A Walk in the Woods: Late Blooms

Although we have moved past summer––tomorrow is the first day of fall––there are new blooms in the woods and fields, adding their color to the fading goldenrod and the purple asters. It seems that the late blooming time has made for small flowers, sometimes very numerous, but still small: 1/2 to 1 inch wide. The yellow flowers above are even smaller than that, clustered along an arching stem. I assume that they're a type of goldenrod, later blooming than the more widely seen plume-like form. They look very pretty massed on a bank in the woods, the bright yellow like frothy points of light.




Asters are the flower of the moment, and many variations on them are blooming now. The Flat-Topped White Aster (at least that's what I think it is) is a very tall plant at 4 or 5 feet, with a wide loose spray of blooms. It is quite dramatic, in a restrained sort of way.



These tiny flowers, 1/2 inch wide, add subtle brightness to the changing colors around them. I particularly like the purpling centers of the flowers: this darker value of the petal color seems a deliberate aesthetic decision on the part of a designer.




I think this tiny plant is called Stiff Aster, probably because of the needle-like leaves that recall a cedar's needles.




This white aster was growing in a mass alongside a group of maidenhair ferns, a beautifully designed grouping. The 1 inch flowers with their swept back rays and heart shaped leaves looked very elegant with the ferns. It is a pleasure to see all these delicate flowers before the explosion of color soon to come.

A New Painting: "Arch"

Arch, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 5 1/2 x 4 inches

Expanses of greenish yellow and yellowish red establish the main structure of this painting, as flat, tilting planes. The original colors were more pure and intense, but I decided to try to make a color relationship that tended toward the harmonious rather than the raucous; the red and yellow are still fairly bright, but much subdued. I like the curves of this painting: the yellow arch over black, the round raised cylinder with its button of red, like a clowning exclamation.

I've included a detail to show the paint handling more clearly; keep in mind that it's above life size.

Built and Grown: A Garden in Town

The subtle colors of a woodframe house are welcoming: the home of Beth Mueller, artist and friend, sits on a corner lot of a small city/large town in Vermont. The restraint and sensitivity of the house colors give way to a riotous profusion of growth when we enter the small back and side yards: brassicas, squashes, tomatoes, eggplants and peppers run rampant, producing large amounts of good, healthy food. Last summer, Beth grew so many eggplants that she gave me a bagful because I'd had a poor crop.






It is quite a surprise to see such abundance tucked alongside a house where we are used to seeing prosaic lawn, some foundation plantings, perhaps a few flowers. It's a lesson to us that we need not have acres of land to have a productive vegetable garden.




Even the local animals are well fed: when I walked towards the giant sunflowers to photograph them, a gray squirrel went scampering down from a sunflower head. The seeds are not completely ripe, yet the squirrels of the neighborhood have already eaten half of them. For any passerby, this is a visual feast, an unexpected joy on a quiet street.

Thoughts While Mowing the Lawn

I don't usually enjoy mowing the lawn, what with the noise and the smell and the emissions, but occasionally there is a day so lovely that chugging around on the lawn tractor heightens my appreciation. I see my land from a different vantage point; my thoughts are free to wander. While looking across the ferns and stone wall into my back yard, I was suddenly wonderstruck, so that I almost said it aloud: "this is my home!"




The September light, brilliant and casting long shadows, lit up every edge, found its way onto surfaces, the breeze making everything glitter. Photographs can't capture the aliveness of the light, its quick movement and intensity. While on my noisy machine, I looked about and felt utterly grateful, for the startling moments of beauty, for small pleasures, for this home.

Henri Matisse, 1914

View of Notre Dame, 1914, oil on canvas, 58 x 37 1/4 "

When I was in NYC last week, I went to the Museum of Modern Art to see the the exhibit "Matisse: Radical Invention, 1913-1917". The premise of the show was that it would illuminate, in a very different way, the work of this period, by looking at Matisse's studio practice, rather than "as a response to Cubism or World War I". The problem with this is that Matisse was very friendly with Picasso and other cubists at the time, and was influenced by them. And he was so profoundly shaken by the war that he tried to enlist in August 1914, at the age of 44. Also in 1914 were influential lectures by the philosopher Henri Bergson which explored ideas of perception; his friend Matthew Prichard wrote that Matisse

accepted Bergson's idea that the artist is concerned with the discovery and expression of reality.....He accepted also that a picture by Corot was meant to be looked at, while his own painting was meant to be felt and submitted to.*

The paintings of the period in this show are so intensely worked, so structural, so full of the evidence of working and reworking that we can't help but feel them as a physical presence. Before painting the View of Notre Dame above, he completed a more conventionally pretty view, with none of the power or energy of the more abstract version which gives us the essence of the monumental form in space.

Interior with a Goldfish Bowl, 1914, oil on canvas, 58 x 38"

Goldfish and Palette, 1914, oil on canvas, 58 x 44"

I love this period of Matisse's work, so it was great to see so many of these canvases again. I turned to my catalog of the great 1992 Matisse retrospective (available at reasonable prices, used) at MoMA to photograph paintings for this post. I was amused to find that the 5 paintings I chose were all painted in 1914, all but French Window at the studio in Paris on the quai Saint-Michel. What an amazing year Matisse had there! The two paintings above are very interesting to compare; the first was done early in the year, the second in the autumn. The move towards simplifying and dramatizing the forms in space is very clear. The decision to have a black vertical mass, subsuming table and floor and bringing light to table top and bowl is a very nervy one. There is a trace of the artist on the right, a thumb lightly emerging through the hole of a palette, saying "I am here, I perceived this, and made this."

Woman on a High Stool (Germain Raynal), 1914, oil on canvas,
58 x 38"

I found this portrait very moving, the figure tensely composed, a thin rectangle surrounded, pressed upon by gray space. The energetic handling of the gray makes it seem as though the air around the figure is more alive than she, held in as she is by strong black lines. I wonder if Giacometti was familiar with this painting; it seems to anticipate his concerns.

French Window at Collioure, 1914, oil on canvas, 46 x 35"

This remarkable painting, now easy for us to understand after years of looking at abstract art, was never shown in Matisse's lifetime. He painted it in the fall, while in the south of France for a short while, as the Germans advanced on Paris. Lovely colors of shutters and wall look out on utter blackness, a bare hint of railings hovers. Matisse was painting his heart.

* from Matisse the Master: A Life of Henri Matisse: The Conquest of Color, by Hilary Spurling, p. 148

Fall is Approaching

Today was a raw gray day, blustery with occasional showers, the temperature only in the low 50s. It was the perfect day to fire up the woodstove, the first time this season. Although I have a gas furnace, I primarily heat the house with wood. (You can see my woodpile in this post.) Wood heat fills the house with an even warmth. The stove becomes a center of comfort, to sit alongside, to warm the body after a cold walk.




The cookstove came with the house; it's not an antique, but a modern airtight model. It has a small firebox, which you can see above, but it manages to heat my house on all but the coldest of days. And I cook on it all winter long, using the oven for such things as roasting vegetables and baking beans.




Out in the mudroom is an old handmade box for stovewood, and an old washtub for kindling. Both were here in the house when I moved in. The wear on the back of the box speaks of years of wood piled up against it.




Also in the mudroom are bunches of drying onions, garlic, and herbs. Looking at them, I feel a great sense of satisfaction; summer's bounty, ready for fall and winter meals.

A New Rug Hooking Project: Pointed

When I was mulling over my next rug hooking project, thinking that I'd like to do another shaped work, I happened to read some blog posts at Steven Alexander's Journal about Brazilian art he had seen while on a trip there. The top photo is work by Luciano Figueiredo, the bottom, Manfredo de Souzanetto. These paintings, minimal yet full of verve, got me thinking: why not put two elements together, with one sticking out from the basic rectangle, engaging directly with the wall.




I did a group of thumbnail sketches, coloring 4 that I liked (the sketch of pink oval with blue is not part of this series), using very saturated colors. My idea is that the color will be intense and spirited, almost verging on the garish. The first project I'm tackling is the orange triangle on a pink ground, the point of the triangle just barely jutting out from the square.




There was a large piece of yellow dyed wool which I had never used, so I overdyed it with the same cherry color I used for the deep pink, yielding an interesting orange, which tends to magenta.




Here is the ruglet just begun, with only its outlines hooked. As I've been working on it, I'm starting to feel that I'd like this group to have something of a sculptural feel, so may cut the loops of the background shape; this will give the piece a look of low relief sculpture. I used this technique in the triptych below, so you can see how it'll turn out. I'm still not sure I'll be doing this, but once I make the decision to cut, I would have to re-hook the background if I don't like it.
....but I think it will work.

Ovals, 3 pieces, each 16 x 7 inches

Purple Loosestrife

The purple loosestrife growing at the borders of my pond has begun to dry, turning a beautiful purplish color, so I picked a bunch for winter display. Now I must go out and cut all the heads so that the plants don't set seed. I love the look of this flower, but I found out from listening to a program on Vermont Public Radio that it is very invasive, taking over wetlands and crowding out native plants. I had no idea of this when I planted 2 or 3 around my pond. For years they didn't spread, barely even bloomed because the deer ate them (there's a worn trail in the grass around the pond). But this year they are on the move: I pulled out several plants that had migrated to my lower field, where I'd never seen them before. Here is a perfect example of the dark side of beauty.

A New Website

I thought I'd let you know that I just published a new website that displays my paintings and hooked rugs. For those of you interested in seeing some of my older work, I made a page surveying the paintings of 25 years. You can get to the site here, or by clicking the website photo on the upper right of the blog page.

I used a free website platform called Weebly; if you're interested in taking a look, here is the link. It's very simple to use, so if you always wanted to have a website, here's your chance. Have fun!

A New Painting: "Constellation"

Constellation, egg tempera on parchment, 4 1/4 x 5 inches

I finished this painting before leaving on my visit to NYC. When I began working on it, I felt that the composition wasn't as good––with each element seeming necessary and in essential balance––as in my most recent paintings. But when I started mixing color, I became entranced by the intense cool blue and the playful texture of pink and bits of green. I even did a thumbnail for a possible hooked rug project using the same pink/blue color combination. The holes cut out in the sheet metal bounce about in a jazzy rhythm, unlike the more regular circles in the painting Dots. The thin line of light caught at the bottom edge of each, and the variation of color around them, make the circles into separate little characters, dancing above the large stolid mass of dark.

Built: Three Cottages and a Barn

A few days ago I was driving down a back road in my town, going to visit some friends, when I saw, lined up after an old house and long low barn, three tiny cottages, looking like they came out of a fairy tale.




The weathered paint, the peaked roofs, the old windows of the two colorful buildings placed them as antique cabins, salvaged from some small roadside motel.





The third cabin, in the process of construction, has a different kind of charm, with the sloped red roof, square black walls and narrow wrapping porch. Its proportions seem "just right", to quote Goldilocks.




Alongside the cottages is a barn, not the traditional high red-painted building, but a lower one. Its weather scrubbed colors are beautifully harmonious. For decoration, the owners have added automotive elements: a steering wheel as counterpoint to the big square of doors; a red-rusted door, its orange hue contrasting with the blue paint. There is humor here, and an appreciation of shape and texture.




My earliest paintings were of domestic architecture, which I wrote about a bit here, and I still have a great love for interesting buildings and their details. Seeing the cottages has inspired me to begin what I hope will be an occasional series of posts on architecture, called "Built". It will give me yet another reason to carry my camera wherever I go, picking up images, seeing more than what is evident at a quick glance.

**I'll be traveling to NYC tomorrow, to spend the Jewish New Year with my family. Wishing you a happy holiday, if applicable, and I'll see you in a few days.

Five Plus Five

Five Plus Five, hand-dyed wool on linen, 2 panels: 6 x 26 1/2 inches each

I have finished my latest rug hooking project, a two panel work that I conceived as interacting with the architecture of a house, rather than just with each other on a wall. I like the idea of them on either side of a door, acting almost like banners.

I tried hanging the pieces with the darkest shape at the top, and at the bottom. I think I prefer the dark at the top, so that the shapes seem to be fading as they fall; as they lighten they seem to float, instead of sinking, as they do when they get darker toward the bottom. I would like to hang the panels horizontally above windows, but in my old house the windows are too close to the ceiling. So I placed the panels with the squares in the available space above a wooden rail and the circles vertically below. I like this installation best.

The Eloquence of the Inanimate: "Floating Weeds" by Ozu

With this quiet still shot––a sake bottle and a lighthouse––Yasujiro Ozu begins his film Floating Weeds, a story of old love and new. The first of several stills of the harbor and town, this image introduces us, with Ozu's customary emotional reticence and compositional rigor, to themes of the film: we are in a seaside town, so travel, with its rootlessness and loneliness, will be explored; the equating of bottle and lighthouse, an amusing juxtaposition, shows how the ordinary things of life loom large.




In all of his films, Ozu uses a fixed camera; a beautifully composed scene is shot from a low level and the figures move through the given space. This approach makes us very aware of the architecture and objects framing the action; to me it seems that they have the same weight as the human characters. In this shot the various gray textures of rock walls and building create a stage across which the newly arrived members of an acting troupe walk. The red of the kimono adds a brilliant note; it is a color Ozu uses often. He made very few color films; when I first saw one last fall, Late Autumn, I could hardly believe how gorgeous it was. Every scene was perfectly arranged, and each object in it selected for color, shape and size. I was inspired to make the ruglet Floating Squares after seeing it, and wrote about it in this post. I wanted to show more of Ozu and now have a dvd program that allows for screen shots, so that I don't have to rely on the taste of others.




Another kind of stage is created by the Japanese interior. Here the long ago lovers are separated by wall planes moving at right angles, and by the height of the floor. Our eye moves from the woman, through the space to the man, where we follow his gaze to the red flowers outdoors; our eye is brought back to the horizontal red of the bench. The elements are all exquisitely in balance.




A stunning scene of black and white: the cranes of the banner are echoed in the bamboo pattern of the woman's kimono. And again, a splash of red from the flowers in the distance.




Here is a different kind of interior, showing the strong diagonal of a staircase in the foreground. In some scenes we might see a figure ascending or descending the stairs, the camera never moving, just showing the character as she moves about the space. You can see Ozu's use of red: above, a fire extinguisher (?); below, a small container and blankets; into the distance in another space, some containers on a shelf. Along with the green pillars, the reds establish a visual rhythm throughout the given space.




I find this exterior shot so beautiful, from the movement of clapboards on the right, inviting us into the space, to the round wheels and small square window frames; the contrast of irregular stones emphasizes the geometry of the building; the two figures, facing yet far apart, have a rhythm of their own. Ozu sees with the eye of a painter who carefully composes each long-worked painting. But here is a film with image after image of the same quality.




At a sad moment in the story, some vivid banners and piles of colored cushions play off against the somber mood. The vertical stacks of cushions are repeated by the vertical banners, and there is a low shelf with a line of red buckets against the back wall. These warm colors stand out from the muted greens of pillars and walls.




This heartrending tableau of meager traveling bags tells a tale of dislocation and isolation; from square cases to wrapped cloth bundles, each bag is different, a character in itself, isolated from the others, waiting for what comes next. The things in this film––architecture and objects of daily use––add layers of richness, aesthetic and emotional, to a touching drama.

Greening Hydrangea

In late summer, the bright white flower heads of the Hydrangea Annabelle turn to ivory and light green; at this point they are ready for cutting and drying. I place the stems in an inch of water so that they dry slowly, upright in their large containers. The sprightly green slowly fades, then turns pale brown through the winter months. The grand rounded volumes, composed of myriad four petaled blooms, remain, until replaced by new flowers each season.

A New Painting: "Zigzag"

Zigzag, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 5 1/2 x 4 inches

When I began working on this painting, I felt as though I was designing a textile pattern, with its close repetitions of shape and linear format. And it's certainly different from the previous painting, Taut (center painting below), which is rather austere. When I'm decided which image to work on next, I generally choose to change the color and type of composition; this keeps the work interesting and challenging.

Below are three recent paintings hung together in the studio.
As always, you can click on the images to enlarge.