I'm not sure I want this woman in my house

I'm not sure I want this woman in my house, actually, I'm sure I don't want this
woman in my house......I have to say my relationship with " Alexa " has been
pretty favorable. With a few exceptions of inadequacies, ie song
requests, stock prices and I can't recall what else, though I'm  sure there
were some pretty major ones.

I try to say "thank you" and sometimes I do but then I realize that is really ridiculous.
Sometimes I want to swear at her, tell her she is useless, WTF...... I'm sure you have all
felt this way, we are all human.
My sister makes her husband apologize when he is abusive and I hope he doesn't.


She is living in our house. I never really felt her presence until tonight. I was having
a cozy candlelight dinner by myself when I kept noticing Alexa was glowing an orange
glow. I tried to say nicely " Alexa Off." but she kept spinning and glowing . OK , this is
getting creepy and annoying as shit so I moved her to where I couldn't see her because if
I unplugged her I would have to go through the hassle of having to reset her.

Why is this woman in my house??

end of part one , all this technology has me ready for bed.

What's the Point?

This is a question every artist has asked themselves; maybe it haunts them regularly
or just at low points. You are in your studio alone, looking at all this work, thinking
"What's the point? No one is going to buy this work. What am I going to do with it all? "

When it is highly personal work that question is even more vexing. Sometimes you are
deep into a series, digging away at what even you don't know. There is no roadmap for the
emotions that come up and out of you, out of a deep place." How can someone else understand
this if I don't? I don't know. I just know it calls me and so I believe there will be answers to the questions. That there is a point.

If there's a problem, fix it

Art is the opposite of math and other studies. There is no one answer and yet there are

many problems. Once you solve one  you often create another. Abstract art is challenging in 

that it is so personal and primal.The rules are the same. You have to pull all the elements of art

together in one piece; composition, color, value, line, pattern, balance, rhythm....... easy, right?

My experience has been that abstract art is not easier, it is actually harder. You are not trying to render a scene, still life, or model as they appear in front of you. You are trying to reinterpret them

in another language entirely, your language. Another way many abstract artists work is entirely from their imagination and intuition.

If you don't have a knowledge of abstract art it is easy to dismiss it. Despite my art education

and exposure to the arts I did not understand it until I took an abstract painting class with

Norma Mutch.  Art feels so much more expansive. My painting alternates between the two worlds of abstraction and realism. When I go to museums and galleries the experience

doubles in richness. Photography still feels like an integral part of my process but even that is 

changing. 

Charlie's Tree

9/6/18

I woke up at 5:45, brewed my french press and brought my a asian mug
out to my favorite chaise. The morning was cloudy yet as I sat looking over
at my neighbors yard I noticed the trunk of her tree was glowing an orangey
red. It was so incredible I felt like I was seeing things. I grabbed my camera
to see if I could capture it . Moments later it was gone. It felt so powerfully
like Charlie was in that tree; glowing and shining his light on me and telling
me he was happy.

The morning after he died I was sitting on the same chaise weeping and the
tiniest dragon fly landed on my knee and stayed there for a long, long time.
I wasn't totally sure about that but I am totally sure about this. On a cloudy
day with no sun this tree was GLOWING ! My Charlie bear, my love, shining
his light

on me. Nature is my greatest healer. That tree will always be
my " Charlie Tree "

Why do artists charge so much for their work?

Twenty five years ago I walked into the Lange Miller Gallery with my mother.

The building was old with tall ceilings, wide pine floors and the space was

flooded with light. The first thing I saw was a 5 by 5 ft oil painting

of peonies, tulips, a chair, pears and an empty white plate. The painting was a

riot of color and it literally stopped me in my tracks. I stood there completely

transfixed for 5 minutes, saying over and over, "Mum, look at this, can you believe it?'

I could barely breathe and I knew I was experiencing something profound.

My mother quietly went into the back of the gallery and told the artist, Janvier Miller,

she was buying the painting for me. It was $5000- and it was "my birthday present for

the rest of my life" It was the first real painting I ever owned.

Most mornings I have my coffee with this painting. It is like a muse of sorts. I never

love it less. At the time, $ 5000- seemed like a lot of money but now I truly understand

"why artists charge so much for their art " The response to that question, which was

asked of me a few days ago, will be my next blog.

My Shore Road

Everything was different then; my grandparents house was grand.
Even before George Colt wrote " The Big House " we all referred to
it as such. The Briggs/ Birch house was was pretty grand as well with
it's fabulous windmill standing high on the bluff, greeting fisherman and women
as they came in with their catch.

We knew everyone from the Townsend/Weller house next door all the way to the

Burroughs house on "the point". There was a wooden turnstile between our house and the 

Townsend's, symbolic of friendship and welcome. There were no fences or privet hedges

between the other houses so we all ran freely back and forth across the properties.

That's how it was. 

Three generations; our grandparents, our parents and us. The Townsends, the Lincolns,

the Tyners, the Briggs, the Russells, the Garres, and the Burroughs. Of the seven houses

five have been torn down and the big house and it's two side cottages are unrecognizable.

When I drove by the big house on Sunday I thought it had been gutted by a fire. This feels

more tragic. My friend called it "wanton disregard" for the history of a place, it's charm 

and how it fits into the landscape. I could weep.

Proud to be an American?

Last night I went to a concert and the performer kept saying she was
" Proud to be an American " I beg to differ. I can only speak for myself.
I feel like I am living in a chilling time with a president who got elected on
 a platform of change and is staying elected on a platform of silence.

In my opinion he is a man with no moral compass, no understanding of history
and no political experience. He is a dangerous man, revealing and exploiting the
darkest side of humanity. There is no greater perpetrator of " fake news. " I can only pray
that this too shall pass but I fear it will not be soon.