STUDIO IN THE SNOW

ENTRY: It all changes when the snow hits.  Things just seem to slow down and take on a new shape.  I love the feel of it, when it comes and engulfs my little studio.  The smell of wood fire settles in the atmosphere and the drifted landscape becomes a shifting mountainous range.  This is the place to be.  Solitude has never been so serene.

Etching Painted

POVERTY AND GLORY

ENTRY: We could feel it before it reached us.  We could smell it before it breathed life into our canvas and whistled in our ears.  It had to be a North Wind...and it had to be just right...and it was.  Only a handful of times before had we ever heard of it happening, you know.  Many of us, the saltiest of the crew, had heard the myth, had, from time to time, uttered those stories to one another up on deck, when we needed a thrill.  The younger lot wouldn't listen to us; they would not hear of legend.  For them, our aged and weathered faces, like our tired and battered ship, somehow discredited our integrity and worth.  We may have believed, but never had we EXPECTED it to come true- being able to fly...to sail among the clouds...to reach above the sun-baked rooftops of our village...to navigate the skies and not the sea...an adventure unknown.  

Now, it is that very moment that has arrived, a final journey for a handful of honest men at the end.  The heavens beckon, and we now shall sail to meet them; not a penny in our pockets nor a dime to our names.  With a hole in her stern and moth-eaten sails at her mast, the old girl surely on a last voyage with her brothers-in-arms aboard.  The aviary vessel...the cloud ship...we are poverty and glory.

SIZE 17 3/4" x 17 1/2" 

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Music At Night

Entry: Soft cool nights

on the wake of summer

the tobacco taste on my tongue

the sting of my guitar strings

etched into my fingertips

man, what a session

...what an evening

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Shackelton's Endurance

 

Entry: To the ends of the earth, till the salty sea turned frozen and we crunched our way to a stand still.  In the hopes that we would find something, in the hopes that we would be found, in the hopes that we would be remembered, in the hopes that we would be even missed at all.  Our beautiful vessel, her back broken and splintered across the icy landscape- our tomb.

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Rust Bucket

Entry: The creakin' sound she made at anchor, the first puff of coal powder smoke upon takin' 'er leave, the ever-peeling green, red and white paint that was slopped on fresh every other summer, on the first of June...those ashore, we could hear 'em talkin' and laughin' from time to time; they'd call 'er "rust bucket," but we'd just call 'er "home."

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MANHATTAN CHRISTMAS

 

Entry: The feel of it...the wintry bite on the tips of my ears and nose, the sweet invitation of fresh pine and woodfire in my senses, the comforting and familiar brush of the tree's branches against my face and neck as we loped through these city streets.  

The pick of the season, I tell you...the champion choice from the corner street lot. This will be the finest Christmas of all!

Size 8.5" x 5.5"

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Garbage Scow

Entry: The words awakened in my mind- "One man's trash is another man's treasure"- as I skirted the wake of the barge laden by such a trove that one would not believe.

Etching painted (Size- 17" x 6")