustery, gone-cold autumn day. A car pulls up in front of the house and in come my baby sister and a favorite aunt. For a couple hours the kitchen is filled with chatter of school pictures, cousins, bad puns, health issues and reviews of my first attempt at making an apple pie from scratch. Laughter is plentiful. A handsome, bearded man clad in cargo shorts and a heavy flannel shirt emerges from the basement where he is working on electronics. Teacups warm the hands, the company warms the heart. The soon to be 14-year-old resident beagle sits at my feet, making known that, if she can't have a piece of pie, then non-stop scratching of her head and neck is the price.
|The Last of Autumn - Andrew Wyeth|
Visits by telephone, via text/e-mail or in person feed my heart and soul. Knowing someone thinks enough of me to take the time for a visit, in whatever form, can lift the heaviest of sorrow, loneliness or care. Autumn is an especially good time for this as darkness comes sooner, lasts longer and rings a melancholy chord in my heart - will spring keep it's yearly promise of naked trees suddenly etched with blooms, forsythia waving golden fronds and a profusion of fragrant lilacs painting the winter-bleached landscape? Surely it will. In the meantime, I will tap into the "lemony sunshine, restorative spring breeze" stockpile that visits like today's have built.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
This time of year brings the paintings of Andrew Wyeth to my mind. I enjoy the colors of his work - whether people, landscape, livestock. He captures the essence of the subject well.
|Wisteria - Andrew Wyeth|
|Her Room - Andrew Wyeth|
His windows have intrigued and beguiled me forever. The way in which he pulls the viewer's gaze through the window to settle on heavy, hanging gray clouds, fields gone tawny in a late autumn afternoon, the dusty brownish husk of a tree laid bare by winter. I can imagine curling up on an overstuffed chair, an afghan over my lap and a steaming cup of tea within easy reach and just staring out one of those windows. Maybe some music playing softly in the background (John Barry's "Across the Sea of Time"?). My brain and heart travel past the panes to places I will likely never see in "real" life, but the journey is breathtaking.
|Around the Corner - Andrew Wyeth|
Wyeth's windows do another trick in that they seem to invite me to a type of friendly voyeurism. Nothing unseemly, but I am at once engaged in dreamy speculation about what is on the other side of the partially-shaded window I see from outside. Is there a pleasing domestic scene, lovers embracing, loneliness? And, at times, I am caught by the awareness that, depending on the light Wyeth employs in creating the window I am looking into, all I may see is my own reflection. Intentional or uncalculated, his windows open onto endless stories, unlimited possibilities...looking out or looking in.
|Wind from the Sea - Andrew Wyeth|
Monday, October 19, 2015
|Jesse Hilton Stuart (August 8, 1906 – February 17, 1984)|
My dad died recently. He was born and raised in Ashland, Kentucky and had a lifetime love and longing for the land and the people of his youth. He had quite a collection of books by Jesse Stuart. It seems that Mr. Stuart knew my dad's dad so, along with a personal connection, Dad also appreciated the way Mr. Stuart was able to capture, with quiet eloquence and bold imagery, the beauty of the region of which he was a native. Jesse Stuart's writing is indeed rich and worthy of multiple visits, preferably over many years, as the words speak to different parts of the heart and the head depending on when they are read. If you aren't familiar with this poet/author/educator, think about spending a quiet autumn afternoon "dipping a toe or two" into one of his many books. My guess is you will be transported to an Appalachian locality that might induce you to work the land, compose a ballad, fall in love or marvel at the people who populate this land - a land both deep in poverty and bounty.
Check out the following links:
The Jesse Stuart Foundation : http://www.jsfbooks.com/#sthash.M6ajLQyq.dpbs
WVU Library Jesse Stuart Exhibit: https://lib.wvu.edu/collections/exhibits/stuartweb/text/
Friday, July 17, 2015
Wednesday, March 25, 2015