Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Peace of Wild Things

BY WENDELL BERRY

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.




Saturday, December 25, 2010

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

 Sleeping Misha
 Bernie preparing to nap.
Snoring Mimi

A few drawings with pen.We all seem to be in hibernation mode these days.

Monday, December 13, 2010

A wonderful description of getting lost in the reverie of nature. 
 "In the darkness round me flitted thousands of fire-flies and out beyond this pool of utter night flew by unceasingly the white foam of the rapids; sound there was none save their thunder.  The majesty and beauty of the scene fascinated me, and I stood leaning with my back against a rock pinnacle watching it.  Do not imagine it gave rise... to those complicated, poetical reflections natural beauty seems to bring out in other peoples minds.  ...I just lose all sense of human individuality, all memory of human life, with its grief and worry and doubt, and become part of the atmosphere.  If I have a heaven, that will be mine.... " Mary Kingsley Explorer 1862-1900.' Travels in West Africa'

        My interpretation,


Ink pen and Water Color

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

Winterberries

I brought in a sprig of Winterberry today,
so bright and crimson it was



against a black velvet pillow.



so beautiful is its shadow.


A small window of time, after the first snow, before they are taken for food I  bring in winterberry from my shrub behind the house. A male and female plant, they are interdependent on each other to bear fruit. 


Tiny beads of crimson joy.


Beauty is not caused. It is.      Emily Dickinson

Friday, December 03, 2010

Wonderment and creating stories. 

While driving in the country I saw some empty homes that reminded me of a poem I once read about an abandoned house.

 Homes that are abandoned,  particularly old farm houses, are aching to tell their stories.

 I no longer have the poem to quote from directly but here are some sketches I made and words that came to mind.








The curtains blowing out of a window propped open.
The stillness and quiet, made more poignant by the sound of blowing leaves and wind.











Wednesday, November 24, 2010


Art Institute of Chicago, IL


                                          The Windows of Marc Chagall





Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Garden oddity.  
        Early in Sept. this year I noticed one of the squashes had a split in its side.
Thinking it would rot before it matured I pulled it off the vine and set it aside with the idea of inspecting it later to see what (organism? bug? fungus?) could have caused the damage.
           Having forgotten about the squash, it was brought to my attention that a seedling had germinated from the crevice. This photo was taken around Oct. 7.




Ten days later it has two leaves forming

I'll be curious to see how long this will continue.
                I'm keeping the inside moist with water about every couple of days.
                                          











Friday, October 08, 2010

Thursday, October 07, 2010

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Observing

    While sweeping the steps today I saw,....

                                
                                                
 ...woven fields,






                            and hanging up the broom I came across,..... ancient wood.....



                           around the house were,.......spider caves,


              and on the table,....

                  
                                          buttons of mahogany.


Wednesday, September 15, 2010

 Pyrrharctia Isabella


While Searching for a reference image for a drawing, I found a lovely
old book on the bookshelf.

                  

Feeling the pull of early Fall days, I found the image I was looking for.



                             My work table and ever present cat, Emma.



                    After many days and weeks of sketching, drawing and painting,
                                            my little painting is complete.



           Wooly Bear aka Woollybear caterpillar.
           Forecaster of cold winters? or just a cuddly harbinger of Fall,
           I delight when I see you.
           Always calling me over to share your quiet world, we sit together and are content.                                                                                                

         

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

From my sketchbook






                        

Sunday, August 08, 2010




There were fistfulls of wrens hatched and reared  in the back garden this spring.
First appearing in May through mid summer they have now gone their separate ways.
John Burroughs describes them " A tiny dynamo of bird energy. The wren is habitually in an ecstasy either delight or of rage."