Not much to say about Still Life, a simple watercolor study of fruit in a bowl. The bowl was, is, a wooden one we picked up somewhere and still resurfaces occasionally to hold fruit, or some other snack, or munchies. The fruit, delicious, the pear juicy – hmmm. More than a simple study after all, a memory, a taste of the past with promises of the future.
April 20, 2015
Remember The Secret? Maybe it’s 6°s of separation, or precognition, or something? But…
Go back a couple of Sunday’s to when Yevgeniy Yevtushenko was the Sunday Guest and then I’ll tell you about this past Sunday, yesterday.
When I introduced Yevtushenko I mentioned that I first experienced his poetry through a Saturday Evening Post article in a 1963 edition. When I wrote that my youngest son and I were going to go to a huge outdoor flea market called The Elephant’s Trunk in New Milford the following Sunday. But, the ground was still too wet so that market, the opening one of the year, was postponed until yesterday. And our trip yesterday resulted in this.
We’d just started down the many rows of vendors and were looking at a young woman’s eclectic collection of tools, antiques, knick-knacks, and a box of magazines… Saturday Evening Post? The sign taped to the box said it contained 1960 editions. What were the odds? I squatted down and began to work through the copies. Half way, flip, flip, flip, flip back… Lift the upper ones. There it was! POST, The Saturday Evening Post August 10 – August 17, 1964 20c.
Banned in Russia:
A Soviet poet’s brilliant story
of his life and fight for freedom
under Stalin and Khrushchev
So maybe I’m making more of this than it just being a strange coincidence that right after I write about a poet who impacted my view of poetry and need to create poetry I’m reunited with the spark that ignited the fire.
It’s the week after “opening day” and time to get out fishing. I never go on opening day, way too crowded, too many non-fishers making their only appearance of the year. Hey, not that I don’t like fishing with others but unless it’s in a canoe, or a boat, I’d rather not be within rod length of each other. Crossed and tangled lines, limited drift, poor etiquette, all sap the enjoyment from the outing. But this weekend? Time to wet a fly, see who,s coming to dinner…
Florence Griswold made her home the home of America’s early impressionist painter. Today her home in Old Lyme, CT is open to the public. Dedicated volunteers have restored and keep up Miss Florence’s gardens. Stop by and visit.
Winter painting is always a challenge so most of this was done back in the studio. Colors can be a surprising thing in nature. The black roof that’s white in bright sunlight, this pool of water that is so cold it’s black. Sketch book and camera, back to warm truck, finish in studio. And here we are the end of March, into Spring, and the weather peeps are predicting snow.
The silver beech trees around my home are one of my favorite trees. One of the biggest housed a basic treehouse for my sons and was affectionately named “Fred”. No idea where that came from. Over the years Fred stoically took the drilling of woodpeckers and the implanting of BB pellets in stride, housed birds and squirrels and for a couple of years a pair of wood ducks every spring. But Fred finally gave up the position of emperor of the woods a few years ago and although these particular beech trees are elsewhere the painting has become Fred’s memorial.
Welcome to Friday Art, a new feature on Haiku Journey. I’ll be sharing some of my artwork, sketches, watercolors, collage, etc. every Friday. This collage, “In Cherry Blossom Time” may look familiar since it’s the basis for the header image here on Haiku Journey. It honors some time I spent in Japan while serving in Navy.