Thursday, January 31, 2013


In what feels like a weeks-long strange camping trip (where's the can opener?  who hid the socks?  why am I wearing boots in the living room?), moving is finally coming to an end.  And now for the unpacking...

I found more frames and brushes and painting holders than I even imagined I ever owned.  Here we go!!!  Can't wait to get set up in my new studio space!

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Ice and Lights

Moon over Montreal this past Christmas (and me skating as a dot/sliver) in the distance.

Can you make out the moon top left???

Monday, January 21, 2013

Moving on and moving forward

Settled into the new place, but the studio is still up.  Going to spend my waking hours perfecting a couple of new concert paintings--may the force be with me!!!

Friday, January 18, 2013

by John Donne

Francois Lemoine. Hercules and Omphale, 1724.

Francois Lemoine. Hercules and Omphale, 1724.

DEAR love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream ;
                It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy.
Therefore thou waked'st me wisely ; yet
My dream thou brokest not, but continued'st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories ;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.
As lightning, or a taper's light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me ;
                Yet I thought thee
—For thou lovest truth—an angel, at first sight ;
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art,
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and camest then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.
Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
                Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear's as strong as he ;
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have ;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me ;
Thou camest to kindle, go'st to come ; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

To F--
by Edgar Allan Poe

Beloved! amid the earnest woes
      That crowd around my earthly path-
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)-
      My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me
      Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea-
Some ocean throbbing far and free
      With storms-but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
      Just o'er that one bright island smile.

"A poem is a watch designed 
 To tick forever in the mind."
                   --Fred Cogswell

Friday, January 11, 2013

To do

Moving the 'studio' soon!!!  Definitely going to lend some new perspectives, in every which way of the word!

In the meantime, a random picture of me in the woods last fall:

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

More hundreds of years old words and things

Francis Quarles

FROM  Emblems, 1635


Respice Finem

MY soul, sit thou a patient looker-on ;
Judge not the play before the play is done :
Her plot hath many changes ;  every day
Speaks a new scene ;  the last act crowns the play.