Walking to the Barn, Oil on Canvas, 6×6

Stables have been a part of my life ever since my daughter was seven years old, when I began to cart her to riding lessons every week.  I always loved being there, even when the arena was about 20 degrees and our hands and feet were freezing.  It was my job to rush out with a rake and pick up horse muck before the working rider came around the arena again.  My daughter’s interest in horses has never flagged.  This is a scene from her daily life at Endless Valley Stables, a boarding barn with access to 32 miles of trails, lodging and camping, clinics and horse shoes.  She’s still out in every kind of weather, even this past winter when there was a 40 degree below zero wind chill.  The horses must be fed and brought into the barn for their protection.

Awake Now, Oil on Canvas, 6×6

I did a second painting of this adorable little dog since I now have an out-of-state gallery to paint for in McGregor, IA.  Pert is now in Iowa and Awake Now will be in Mineral Point, at the Phoebe’s Nest.  The natural light in this painting suggests an afternoon spent propped on pillows in the living room, perhaps with a comforter wrapped around the legs and a dog on the lap, reading a book or watching an old movie.  The weather in Wisconsin has been so abysmal this week, rainy with a howling wind.  I’ve been painting in my warm, messy studio, staying cozy, but ending my days with episodes of Mr. Selfridge and The Miss Fisher Mysteries, both of which I adore.

The Horse Thief, 8×10, Oil on Canvas, $350

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

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

Toasty, 6×6 Oil on Canvas, Sold

Here’s a poem about imagining a different life, a life that is potential in yourself, and projecting it onto a relative stranger as the “longed-for someone” .  Alas, so true.

THE INEFFABLE

I’m sitting here reading the paper,

felling warm and satisfied, basically content

with my life and all I have achieved.

Then I go up for a refill and suddenly realize

How much happier I could be with the barista.

Late thirties, hennaed hair, an ankh

or something tattooed on her ankle,

a little silver ring in her nostril.

There’s some mystery surrounding why she’s here,

pouring coffee and toasting bagels at her age.

But there’s a lot of torsion when she walks,

which is interesting.  I can sense right away

how it would all work out between us.

We’d get a loft in the artsy part of town,

and I can see how we’d look shopping together

at our favorite organic market

on a snowy winter Saturday,

snowflakes in our hair,

our arms full of leeks and shiitake mushrooms.

We could do tai chi in the park.

She’d be one of the few people

who actually “gets” my poetry

which I’d read to her in bed.

And I can see us making love, by candlelight,

Struggling to find words for the ineffable.

We never dreamed it could be like this.

An it would all be great, for many months,

until one day, unable to help myself,

I’d say something about that nostril ring.

Like, do you really need to wear that tonight

at Sarah and Mike’s house, Sarah and Mike being

pediatricians who intimidate me slightly

with their patrician cool, and serious money.

And she would give me a look,

a certain lifting of the eyebrows

I can see she’s capable of, and right there

that would be the end of the ineffable.

— George Bilgere

No Hunting, 6×6, Oil on Canvas, $100

This is our Labrador, Saxon, posed by my husband after a hunt.  Saxon was young then.  Today she is very lumpy and arthritic; she hobbles to the door and off the deck into the snow.  She is still the most virtuous dog I know, always striving to please, tolerant of having Pugs wrestle all over her bed when she’s trying to get some sleep.  Her character informed my older Pug’s character.  The first year we had him, it was a near run thing whether we’d keep him, but he adored Saxon and gained goodness by association.  With the younger Pug, it’s still a near run thing.

We’ve had more snow fall this year than any year I can remember since moving to Wisconsin.  Here is a poem about snow from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

SNOW-FLAKES

Out of the bosom of the Air,

Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,

Over the woodlands brown and bare,

Over the harvest-fields forsaken,

Silent, and soft, and slow

Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take

Suddenly shape in some divine expression,

Even as the troubled heart doth make

In the white countenance confession,

The troubled sky reveals

The grief it feels.

This is a poem of the air,

Slowly in silent syllables recorded;

This is the secret of despair,

Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,

Now whispered and revealed

To wood and field.

Prim, Oil on Panel, 8×10, Private Collection

Lap Courage, 8×10, Oil on Canvas

You know how your dog is always braver when he’s in your lap?  He is suddenly fierce, scowls and barks at dogs who moments before were other interesting canines, but have now morphed into intruders?  He acts as if he will vault from your lap and defend the bench, the deck, your yard, …but then he doesn’t? That’s lap courage.

Here’s a poem that so reminds me of Paulette, the beautician in Legally Blonde.  She is so struck with the beauty of the UPS man, that she can’t utter an intelligible sentence.  Here’s what she could have said:

Why I Have a Crush on You, UPS Man

you bring me all the things I order

are never in a bad mood

always have a jaunty wave as you drive away

look good in your brown shorts

we have an ideal uncomplicated relationship

you’re like a cute boyfriend with great legs

who always brings the perfect present

(why, it’s just what I’ve always wanted!)

and then is considerate enough to go away

oh, UPS Man, let’s hop in your clean brown truck and elope!

ditch your job, I’ll ditch mine

Let’s hit the road for Brownsville

and tempt each other

with all the luscious brown foods —

roast beef, dark chocolate,

brownies, Guiness, homemade pumpernickel, molasses cookies

I’ll make you my mama’s bourbon pecan pie

we’ll give all the packages to kind looking strangers

live in a cozy wood cabin

with a brown dog or two

and black and brown tabby

I’m serious, UPS Man.  Let’s do it.

Where do I sign?

— Alice N Persons

Instead, Paulette sings about “Ireland.”  Well, I think all this could happen in Ireland too.