Gathering Images

One nice day last week I went out to a couple of farms to begin collecting images that I will use for my paintings. What you see above are 16 images from over 50 that I shot; these are the ones that I think might make good paintings. I printed the images in the size I thought would be best, along with a black and white copy of the image; I don't like to rely on the color image because it can be too flat, too predictable in color; also, so much agricultural equipment is green, and I plan to change the colors: John Deere farm machinery is very popular and its colors are green with yellow (the Deere logo is visible in the center photo). I found a large sheet of cardboard in the studio and taped the photos to it; it's an ideal display wall, as I can move it around easily for contemplation: sometimes in front of my dining table, sometimes in the living room. And contemplation is necessary, because I will sometimes change a composition, or make the image larger or smaller, or remove it altogether; it's only by living with these pictures for a while that I can see the way forward more clearly.

So that you can see them more clearly, I've posted a couple of the photos that are on the wall above; you can also click on the gathered images to see an enlargement.

Peony Leaves

When I was working in the garden a couple of days ago, I saw the leaves of red and pink peonies blazing with color as the sunlight passed through them. They were reaching upwards, not yet relaxed into their summer stance, and in this posture seemed to gather and grasp the light, shining with hues of red and crimson and warm green.

I happened to open Thoreau's Journal this afternoon, looking for entries in May and found this apt sentence from May 9, 1872:

Leaves generally are most beautiful when young and tender, before insects or weather has defaced them.

Tulips

Apricot Beauty, Single Early tulip

Each fall, I plant several varieties of tulips in a row in the vegetable garden; in spring, their flowers grace vases and pitchers in my house, adding their color to the whites and yellows of narcissus. Apricot Beauty is a favorite of mine; it is early, has a lovely color and a light grapefruity scent.

Rococo, Parrot tulip

What a spectacular flower Rococo is, with its blowsy fringed petals and rich dark red color. It's the first time I've grown this variety, and I think I will want to see it again next year.

Ballerina, Lily-Flowered Tulip

Last year, I got some Ballerina bulbs that were mislabeled as Angelique; though I was very disappointed not to have my favorite double tulip, I loved the color and shape of this flower so much that I ordered it for this spring's harvest. The orange color that dominates the flower is streaked with a rosy red for an intense show of color on pointed, out-curved petals.

Angelique, Double Late Tulip

I love the pale gentle color and frothy shape of these tulips; I believe I'm especially fond of them because they are like early peonies, my favorite flower.

Menton, Single Late Tulip

Menton is a very tall and elegant tulip, the last to bloom of my bulbs. Its shape is beautiful in all stages, as here when still a rounded form with slightly open mouth, looking like a promise.

A New Painting: "Yellow Plate"

Yellow Plate, egg tempera on vellum, 5 3/8 x 6 1/2 inches

I had a very hard time with this painting; I came close to wiping it off the panel a couple of times. Although I liked the big sweep of yellow, and the contrast of round and jagged shapes, I felt that the image was too "realistic", too descriptive, too fussy; when I tried to simplify the shapes, the painting didn't work at all. So, I plugged away at it; I decided that it was important to push through, if only to see what I don't want to do going forward. After a good deal of painting and repainting, and refining the details of texture and form, the painting sort-of works, but I'm still not crazy about it. Feel free to agree or disagree with me.
(As with all my paintings, you can see this better as an enlargement if you click on the image.)

A Walk in the Woods: Ferns Unfurling

I took a walk today, after several days of bad weather or busyness around the house didn't allow the time for it. The woods are now quite green, with trees and underbrush in leaf, outshining the color of moss and lichen. What most caught my eye were the varied ferns, in the process of unfurling their leaves, each with a different form. The plant above seems to hover between flora and fauna, a curled caterpillar dangling at the end of the hairy stalk.




Curved lines rise above green fronds that spent the winter under the coverlet of snow.




And here, little pinwheels spin above stalks peppered with dark hairs. Mother Nature is full of surprises, full of invention.

"Lunette" in Progress

I have finished the left panel of Lunette; you can see the study and its beginning here. I like the way the color has worked out, though maybe the blue-green oval could have been a deeper color, with less contrast. The curve of the oval is less than curved, more like angled...oh well, I don't mind this.

The season of less rug hooking is slowly easing in; during the warm months I'm less likely to want to sit and watch tv in the evening, which is when I do my hooking. I'm also less likely to enjoy having a wool object on my lap, a delight in winter. A turn of seasons brings different activities, different meals, different art making: what a pleasure!

Blueberry Blossoms

Today the wind died down after days of bluster, and the sun came out; even though it was cool, it was a good day for yardwork: weeding and pruning, mulching and mowing. While over at the berry patch, weeding its edges, I noticed that the blueberry plants were blooming. The flowers are small––1/4 to 3/8 of an inch–– and demure, their balloon skirts opening with a delicate little flip.

Medieval Manuscripts at the Rauner Library

Roman de la Rose, France, 1300-1325

On Friday, at the Rauner Special Collections Library at Dartmouth College, I had a morning like no other I've ever spent: turning the aged vellum pages of hand-painted manuscripts, gazing at words and images from centuries ago. As I handled the four books I chose to look at, I felt not only my face smiling, but also every part of me rising and happy. There was such a difference from looking at a manuscript in a case, protected by glass, to feeling the pages, their weight and texture; the physical contact heightened the aesthetic joy. My excitement is reflected in the length of this post.

The librarians at the Rauner were helpful, attentive, and knowledgeable, and very welcoming. I was given a bright lamp at a quiet desk so that I could photograph the manuscripts. When they saw that I needed help holding down the pages in order to photograph them, I was given some weights, one a royal velvet rectangle, like a high-minded bean bag. The first manuscript I asked to see was a copy of the Roman de la Rose which the library had recently acquired, so that it isn't yet catalogued. Written by two authors in the 13th century in vernacular French, it is an important secular work. It is a story of love in allegory, a poem of as many as 21,000 lines. There are about 320 manuscripts of the Rose extant; the copy at the Rauner was made in the 14th century. It has double blocks of beautifully written text with some small illuminated miniatures scattered throughout.

As with all the images on this blog, you can click on these to enlarge them; the enlargements will be bigger than the original images, but enable closer viewing. I, of course, had to use my reading glasses to see the small, finely worked pages clearly.

Roman de la Rose

This repaired page in the Rose manuscript touched me: here was an ancient repair, sewn by someone to replace a torn corner of the vellum. The sense of time past, of ordinariness, of abiding care for objects is all here; it makes me want to weep.

Book of Hours, France, 15th century, 9 cm x 6 cm (3.5 x 2.4 inches), Ms. Codex 001927

After looking at the Roman de la Rose, the librarian showed me how to access the online catalogue, which you can see here; each manuscript is briefly described and illustrated with one or two images. I chose 3 Books of Hours to look at that morning. The first was an elegant tiny book with refined miniatures surrounded by borders of poetically painted flowers and fruit.

Book of Hours, Ms, Codex 001927

The pages of text were also wonderful to look at; the gothic script, with illuminated letters, was carefully written inside guides lightly drawn in red. As I handled the pages of this small book, I was very aware of the thin vellum, much more delicate than the contemporary vellum I have used in my limited experience.

Book of Hours, Ms. Codex 001927

Another page from this book shows a small illumination of St. Sebastien surrounded by text. When I look at these pages, though unable to read them and not a Christian, I am moved by their artfulness; as always, I am struck by those who pay attention to the small things of this world, as also shown in panel paintings of this period that I wrote about here.

Book of Hours, France, 1490-1500, 21 x 13 cm (8 1/4 x 5 inches), Ms. Codex 001598

This second Book of Hours that I looked at was made later than the one above; in some notes included in the slipcase, I learned that the style of its miniatures included both medieval and renaissance elements. In the "Flight into Egypt" miniature above, both are shown: the renaissance in the architectural surround, and the medieval in the enchanting border.

Book of Hours, Ms. Codex 001598

Flowers, fruit and flitting birds, with golden shapes, decorate the border of the miniature; as in other Books of Hours, they are a celebration of creation. I was particularly aware of the quality of the vellum pages as I looked through this book; some were thick, some thin––though not as thin as the tiny book above––and I could see and feel the texture and variety of the calfskin. Vellum is from a living thing, which I know makes some squeamish, but because it was alive, it has variations that remind us of its origins, so different from the regularity of a machine made piece of paper.

Book of Hours, Franco-Flemish, ca. 1450, 18 x 14 cm (7 x 5 1/2 inches), Ms. Codex 003133

Written in my notebook above the codex number of this book is Wow! The design of the pages, the lush, intense color and the inventive illustrations were exhilarating to me. The double page you see above gives a sense of the sumptuous character of this manuscript, with generous use of gold in the text, and richly designed borders.

Book of Hours, Ms. Codex 003133

I love the form in this miniature, even though the subject is death and burial; the figures and architecture are simple, solid, and clear, and there is differentiation between the characters: the grieving priests and monks, and the man holding the shrouded figure, an earthy peasant. The violet colored walls are subtly somber, while the green of grass and tree speak of life. The border is all vivid profusion: flowers and fruits and decorative curlicues. And inhabiting this dense world are two strange creatures, a man-beast and a multi-hued animal. There were various invented animals in this manuscript, some like those on the left below, of humorous aspect, others with a sense of menace. I imagine they point out the lessons of life in its joy and fear, abundance and lack, and the sheer mystery of it all.

Book of Hours, Ms. Codex 003133

Early Color in the Flower Border

At this time of year, the flower borders are mostly varying shades and textures of green, as perennials start their growth. Daffodils, in whites and yellows, are the earliest flowers. But now, some other plants have begun to bloom: along with the tiny graceful daffodil Hawera, the forget-me-nots, which self seed all over the garden, show their clear blue blooms; Pasque Flower's nodding violet blooms rise above ferny foliage.




The earliest bearded iris to bloom is a dwarf, with royal violet colored flowers that seem to glow from a distance.




An intense greenish yellow, which provides a counterpoint to the violets of Pasque Flower and Iris, decorates the bracts of Euphorbia, a well behaved rounded mound of foliage. The weather has turned back to very cool and windy, and this color reminds me of the cheer of spring, which moves forward in fits and starts, but does move forward.

Preparing Glair

I thought I would do a post on the preparation of the binder, or medium, that I am currently using for my paintings on vellum: glair. I am also thinking of it because today I had a magical visit to the rare books library at Dartmouth College, where I pored over some medieval manuscripts, which I'll share soon. According to Daniel V. Thompson, in his book The Materials and Techniques of Medieval Painting, glair was one of the main binders used to make paint––when added to pigment––for manuscripts. Another important binder was gum arabic, used mainly after the 14th century; it is now used to make watercolor paints.

The first step in making glair is to separate the yolk and the white, since you use just the white. Put the egg white in a non-reactive bowl and beat it until it has stiff peaks. I use a hand held electric mixer, which makes the job a lot easier.

Then we wait.




After 3 or 4 hours, tilt the bowl and a clear yellowish liquid will creep out from under the white froth; this is the glair. Every hour or two tilt the bowl again to draw off the liquid; this process can go on for the entire day. Finally, there is no liquid left and the froth that remains is dry and stiff. I get about a tablespoon of glair from a large fresh egg; it doesn't sound like a lot, but because I'm doing such small paintings, it is enough for 2 or 3. It keeps quite well for several days in the refrigerator, a week or more. I like this medium for a couple of reasons: primarily because it yields very rich color, but also because I'm using a local ingredient: eggs from 'Alex's Birdberries', close by in New Hampshire.

Marsh Marigolds

There are broad sweeps of marsh marigolds now blooming in the wet areas of fields in northern Vermont, with cheerful bright yellow blooms. It's surprising that here, on a hill at 1300 feet above sea level, there would be so much water, but there is. My pond was dug by the previous owners years ago because the area was so wet; there are springs all over my hill, and my water comes from a spring-fed well. So marsh marigolds, or cowslips as they're called locally, abound.




Early in the season, before they flower, the leaves are edible, and much loved by moose; one year a cow moose and her calf came to the field behind my barn early each morning to feed on the plants. I've tried eating them, but found them bitter; maybe I didn't cook them properly. The clump in the photo above is at the edge of my pond, where I transplanted it so as to have some early color there. The form of the plant is quite lovely, with spherical buds, rounded leaves and wide, hollow stems.




Here are some marsh marigolds blooming along a rivulet formed by spring runoff in my lower field. Their bright blooms sparkle alongside the sun specked water.

Primary Colors: Two Paintings

Strapped Blue, egg tempera on vellum, 3 x 10 inches

Here are two new paintings, both using a color theme of red, yellow and blue, though the colors in each painting are very different. Although I've titled the post "Primary Colors", only Primary Shapes has colors that would be classified as such. I've written before on how my new process of gleaning images from my photo files has set me free from the real objects depicted; this freedom came clear to me while working on Strapped Blue (which by the way, has a more balanced color palette than it appears in the photo above, with the blue not quite as intense; please click on the image to see a better reproduction). The boxy shape on the upper right was originally gray, but I thought that having a red/blue/yellow theme would be more interesting, so I changed it. I like the way the long rectangle emphasizes the stretch of black across the blue-green volume.

Primary Shapes, egg tempera on vellum, 4 1/4 x 5 inches

Primary Shapes also had a change in the composition from the original image: there had been a blackish semi-circular form at the top left, but I was unable to make it work, so happily painted it out. The blue in this painting is of course the sky, seen through the shapes of a machine. I am uncertain about the presence of a color that becomes immediately identifiable; sometimes I feel that I should stay away from using it, that it removes a level of abstraction. But then, it's such a great color.

Below are my three most recent paintings hanging on a wall in my kitchen, to get a sense of scale; the white shape at bottom is for the telephone (my house is quite funky; never mind the phone, notice the fake wood paneling) and the painting of a city street is by Leonard Dufresne, titled Delivery Truck, dated 1979. You can see more of his wonderful paintings here. As you can see, I have stretched vellum panels the exact size of the images, which emphasizes their modernity, nicely contrasting with the shapes of collectibles displayed on an antique hutch.

Asparagus: First of the Season

Today is a banner day: I had my first meal of steamed asparagus for lunch, so very delicious. Asparagus is as much a herald of spring as the daffodil; it is the first vegetable of the season to come from the garden. This is because it's a perennial; once the roots are planted, they come up year after year, producing their delectable crop. In the photo above, you can see the varied heights of the spears as they grow out of the ground; on the far right you can see a short spear with a brownish top, damaged by the cold weather of last week. The dried stalks are last years remainders which I haven't pulled up yet; instead of cutting the spears below the ground when I harvest them, I simply snap them off, which gives me only their tender part. It's less neat looking than cutting the spears, but it also lessens the chance of cutting a new spear below the surface.

Below is what the spears look like as they rise above ground, starting off a purplish color which becomes green with growth and sun. The asparagus harvest lasts for six weeks, at which point it is allowed to grow up into a ferny hedge, which feeds the roots for next year. To see a picture of the asparagus bed later in the season, click here.

At the Boston Museum of Fine Arts: Paintings, and a Sculpture

Master of the Urbino Coronation, The Crucifixion, (detail), 1340-1380, fresco transferred to canvas

This is the third and final post on the art that I saw on a trip to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts; I wrote about the special exhibition "Luis Melendez", and on a collection of Chinese pottery; today I'd like to show some paintings and a sculpture that are part of the permanent collection. It's always a treat to wander through a museum that I don't know well; there are always new visual pleasures, as in the work above. This part of a large painting struck me by the beauty of its gestures, which evoked such kind sympathy. The prostrate figure, her hand hanging down helpless, is held and caressed gently by her companions. It is a perfect image of compassion.

Giovanni di Paolo, Madonna of Humility, (detail), 1442, tempera on wood

Unidentified Netherlandish Artist, Martyrdom of St. Hippolytus, (detail), 1475-1500, tempera and oil on panel

It is wonderful to see the wealth of natural detail in larger paintings; it is especially surprising to see in a painting that pictures the torture of a saint. Giovanni di Paolo and the unidentified artist gave a great deal of careful attention to small growing things––even little snails––endowing them with touching beauty.

Virgin and Child, Italy, 1125-50, limestone with polychrome

I have a soft spot for medieval sculpture, with its direct and expressive form that heightens feeling. The long solemn face of a mother, touched by the upturned face of her child, the simple hands, touching gently, are images of love. For me, a work that is not naturalistic in the way that, for instance, Michelangelo's sculpture is, allows more of an entry into an emotional realm.

Piet Mondrian, Composition with Blue, Yellow and Red, 1927, oil on canvas

Then I walked into the 20th century collection, turned a corner, and came upon one of the most beautiful Mondrian paintings I've ever seen. It was painted with such a sensual touch: the paint looked like velvet, the light in the work shone. There was a subtle color shift in the whites, warm and cool. The balance of the elements was perfect; the large square invites as rich a spiritual experience as a Madonna and Child. Of course a reproduction gives only a pale idea of this painting, but here it is nonetheless. It capped off a day full of delight.

A New Rug Hooking Project: Lunette

When I was looking through my thumbnail sketches for a new rug hooking design, I noticed several semi-circular ideas which intrigued me. I then thought of a lunette window, a curved "little moon" sometimes seen over a classical door. Rather than making it a continuous form, I decided to make it into a diptych, so that the forms play off against each other, the space between the panels adding some tension.




My color choices were inspired by going through my big pile of left-over dyed wool and finding a nice big piece of green and a small piece of a darker blue-green, seen above on the left. I liked the closeness of color, both based on turquoise. I did the color study above after finding the wool pieces. I then added a lighter greenish blue for the oval forms. Below is the project at a beginning stage; the green is randomly hooked and the blues will follow the oval form.

The Sound of Spring

For me, there's nothing that sings Spring! as the call of the spring peepers, a tiny frog with an outsized voice. I recorded a very short video, which you can see, and listen to, here, to get a sense of the drama of the sound, a lively paean to the season.

A Return of Spring

The terrible snow storm three days ago buried all the flowers, and when the snow receded yesterday, they looked battered and humbled. But these flowers are tough and by this afternoon, all had rebounded, tall and sprightly. The clumps of small cupped daffodils seemed to sparkle and dance in the sunlight, and the apricot cupped flowers were showing their changing colors. Not all escaped harm: I lost an old apple tree that was in my "back 40"; it wasn't a tree that produced apples, but it is so sad to see this venerable tree knocked over on its side. One of my Duchess apple trees lost a large limb; it simply cracked off. These old trees have a limited lifespan and I have to accept that they may not all live as long as I do.




The nice day meant getting back to work in the garden, and not just for humans; the bees were very active, and happy to get their pollen wherever it might be, even in the lowly dandelion, which are vigorously blooming all over my lawn.




Because of the warmth, I removed the cold frame from the arugula and lettuce; I then planted more salad greens in the row. I also set out my onion plants and parsley. At this time of year, the garden is full of promise, the small plants growing showing a bit of green that will soon be food. The rows are laid out, but the soil is mostly bare of the lush growth that it will sustain later in the season. What a wonderful time in the garden, when all is expectation and hope, and the small leaves of new plants, the peas shoots or tips of asparagus, fill us with joy.