All my love dearest. . .

May 4, 1945 - Western Union

MRS. O. C. BOONE
MONTGOMERY ALA

MY LOVE AND GREETINGS ON MOTHER'S DAY.  YOU ARE MORE THAN EVER IN MY THOUGHTS AT THIS TIME.  ALL MY LOVE DEAREST.

DANIEL C. BOONE

He was only 21 - so young.  I'm lucky to have this telegram in a scrapbook my grandmother made - what a salvo it must have been to have gotten this, and don't you know it must have brought tears to her eyes.  She had two sons an ocean away having fought and now kept busy finishing up a war.  Such a lovely sentiment for a 21-year-old, isn't it?  My dad.  "All my love dearest."  He got it off early too, as Mother's Day in 1945 was on May 13. . .he wasn't taking a chance that she wouldn't receive it. 

That about sums up the bountiful love and immense respect bestowed upon their mother who had seen them through the depression only to send them to Europe and Africa to war.  With luck and good fortune they came back.  And how fortunate for me, when growing up, to have witnessed their life-long love of their mother and to still have the soul warming momentos that expressed that love.   

I wrote about a mother's love when doing the small painting of "Wes and his Pooh Bear."  Now I've done the same mother's sweet toddler daughter from long ago, attempting to capture the mere essence of her "Trinka" since the original photo was in deep shadow and a couple of decades old.  A lassie with beautiful Irish coloring taking newly-found steps in the great outdoors.  Oh how quickly it all passes - mothers everywhere are always saying good-bye in one way or another, aren't they?  That's part and parcel of the mother heart and the bargain is struck from the get-go, then faced with strength, joy, sadness, excitement, fear - you name it, it's all there and deeply felt. . .forever. 

I can't help but mention the irony, the complete absurdity of this two way street. . .as you age your children are left gaping slack-jawed at YOUR future with the same strength, joy, sadness, fear, etc.!   Yes, you may laugh. 

         

Trinka in the Garden . 8" x 6" . oil on panel

Happy Mother's Day to you if it fits, and to those who have simply known a mother's love. . .well, it's so worth celebrating and remembering.

 

Art Renewal Center Salon 2012-2013 & Shane Wolf. . .

Shane in the Grand Manner

I was so happy to find out  Shane Wolf (featured above in a self-portrait) has been bestowed and recognized with a couple of wonderful honors in the latest 2012-2013 ARC Salon.  I believe his work to be quite incredible. . .and he was so over-the-top nice to do an e-mail interview with me in July of 2010, featured in this blog.  A quick link is in the right hand column - you may have to scroll down.  Shane's work continues to stop me in my tracks and is obviously revered by many.   

He won "Best Nude" - a piece titled "Thrust" - it's a large, 39" x 88" work that is not only powerful but sensitive at the same time.  The flesh is rendered beautifully and the texture on hi-res sends me over the moon.  The "Best Nude Runner-Up" is also a work by Shane and a Purchase Prize!  The title is "Daydream" and it's 39" x 19.5".  A quiet, soft rendering of a lovely female showing his deft skill at rendering flesh and form and creating mood. 

Visit the ARC site, www.artrenewal.org to view the winners and do take the time to study the paintings in hi-res.  Quite extraordinary.

I offer my congratulations to Shane and look forward to seeing where his immense talent and hard work takes him next. 

Bravo!

 

Find Shane at:  www.shane-wolf.com

Those who know a mother's love. . .





Wesley and Pooh . 6" x 8" . oil on panel

It's the day after the Boston bombing and I truly wish I had something worthwhile, something wondrous, something inspiring to say that would make it better.  I've been numbed to complete silence though, and I'm wondering if there are others who feel the same?  If ever there was a time to be loftily articulate it's now, but I find I don't even know where to begin. . .I have nothing more to add to what has been traveling through your own minds, hearts and souls.  Down-to-the-bone-sadness competes with numbness. . .overpowered by the thought that talk seems cheap right now.  So I'll stay quiet and offer no platitudes of strength and carry on.

 

I've also been thinking about the mothers of the world and those who are fortunate enough to feel and be supported by a mother's love.  There is no greater power, is there?  Whoever accomplished the destructive evil of yesterday has a mother, and beyond that single fact of recognition I'm not sure where to go with that thought.  I will go out on a limb though and say I doubt he/she ever felt the cradle of soft, unconditional mother love.  That seems unfathomable. 

 

A mother's love and tender touch colors our world from the womb until our last breath, long after they have left us to face the world without their physical presence.  What remains is the memory, the full-heartedness of knowing that special bond - but more than the "knowing of it" is the "feeling of it."  I still vividly recall/feel my own mother's tenderness whenever I was sick - how loved she made me feel, how deeply cared for.  I'm not sure there's anything else that compares.  Who do we think of in our darkest hours?  The one who nurtured us beyond compare.   

 

Hence, a mother's love has been on my mind for a lot of reasons - but mainly because of the above commissioned painting, just completed, of a beloved son.  The very fact that it depicts a scene from more than thirty years ago is a testament to what moves his mother's heart deeply.  Here she still sees her three-year-old son showing his deep devotion and love for his "Pooh" along with the early, determined spirit that has carried him into a successful adult life as a Major in the Air Force, soon to complete his second Master's and begin a third.  This child, this vision, brings his mother to tears even today.  Deep-rooted, powerful, the nurturing of a babe - it never stops no matter what their age.  It goes beyond what we know and travels into the mystical fabric of our lives, this devotion to our children.  The pleasure and yes, pain of it all cannot be surpassed and lives deep in a mother's core. 

 

Oh how I wish that all children could be comforted and loved and held in a mother's warm embrace to hear her beating heart. . .to feel to their very toes the unexplainable bond that is shared.  I am a dreamer of dreams, but tonight I'm sure many mothers are grieving and yet giving solace and soft shoulders to lean upon.  I offer my greatest blessings to them all.  

 

 



Curvature. . .

Curvature . aerial Alaska view . 9" x 12" . oil on panel

I completed this painting the other day - I call it "painting-interruptus" because of my recent move, so just the sheer exercise of finishing it and moving on suddenly became supreme in my thoughts for some sense of completion/transition. . .or more simply, the hump to get over.  Back in the saddle, so to speak, right?  Oh I could go on about "life throwing you curve balls" but I'm so over it, I promise. 

I will admit to some stumbles and starts and just generally "I don't know where anything is" in my new painting space!  Mainly because I now have storage in two different rooms.  My very good fortune of past studios has been the extreme mega luxury of being able to SEE all that I needed at my fingertips, sparing the jarring, hiccup exercise of having to suddenly go look for something.  Note:  this is NOT a whine - you will not hear anything that even resembles a whine from these lips.  No, I'm just pointing out that I'm learning new tricks!  And so it goes. . .I've now moved on to a new commission that perhaps I'll be able to share soon, with permission, of course. 

My two Alaska friends who experienced this wonderful view were in agreement that it's the Cook Inlet, the Turnagain Arm area just a tad southwest of Anchorage.  Here you'll find the rare tidal bore, (I know, I had to look it up too!) with waters flowing silty with what's referred to as "rock flour" that's ground by glaciers against stone.  We're talking pretty desolate, save for wildlife, on this western shore - the requisite oil platforms out in the waters and the necessary stuff that goes along with oil production (sigh), a few small airstrips, etc.  I might add, sadly, this is the home of the declining Beluga whales.  I so love the whales.  For those of you who aren't up on modern baby paraphernalia, there's a little stuffed lamb that hooks onto baby cribs - one of the options is to softly play the sounds of whales while baby drifts off - it's haunting and quite beautiful.  And effective!  I digress. . .

What intrigued me was the quite obvious beautiful curvature of our planet - how "knock your socks off" is that?  To see that curve with the full realization that you're on a spinning, round planet out in the universe - well, how small and insignificant can one feel?  We get so used to our little view out our windows or worse, out our windshields.  The grandeur, the majesty doesn't show up, does it?  We need more "date nights" with the beautiful natural world we're all a part of, but until that happens, maybe pondering Curvature, the latest in my Alaska series,  will serve in bending our minds towards the masterpiece of earth.

       

  
   



Here and now. . .

Home is where the heart is. . .

My move to a new place took the greater part of the last month - hence the blog was silenced and art making was stopped cold in its tracks.  I was mid-painting and now I keep staring at it wondering what the impetus was!  Thankfully I have a commission to jump start all the juju now needed to begin again. . .

 

I won't bore you with the details - let's just say that I'm glad the worst is over.  I pretended to be a mule for weeks and I've had enough of that now.  I learned you can work so long and hard that you don't ever get hungry.  And that every house has Christmas tree needles SOMEWHERE.  I've packed, planned, hauled, lifted, re-created and cleaned, but I've landed in a lovely smaller place that has quickly stolen my heart. 

 

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

~ Desiderata

 

We really only have the here and now - like labor, the pain of moving is quickly forgotten and made invisible by new neighbors who are welcoming and friendly.  For one who lived in the same house for twenty-seven years and has now moved three times in the last eight years, well it just proves we never know what script we will be handed let alone how we will cope.  I sheepishly admit some of my courses were in pure DRAMA, born out of the unknown. . .yet I have remarked several times, in my own busy-bee mind, that the universe is unfolding as it should and it's placing me in an arena to learn new strengths, new friends, new challenges.

  

So dear readers, I'm back this early spring - seeking renewal and new beginnings - hoping you will continue to join me here to share.

New work soon!

Meanwhile, I'll share one of my award winning paintings, Serenity.

 

 

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I paint! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



The tender heart. . .Will's gift

 

At times in life, you are stopped in your tracks by a gesture so pure, so sweet.  Last night, after a movie and dinner with good friends, as we pulled into the driveway where I live, I immediately saw a beautiful, perfect yellow Daffodil lying in front of my studio door. . .as if placed there!  My heart sensed and knew immediately who would make such a gesture and it was confirmed by his father this morning.  It was my eight-year-old neighbor, cub scout extraordinaire. . .and as most little boys go, a hidden, shy fountain of tenderness.   

You see, I'm moving - as in packing up and leaving the neighborhood that has embraced me for the past four years.  Not of free will unfortunately - my landlord has listed this home for sale and the sign has gone up in the yard.  My little neighbor saw it yesterday and fully realized the implication. 

Having my studio face their driveway, I've watched young Will grow from a  barely perceptible small child riding in his car seat into a young boy helping with chores, bringing in the empty, various curbside carts (garbage, recycle, yard) . . .which he now races, tall and lean, down the driveway with such speed I hold my breath and pause my painting brush until he's made it safely down the hill -me smiling all the while remembering such childhood delights.  I too grew up with hills and steep driveways.  A silent, caring bond.  I'm not at all surprised he has sensed my deep admiration, as he's an intuitive child and is being guided in life by stellar parents.  

  

 

The snowman he recently made in the corner of my backyard was brilliant - the Herculean effort involved rolling the snow down the hill into gigantic proportions!  He diligently worked and created while I painted warm and snug in my studio, peeking out every once in a while to see his progress.  It lingered long after the rest of the snow had melted, reminding me of his childhood joy.

 



I've painted Will. . .and his dogs, with the blessing of his family.  They have helped me evolve in my transition from watercolor to oil, from still life to portrait and beyond.  A gift in and of itself - a sweet memory I shall take with me. 

 

Just as we're now seeing the spring flowers making their presence known in the cycle of change, of the sure seasons, Will's gesture pointed out to me, so simply, that we often leave footprints without knowing.  It's worth remembering and will perhaps make the packing up a little sweeter but no less sad. 

 

At this point I have no idea where I'm going or where I'll land.  Stay tuned for the next chapter!

 

 

     

       

Denali rising and hearty male souls. . .

Denali Rising . 8" x 10" . oil on panel

Fortunate is the artist who has talented and well-traveled friends - especially those who are on the adventuresome side and often take the path - nor shy away from - inconvenience vs. convenience.  It's been my pleasure over the years to have the fond acquaintance of those who fall head first into the category of "a man's man."  You know, the hearty male souls who go after fish, game, ducks and whatever in the wilds.  Sure they can ride a horse, they can build a fire, they can knot ropes, they can COOK - well, you get where I'm going, don't you? 

 

I will say this - you certainly know when you are in their presence.  Without a doubt these hearty male souls are tender at the core and have fascinating lives.  They are so close to nature that it's a private religion - carrying their great respect and appreciation for the land into all that they do.  No nonsense kind of folk. . .kind, true and genuine. 

Gene Bias is smack dab in that category and he has given me permission to paint his photos from his Alaska trips.  Gene has an artist's eye. With a fondness and talent for photography, he has earmarked his travels and passions over the years.  My good fortune is a result of his generosity and craft.  Did I mention he was my daughter's English teacher in high school?  He's also a whiz at technology and consults about it across the globe. . .people have such interesting stories, don't they?

 

So I present to you Denali Rising as it was viewed by Gene and his salmon fishin' friend Steve on a glorious day around the end of summer 2012, and now painted by me and given my own particular signature.  Most often seen covered in snow, I really like this bare muscular mass rising out of the cloud bank. 

 

 Men on a mission to see and do. . .poetry in motion dwarfed by majesty.  They aren't IN the painting, but I can just imagine the profound reverence they likely felt looking across at such a sight - probably not a lot of words were spoken - they are not the type to expound on and on with flowery notions! 

  

Denali, the original Koyukon Athabaskan Indian name for Mount McKinley, is North America's highest peak (20, 320 ft) and calls the Alaska Range home.  It's the centerpiece of Denali National Park - 6 MILLION acres of wild land, bisected by a ribbon of road.  Takes your breath away, doesn't it?  Six million! 

I prefer the name Denali over Mount McKinley - more romantic, more exotic.  It means "The Great One" or "The High One."  Lovely in its simplicity.  There. . .there it is, the high one. 

This is another of  my "tiny jewel" paintings - those done with subtlety, smoothness and small highlights.  I hope you like it.

 


 

What we do for love. . .

Last evening I loaded, then unloaded ten large watercolor paintings to be in and amongst other artist's works for a two-hour event scheduled for tonight, here locally in Winston Salem.  The weather was iffy yesterday - a little moisture that was at the same time snowflakes and sleet - not ideal weather for shuffling works around that are framed under glass! 

Tonight it will be near freezing and I do hope the more fortified and stronger "go forth" folks will attend this event.  This is what artists do for a little love.  Well, not love exactly, but you get my drift.  We schlep our work here and there and everywhere, hoping for a bite, a nibble. 

It brings to mind my childhood fishing days with a cane pole and the red and white round bobber on the end - waiting for it to suddenly dive beneath the surface, hence bringing forth all kinds of surprises, action, things that required doing after standing or sitting still for so long!  It will come as no surprise that I really didn't care for fishing - the whole kit and caboodle of it - I went along in the camaraderie of family outings.  Showing my art is the same - I go along in the camaraderie of fellow artists. 

"Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention,

Be astonished,

Tell about it."

~ Mary Oliver

 

This could also apply to fishing, could it not? 

 

The "pay attention" part is important.  As I stood around at the Hampton House Gallery's lovely opening reception for their annual fundraiser, Small Heart, Big Heart (for the local non-profit, Aids Care Service) I was off in my own world discussing art with a new artist friend.  To hear my name announced for Best in Show came with complete astonishment.

So, now I'm telling about it:

 

Marsh #1 .  8" x 10" . oil on panel

The last thing I won was a cake at a church basement raffle when I was about six-years-old, so you can imagine how I felt. 

Okay, in truth, I've had a couple of other pieces singled out for awards, but it's all in proportion to how often and willing I am to stick my neck out to be judged.  It's what I admire most about fellow artists:  they strip down and are vulnerable after they have created with such personal passion and devotion. 

So, thank you all for liking my little painting, and feeling the love of its creation.

 

And in the continuing saga, I've just completed another portrait - kind of portrait - not your normal portrait!  The winsome model is my Scottish cousin Kat who has discovered the challenge of a roller derby league.  Here she is in her fierce "Grizabelta" make-up with the mysterious number 42 on her sleeve.  To understand the complexity, you'd have to be familiar with the production of "Cats" and the popular culture surrounding the number 42.  Yes, I'm never too old to learn new things and am once again astonished by young people and their worldliness. . .

 

42 is the Answer . oil on panel . 14" x 11"

So that's all the "telling" I'm doing today - it's cold here in my office - the coldest room in my house, sigh.  So, I'm off to make a cup of tea and do hope my "fishing bobber" dives beneath the surface tonight.  Send good karma please - it's very much needed and I'm already grateful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sneak Peek. . .and random thoughts

Untitled as of yet - detail of new painting in progress!

Some things, some people, some scenes, simply beg to be painted.  I'm finally getting around to the above featured snippet.  This happens to be family and more details will come!  Dare I say I'm not the only quirky one in the family? (Smile)

As those who follow know, it's good to "not judge a book by its cover."  This is just the beginning of a new portrait, albeit a different, more whimsical one. 

I'm also working on a new "tiny jewel" painting of an Alaska scene that will go into the Etsy shop when completed.  Heavens no, I didn't visit Alaska, but a couple of good friends did quite recently - they have given their kind permission to paint whatever I like from their photo collections.  It goes without saying that I am extremely appreciative of their generosity. 

Speaking of my Etsy shop - when I ship your small painting, I take the time to wrap it accordingly.  A small easel for display ships with it and shipping in the U.S. is included in my prices.  Imagine that!

  I use PayPal exclusively in my shop for security and ease. 
www.Etsy.com/shop/SandyDonnArt

Warning:  stop reading if you're not up to

Random Thoughts/Serious Thoughts
Deep in the weeds.
(A friend recently felt I was too deep in the weeds!) 
At times I do wander from the perpetual dizziness of an
uplifting-quotation-filled life.

We have once again today plunged back to near freezing weather after a teasing day of Spring-like weather yesterday.  I don't talk to a person these days who doesn't remark on the crazy weather!  Methinks we should all pay attention. . .

Yesterday I heard an NPR program about the prescription drug Adderall - how college (and high school!) students take it to achieve - how common it is - reported to help raise your letter grade a couple of notches.  VERY seductive, VERY dangerous.  Kids who have not been prescribed Adderall.  For those students who were vaguely aware of it, now they will be fully vetted!   Sigh.  My first thought - could this explain all the young male suicides that seem to be so prevalent? 

Are we taking care of the children?  Why do we neglect, turn our heads away regarding their very basic needs?  A good education, good health care, their very safety. 
 Something seems very, very wrong when we can't all agree to do something after small children are killed in their classrooms. 

When folks talk about contraceptives, I climb the walls wanting someone to take it out of the abstract and just say "WHO is going to take care of all the unwanted babies?"  Would anyone want their own child subjected to a  foster home, orphanage, adoption agency. . .being overlooked, unloved, not chosen based upon perhaps skin color, age, a mole on the arm, whatever?   
When did you last hear a substantial discussion on children left in institutions to be adopted - are you aware of the state of these institutions? 
Now that would be a subject worth exploring so we can all be educated. 
Let's talk about the children NOT chosen.

I'm so NOT brave.  An artist by the name of Jane Semmel, who is 80 this year, has often painted herself, erotica, etc.  But she's, more importantly, painting herself in the nude - presenting the older woman like we never think of or see.  She has a current show at the Bronx museum, but really, it's quite astonishing and something I can't quite wrap my mind around.  Some of us are destined to be able to face ourselves and life without question, reservation.  I admire that in others and applaud whatever it is (cell? protoplasm? DNA?) that serves up such bravery.  Is there another word for it?

Is rude "in" now?
 
 Okay - enough of that.  Aren't you glad?

 

The affair is over. . .

Kiawah Woman . 14" x 11" . oil on panel

Okay, okay. . .that title is a little misleading.  Suffice it to say if you have been reading my blog you know I was in decision mode on this painting the last time we talked.  It's pretty much finished now and the image above is the end result.  (It will be put to the side now so that I can study it from afar and perhaps go back in with subtle shifts in the next week or so.)  What's important, and something I have to keep reminding myself about - over and over - is that I am not attempting to make a copy of a photograph. . .I  want much more. 

 

What do I mean by much more? 

 

I'm not even sure if I know the true answer to that because "more" can mean different things to different people, right?  For me, the more is on an emotional level - a feeling kind of thing.  Simply put, this is what "I first saw" when I spotted this unknown-to-me-fabulous woman in a crowded day-after- Thanksgiving store.  There was so much going on all around (busy was an understatement!) yet she had seated herself in a fabulous, (comfortable no doubt) chair that was for sale.  Surrounding her were the trappings of the retail world - the stuff that sells, the things we want.  But she was deep in thought and very still, both in manner and expression.  Her particular elegance, grace, however you name it/see it/feel it, came through in an instant.  And I will confess she was VERY gracious when I asked her permission to take her photo for a future painting.  I would not have expected less from such a lovely countenance.  

 

Here's another thing. . .although she and I are probably very close in age, I could not get thoughts of my OWN mother out of my head or heart while painting this Kiawah woman.  Wow, that was unexpected and pretty special.  My mom died in 1984 - she was regal and beautiful and had an inner grace.  I suppose I still look, and perhaps long for my mother, even after all these years.  

 

Oh, the untold mysteries that come from capturing moments, and certainly a startling revelation to myself that I have never really aged in my mind because I didn't see it reflected back in my parent's eyes, nor did I see them age.  That's pretty deep, but I have a feeling you understand this to your core and perhaps have gone through the same.  Whew. . .Kiawah Woman gave  much more than she got!   

 

Okay, I'm going to stop there - thank you for simply being "out there" somewhere, reading, feeling and thinking along with me.  It's very appreciated!  I'm always amazed at the global audience that comes to my blog - Russia, Ireland, Poland, Spain, Peru, Iraq and on and on. . .simply amazing and please share if you feel like it. . .I love to hear from you.

      



You don't know what love is. . .

Painting in progress. . .

To say I've been in the weeds is a huge understatement.  I have willingly plunged myself right into the deep end. . .again.  It's only January!  Yet deep down inside I know (maybe hope!) there's a "gaggle" of  benefits to be gleaned from this exercise in the art of portraiture - in the quest of capturing a quiet moment in time.  I have been working long hours on this painting, attempting to reach the summit whereupon intuitive satisfaction begins the slow creep in.  Instead, I pace, scratch, sigh, wonder, look, look, look.  Adding and subtracting has been my MO - edit is my middle name.  I was going to do this simpler - I swear, really.  But the heart of me can't stay away from and falls back upon its beloved and practiced currency - DETAIL.   

 

My process involves layers of paint and there are so many areas of this painting that have only received the slightest glance, the barest minimum of attention.  It's so far from being recognized by my eyes that I can only shyly glance its way when passing through the studio.  It doesn't mean I'm not attracted to it.  That's obvious. . .I started this flirtation.  But I'm ready to move on to the next step.  Today I'm taking a break from the oil paint pheromones swirling in my studio. . .I'm going to lunch with a Florida friend.  Hoping fresh eyes and a new morning (tomorrow) will bring a glimmer of puppy love.  

 

Some say it's all about love - and you'll get no argument from me that it's pure love to squeeze out paint and begin with a fresh idea that resonates.  But we all know love can be messy if not tended.  (Sincere apologies to the men in my past.)  So I will "tend" to this painting after a day of giving it no attention whatsoever.  Send me your good karma and blessings. . .please. 

 

I'll leave you with Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem.  Do you think it odd that an artist, devoted to his or her craft, thinks of "art" when reading this - thinks of their love of process, of creating?  The love of painting. . .

 

"How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise .

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints - I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death."

     

 





Snap. . .

Kiawah Woman

While browsing a lovely, eclectic home store (GDC Home) at the Freshfields Village (at the crossroads of Kiawah, Seabrook and Johns Islands) - right after Thanksgiving - my artist eye fell upon this regal woman,  sitting patiently near the check-out counter.  After shyly asking, she politely gave me permission to photograph her. . .that's always a delightful "happening" when people are so open and kind about being photographed. . .fully realizing they are fodder for some unknown, strange person claiming to be an artist!  Thank you Kiawah woman.

If you've kept up with my postings and work via this blog, you may have noticed that I love painting hands, and here this woman, lost in thought, gave me, quite by accident of pose, fabulous hands to paint!  This is one of my next paintings and I'm so looking forward to getting back in the studio.  Not to mention that wonderful blue in her jacket - the expression on her face - well, the whole enchilada really.  I was captivated by the scene and the light.  Considering my love of old English novels, Masterpiece Theatre, and period piece movies. . .well, her particular gravitas/dignity spoke volumes to me.  

I've decided I really like people's stories, and possess an intense curiosity about how others live.  I'm eager to hear about their daily lives and how they cope with what comes their way.  I'll never know this woman's story, and it will have to be enough to just paint her in that particular moment, the day after Thanksgiving, 2012.  Her thoughts will provide a mysterious backdrop to my painting process and fuel the fire of my usual romantic imagination - she may have simply been thinking "I shouldn't have had that piece of pecan pie," but I'll probably go the route of "Oh, I am longing for and missing my James."  Stay tuned. . .

 

Looking in the rear view mirror, 2012 seemed to be unduly harsh.  Do I really want to go THERE. . .looking back, reflecting?  No, I truly don't want to linger long at all.  It's just a mention.

Elmwood Reflections . oil on panel . 12" x 16"



AND YET. . .
it's the American way (for all my global readers) to take stock of the past year and try to measure it in some way.  Funny thing - measuring against yourself or others should quite possibly be deemed insanity and not a very convincing way to begin anew.  Besides that, it's exhausting. 

detail of my oil painting on canvas

We all know intellectually to look FORWARD, using our gratitude and faith and hope and all the other tools we have at our disposal for "keeping on the sunny side."  No pressure there, huh? 

So, Happy New Year to you and all in your circle of life and love.  Onward I say, with only one wish - that you grant yourself a little tender mercy.  "The moon is a harsh mistress," or so the song goes. . .but it seems we may have a tendency to fill that prescription quite nicely all by our own hand.  Agree?  

What does it take to not be so hard on ourselves?  I don't have an answer for that, and me, myself and I, battle against those familiar voices in my own head all the time.  One thing I do know. . .I want to laugh more this year.  Yep, I'm ready for some real laughter.  I'm also ready for getting significantly deeper into my painting hoping that just a small, strummed chord of it will move you, touch you, bring you closer to whatever lights your world. 

"It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness."   I was but twenty when this was written below my college picture in a yearbook - truthfully, I was a tad disappointed - I didn't get it!  Ah, youth. . .

Other words written about me at that same time:  "Subdued yet candid.  Always perceptive.  Her love of art and beauty reflect her every move.  With a determination to finish what she has begun - the zest to see it through.  The person on whom to rely. . ."  I remember wondering at the time, where in the world had they gotten that impression from?  Was that really me?   

Reading those words now makes me truly believe that we never really stray far from our core - and strangely, it's often more evident to others than ourselves, thus making it all the more important that we grant ourselves tenderness, understanding and time.  Time to evolve, time to love ourselves and others, time to simply be.  Buy one, get one free. . .

I would be remiss if I didn't say thank you to all who have read my thoughts this past year - maybe have felt them too, for I did step into the "soul baring" pond.  I always look forward to hearing from you and love that you share your ideas right back.  I'll meet you on the horizon as we begin a new year filled with the potent promise of possibility. . .

         

Deep-Dish Ham and Eggplant Pie

What to do with ham leftovers. . . 

 

Ham is a thing of the past for me - we broke up several years ago.  Yet for the neighborhood/street party I hosted this year, I put together some "ham biscuits."  Having leftover ham was the perfect opportunity to attempt a dish I had ALWAYS wanted to make - deep-dish ham and eggplant pie.  Frankly, Lee Bailey's cookbooks are so visually perfect you are hard pressed to not jump up immediately and get in the kitchen when leafing through the pages.  I have two of his books from the heyday of my entertaining (1980's and 90's), and he helped me plan several menus and cook some memorable meals, shared with good friends. . . 

 

This particular dish is from his Southern Food and Plantation Houses, published in 1990, and is a collection of favorite Natchez recipes.  The Pilgrimage Garden Club assisted with the book.  Now I realize just the mere mention of "plantation houses" is rife with political incorrectness and all sorts of connotations. . .rightly so in my book.  But who doesn't like southern food, from slow oven-barbecued brisket to tarragon creamed river shrimp & chicken to cat head biscuits to gumbo pot pie?  That's what I thought.  So I'm sharing this recipe during the holiday season just in case you find yourself  wanting something easy to do.  

 

Oh, and here's the menu that goes along with this dish:

 

Chopped Salad with Pepper Mayonnaise

Deep-Dish Ham and Eggplant Pie

Butter Beans

Pickled Okra

Peach and Meringue "Shortcake"

Iced Tea or Wine

Coffee  

 

Deep-Dish Ham and Eggplant Pie

(If you have them, you could add crawfish tails or shrimp to this recipe)

 

Filling:

5 cups peeled and cubed eggplant (1-inch cubes) * I used one eggplant)

2 1/2 cups water

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano *or a tad more!

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 T. unsalted butter * I didn't have. . .used salted!

1 medium onion, coarsely chopped

1 cup coarsely chopped green bell pepper (I used orange)

1 1/2 cups corn kernels - I used defrosted frozen, but only about 3/4 cup.  I think the corn can overwhelm if you aren't using crawfish or shrimp so be wary. . .

1 cup coarsely chopped ham

1 egg, lightly beaten

1/4 cup dry bread crumbs

1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Additional salt and freshly ground black pepper

 

Make your favorite crust for a deep 9- to 10-inch pie plate.  OR, like me, use a ready-made crust like Pillsbury (follow the directions on the ready-made box for a two-crust pie).  Roll out or place half the dough in your pie plate.

 

To make filling, place eggplant in a deep saucepan, add water and stir in oregano and salt.  Simmer for 10 minutes or just until tender. 

 

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat.  Add the onion and green (or orange) peppers.  Saute until wilted, about 10 minutes. 

Add the corn and ham and saute for an additional 5 minutes.  Add the drained eggplant, mix and then add egg. . .mix well.  Sprinkle with the cheese and bread crumbs, mixing with a fork.  TASTE IT NOW!  Salt and pepper to taste.  ( I would go so far as to add a little more oregano if you like!) 

 

Fill the pastry-lined baking dish with the eggplant/ham mixture.  Roll out the remaining dough and lay over the filling, carefully sealing to the bottom crust.  Paint the top with a little milk if you like - make steam slits, and bake at around 400 degrees for 35-40 minutes, until the top starts to turn light golden. 

 

SERVES 8

Note:  the filling will make 3 1/2 cups and will amply fill a deep dish.  If you have leftovers, cook in a small casserole for lunch.

* The most important step in this recipe is the "tasting" of the filling before putting it in your pie dish.  Just downright necessary to gauge what it might need, according to your own personal taste. 

It's also good as a quick breakfast, warmed in the microwave!  OR a New Year's Eve celebration with friends? 

___________________________

 

Lee Bailey passed away in 2003 at the age of 76 in NYC where he lived.  But you can still find his cookbooks (that word simply doesn't do justice, as the photography is divine) on Amazon.