Oops!

OH NO!

Edvard Munch

The Scream

1893

I made a mistake - a huge blunder.  As I was reorganizing my photos and art images on Google Photo while I was also transferring files, documents, and images from my old computer to my new one, I did something wrong - which I didn't realize at the time - and I lost most of the artwork that I've included in these posts.  I discovered this last night.

Then I cried.

So this mistake was me just assuming that I knew what I was doing, no big deal.  You know, when you say to yourself, "Oh I don't need to read those instructions..." or whatever.  Well, if I had even just taken a moment to think about the big "Google" picture and understand the connectedness of it all, then I might have realized that Google Drive, Google Blogger, Google Photos, G-oogle Mail, Google Bookmarks, Google Sites, Google Plus, etc.  are all connected.  And that in most cases, what you do on one affects what happens on another.

M.C. Escher                            (everything is connected but I'm not sure how) 

Relativity

1953

I haven't decided if this is a good or a bad thing.

Got some work to do.

Traveling Shoes - Baltimore, April 2012

I’m wearing my favorite traveling shoes today.  They’re reminding me of one day last April when I took the train from DC to Baltimore to meet Addie at the Baltimore Museum of Art.  I hadn't seen her in a while.  She's now living in Baltimore.  We’d never been to this museum together, though she had gone recently on her own to check it out, kind of like a scouting mission for our visit.  She reported back that it I would love it - no doubt. 

I arrived in Baltimore early in the day and decided that I would just walk the several blocks between the station and the museum.  This was after I spoke with a woman at the station who told me that it was a long walk, about 15 blocks, but on a nice day, why not?  No problem, I thought.  It was a beautiful day and I like walking in cities, so off I went.  About two blocks in, however, things started looking pretty sketchy - people and buildings, even the buses going by didn’t look very inviting.  So I kept my head down and kept walking.  About eight blocks in - I was counting the blocks - two old guys sitting on a stoop, drinking something from brown paper bags looked at me, laughed, and asked for money.  “- sorry,” I said weakly.  

With no cabs in sight, I had no choice but to keep going. Despite it being a bright blue day, the air smelled of garbage and exhaust, like one big desperate exhale.  It was a residential neighborhood, but I didn't see many residents. Through the windows I could see mostly darkness or nothing, no joy, but who can afford curtains or a plant if you're just trying to survive?  This is a reality that is so easily ignored by people who can make it different, better.   

Counting the blocks became my focus.  I was OK.  But at around block thirteen a kid approached me and circled me staring at my face and my bag. He was brazen and intimidating.  I nodded, like, hi . . .?  please don’t take my bag? - attempting to move past him, when a woman sitting on a nearby step said something I couldn’t understand, repeated it, and he backed away. I saw he was wearing an ankle monitor.  I looked toward the woman and she glared at me like I was stupid - which I was.  And I didn’t belong there - which I didn’t.  So, with my bag, I made tracks. 

When my heart returned to a normal rhythm, I noticed that within one short block - of 10 blocks of panic - the sounds, the buildings, the energy, and the mood had transformed entirely.  I was in Johns Hopkins Universityland - tony, posh, trendy . . . (I won't go into what I think about socio-economic inequality in our world) with the museum just around the corner. People were about and it smelled of cherry blossoms, croissants, and Starbucks coffee.  I did feel safer here, but somehow . . . anyway . . . it isn't right. 

Addie and I found each other at the museum entrance.  Big hug.  She looked beautiful.  City life suits her.  I told her I had kind of a scary walk, but describing it sounded dumb when I was trying to be funny and I let my voice trail off.  

“You walked!  Are you crazy?”

“I didn’t know . . . I thought . . . whatever.  Let’s go in.”  I didn’t feel like a grownup in that moment and thought perhaps there is a time when one can admit that one’s children become smarter than they are about some things.

Right away she led me into a large gallery with only Henri Matisse, a hundred, probably, paintings and sculpture.  Portrait, landscape, still-life, nude, cut-outs, with color used in ways I had never seen before.  I was energized and happy.  This was a world I could connect with.  It was all so expressive and free, I thought, kind of like Addie.  As Matisse taught me to look at art in a new way, I began to look at Addie in a new way - grownup, independent, sophisticated.

Henri Matisse
Purple Robe and Anemones

1937

It was a good day - living on the edge, taking risks, making mistakes, feeling empathy and joy.  Observing the complexity of humanity in reality and in art is important, at close range, as long as I make it back to where I am free and can find love and inspiration. 

My shoes and me. 

Blue and White

The sun in late summer creates a new way for me to see the place where I live.  The light is sharp and intense and I see it in shadow angles and contrasts in the rich, vivid colors of the landscape.  I see green and gold as beautiful, but blue against white is brilliant.  I don't know what it is about the low lying sun that enhances color and produces such drama and awe-inspiring clarity. 

N.C. Wyeth

Bright and Fair, Eight Bells

1936

Blue and white have distracted me lately.  The white of clouds, boats, buildings, and waves crashing into foam against the blue of sky and sea have been striking.   Compliment blue and white with green and gold in the landscape and I see - a painting.    

Rockwell Kent

Island Village, Coast of Maine

1909

It is a quick transition from the soft, luminous atmosphere of summer to the bold, crisp qualities of land and trees and sea and sky in early autumn. 

George Bellows

The Blue Pool

1922

Mount Desert Island is a place where I "can watch the time of the world go by, from minute to minute, hour to hour, from day to day, season to season."  (Time of Wonder, Robert McCloskey)  Blue and white are like the canvas that hold the colors of the island in every moment, sometimes enhancing with Modernist richness, honesty, and expression, and sometimes reflecting Luminist softness, haziness, and tranquility.  Now is the time of Modernist boldness, late summer, and, even though this time will go by, it will be back again.      

Mark Rothko

No. 16

1961

last day of MDI summer racing . . . sigh

Woke up on Sunday morning, race day, with the same melancholy that I had felt for the last few weeks (end of summer and all), and the day was finally here.  We, the crew of Eventyr, would be sailing together for the last time.  It's not just the end of a season, it is forever.

It's sad.

But it's good . . . 

(Skip Wilson photo)

It's been joyous, challenging, and so, so fun.  And my crew-mates, my friends - they're the best in every way. 

Eventyr, 2013 MDI Cruising Class Series, FIRST PLACE
(me, in blue hat, in center)

Trophy!

Eventyr owners have bought a power boat, so Eventyr is for sale. The time is right for them to do this.  They've had many years of sailing and racing, so how perfect it is that we could help them win this last season's championship.  Nice way to end this chapter in their lives and begin a new one.

We're really happy for them . . . 

. . . They're going to have such fun with their new boat . . . messing about and poking around the down east coast . . . without us . . . 

. . . waaaa . . . maybe the boat won't sell . . .

Eventyr                                                  (Maine Sailing Partners photo)

We came up with an idea:  FOR SALE, EVENTYR J-42, WITH CREW

Anyway, so off we went on this last day.  It was a beautiful day.  The wind was moderate, the sky was blue, and you could see forever.  

This race would not count in the final standings.  It was "fun" event - a pursuit race, but still competitive.  We were hoping and planning to do well, like usual.

pre-race strategy session

The course was pretty straightforward and easy with a few long upwind tacks and a couple broad reach and downwind spinnaker runs around Baker and the Cranberries.  There was time for me to take a few photos.  I don't think I was too annoying.

serious
- look at the mountains!

view from in front

"time for a little something"
- winnie the pooh

girl power!
so, all girl crew next summer?

"a little light, a little light"

"so, what do you think?"     Hello?  Fore deck guy?

uh, oh, view from behind

Finish! (4th)  Thanks for a great season!

cookies and beer!  and memories and sentimental thoughts

I'm left with not really knowing what to write.  I admit I'm feeling a little lost.    

You know when something just works, when something is just right?  I don't think it happens often with a group of people because of dynamics and emotions and egos.  But the "just right" happened on Eventyr because of respect and patience and honesty and laughter and compassion, and more laughter - and sandwiches and beer and chocolate.    

And sailing - off Mount Desert Island.  So beautiful.

I am happy.

Frederic Edwin Church

Mount Desert 

oil sketch on paper

1850

O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,

Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,

Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,

Survey our empire, and behold our home!

- Lord Byron, The Corsair

Escapade in Somesville, MDI

John Singer Sargent

Schooner Catherine, Somesville, Maine

1920 - 1925

I was excited to discover this John Singer Sargent watercolor.  I've spent a lot of time in museums and galleries, and pouring over books and the internet looking at 19th - 20th C. paintings of Maine and of course I still have so much more to see, but this is one that surprised me - and it's Somesville!

I guess it shouldn't be so surprising because Sargent did spend time on Mount Desert Island with his cousin, Mary Hale, at her summer home in Bar Harbor and also with an artist-friend, Dwight Blaney, on Ironbound.  I do get star-struck, though, even 100 years later, discovering that John Singer Sargent was right here, right where I live, on MDI.

Schooner Catherine, Somesville, c1950
MDI Historical Society

"The lumber schooner Catherine was reported by Virginia Somes Sanderson to have been built in 1833 and abandoned in Somes Cove in 1935. The Mystic Seaport Ship's Register documents a schooner Catherine built in 1848 in Belfast with a port of Ellsworth. It was traditional for sailing vessels to be repaired while grounded out in the harbors of Mount Desert Island. As of 2012, her timbers can still be seen at low tide. The back of the Somesville Library is visible on the left. Fernald's Store; later A.J. Whiting Store, then Port-in-a-Storm Bookstore, presently Frenchman's Bay Gallery; is second from left. Nathan Salisbury house is third from left. The Lewis Some house is fourth from left. The Somes House Inn is on the right, covered by trees across the Cove. On the back of the photo are the words, "The Sunken Schooner Catherine after people dismantled her."" (MDI Historical Society)


"As of 2012, her timbers can still be seen at low tide."  Hmmm.  OK, let's see if I can see them at low tide today . . .

. . . So, at about 3:30 pm today, which was low tide, I drove into Somesville on my way to play tennis in Ellsworth.  I stopped and parked at the Somesville Library and saw that it was, in fact, extremely low tide.  From the library lawn I looked out and felt sure that I spotted the wreck of the Catherine.  It was far away though, and I wanted to get closer, which meant that I had to trek along the shore of the inlet below the high water line over rocks, seaweed, marsh grass, and mud and sand.  It looked doable.

Timbers of the Catherine from the Somesville Library (photo taken with telephoto)

I started out around the shoreline, hesitating because the footing was precarious.  I was wearing my tennis clothes, including my shoes, which was a mistake - made very clear when I stepped into mud - damn, too late, but I kept going, slowly, not letting go of my camera.  "yikes" - "whoa" - "shit"

Made it - how cool the wreck looked.

Standing with the Catherine looking back toward the Somesville Library (upper left)

  

Looking in the direction of Somes Pond

Catherine's frames and ribs

Looking east

It was time to leave and trek back to my car.  I was concerned about the time and the traffic I would inevitably face leaving the island at 4:00 pm.  (August on MDI)  I tripped and slipped most of the way along the shore, but I felt I had it figured out.  I wondered if anyone was watching me or if anyone would tell me I shouldn't be there.  No one seemed to care.

Good thing.  Because just as I was about to finally step to secure ground, my foot slid into a hollow hidden underneath the marsh grass and I lost my balance, cracking my shin on a rock and falling into a complete backward somersault landing on my back.  I just laid there for awhile staring into the sky, not even believing what had just happened.  As I stood up eventually, camera still in my grip, I looked at my shin and then my muddy shoes and clothes, and then, cried for a minute.  I felt alone, kind of like a little kid needing a hug - and I thought, "Damn . . . these pictures better be good."

It's really much, much worse than it looks, honest.

So I drove to Ellsworth, put my adventure aside, played tennis for two hours, and now I'm home.  The pictures came out OK, but I can't move without aching - the result of two hours of tennis plus gymnastics on the Somesville shore. 

My poor K-Swiss

I have to remember that my escapade was inspired by John Singer Sargent's watercolor of the Catherine.  His painting of light and the white of the sails, tenders, water, and atmosphere, and of the physicality and elegance of the Catherine is so beautiful to me.  It's remarkable, too, that the Catherine remains in the same location that John Singer Sargent stood to observe her and find the beauty of that moment almost 100 years ago.  I'm so excited to have been able to share that, in a way, and I have the bruises to prove it. 

The Blues

I was driving back to the island from Bangor thinking I wanted to hear some music, but remembered my only option was radio - old fashioned car-radio, local stations - bad local stations, ugh.  I switched it on anyway, pressed scan and kind of forgot about it for awhile, not hearing anything appealing.  

Forgot about it until . . . huh?  Allman Brothers?  Whoa - oh, yes.  That's what I'm talkin' about -

- Statesboro Blues.  (click)

I sang along loudly and animatedly, despite driving.  Great song.  Forever a great song.  I think so anyway. 

Gregg Allman

When the song ended I just turned the radio off before some typical local radio inane-ness ruined the experience.  I thought how perfect and timely Statesboro Blues was for me because I, in fact, have the blues.  Perhaps the song gave me an excuse to justify my own funk, and it certainly helped me embrace it, and I won't deny it:  it's the End-of-Summer August Blues.  

Pablo Picasso

Melancholy Woman

1902

I love summer and miss it when it is gone. 

And winter in Maine won't be denied.  It is powerful - endless days, weeks, and months of solitary, cold winter darkenss (waa-waa-waa) . . . time for Whipping Post.   (click)

The Art Spirit

Robert Henri
Monhegan Island, Maine
1911

“When the artist is alive in any person, whatever his kind of work may be, he becomes an inventive, searching, daring, self-expressive creature. He becomes interesting to other people. He disturbs, upsets, enlightens, and opens ways for better understanding. Where those who are not artists are trying to close the book, he opens it and shows there are still more pages possible.” 
― Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

Robert Henri
Cumulus Clouds, East River
1901-1902

Robert Henri (American, 1865 - 1929) was an artist, writer, influential teacher and also the organizer and leader of "The Eight", a group of artists who believed that "art should be relevant to contemporary life rather than conform to standards of popular taste".  They became known as "The Ashcan School".  Henri advocated independence for artists and freedom of expression and was committed to integrating art and life, promoting the development of a new realism in 20th Century American Art.  His progressive art and ideas were in fact the link between the academic world of the 19th Century and the landmark 1913 Armory Show in New York City.

Ashcan School artists & friends at John French Sloan's Philadelphia Studio, 1898

"The Ashcan School" first exhibited in New York City in 1908, an exhibit organized by Henri as a reaction against the conservative, prescriptive exhibit policies of the National Academy of Design.  This show was shocking for its time and included artists like John Sloan, William Glackens, Everett Shinn, George Luks, Arthur B. Davies, Ernest Lawson, and Maurice Prendergast, all artists, like Henri, who rebelled against the refined and polished style of American Impressionism and academic realism.  Their works were darker, in subject and in tone and, at the urging of Henri, were painted in "the robust, unfettered, ungenteel spirit of his favorite poet, Walt Whitman, and to be unafraid of offending contemporary taste".  

. . . For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the beach gliding, /Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, /Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sightsafter their sorts, /The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, /I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, / Listen'd long and long. . .. . . Where to answering, the sea, /Delaying not, hurrying not, /Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly before day-break, /Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word DEATH. . .

Walt Whitman, Sea Shore Memories

. . . besides Whitman, Henri's influence at this time in his career were the artists Velasquez, Hals, and Manet, plus his rebellious nature and desire for truth. According to Robert Hughes, he "wanted art to be akin to journalism...he wanted paint to be as real as mud, as the clods of horse-shit and snow, that froze on Broadway in the winter." 

Robert Henri
Snow in New York
1902

Robert Henri first visited Monhegan in 1903, awed by the fundamental, physical character of the island - the sea, the headlands, and the forest.  He and George Bellows, Edward Hopper, and Rockwell Kent helped establish the artist colony there and they produced some of the most iconic images of "Maine".  The experience of the unique natural phenomenon that the island offered must have inspired and complimented their objective for truth and expression in their own work.

Robert Henri
Storm Tide
1903

Robert Henri
Sea and Land (Monhegan Island)
c1909

I admire Henri because he was a teacher who encouraged "creative independence and philosophical anarchism" and he was an artist who never ceased to question his own style and self-expression.  For me, he "opens (the book) and shows there are still more pages possible”, even 100 years later.  I want to be like him, in his work and influence - even in a small way. 

Robert Henri
Bucko O'Malley (Charles)-(Boy with Cap)
1924

"All I can hope to do for you is to incite you to do something for yourself-- to create something. What it is, I can’t guess. I’m eager to see."

- Robert Henri, artist and teacher

. . . must include this final painting:

Robert Henri
Pequot Lighthouse, Connecticut Coast
1902

where I grew up.

daylilies

The daylilies have almost gone by.  There are a few more days of blossoms, I think.  Each blossom gets one day, then, sadly, gone until next summer.  Sort of amazing - I try to remember to observe closely because I might miss something magical.

I fell in love with daylilies while I was growing up in rural Connecticut.  They just grew wild along the road and old stone walls throughout the countryside.  My mom grew them - by the pond, by the barn, by the road, by the house, and by the compost pile.  When I moved away from home and could have my own garden, she gave me my first plants - divisions of decades old daylilies and iris. I still have their descendants in my Maine garden today, divided and multiplied annually.

I think I like daylilies best when they are random, unexpected, and un-deadheaded, and not necessarily in a formal garden.  I imagine that they've been in that spot for a hundred years, maybe outliving any original intent or design   They are beautifully common and happily surprising.  They are whimsical.  

Like by a woodpile and paving stones.

Or a telephone pole.

Or in front of a house.

Or by the harbor. 

Or holding a spider's web.

Or in Monet's Garden . . .

Claude Monet
Hemerocallis
1914-1917

"I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers."  - Claude Monet

Claude Monet
Daylilies on the Riverbank
1914-1917

"It's on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way.  So we must dig and delve unceasingly."  Claude Monet