Memoirous

Because I’m trying to read authors from Maine see Artweek, I stumbled upon an old copy of Country Byways by Sarah Orne Jewett published 1881. I’d read a long time ago Country of the Pointed Firs so I was familiar with Jewett. She has a very interesting personal history and is recognized as an outstanding regional writer, though lately her work has not received a lot of interest. Byways according to Wiki is described as “sketches.” Again, I was familiar with this term. Louisa May Alcott wrote Hospital Sketches (1863) about her experience working as a Union nurse during the Civil War. Her literary hero, Charles Dickens wrote Sketches by Boz (1839). Sketches to me seem like an early form of blog posts. From Wiki: A   sketch story,   literary sketch   or simply   sketch , is a piece of writing that is generally shorter than a   short story , and contains very little, if any,   plot . The genre was invented in the   16th century   in England...

Marsden Hartley: The Biography of an American Painter Townsend Ludington Lately I’ve been reading about Maine authors and painters ( see Great Spruce Head Island, see Art Week!). Actually I’ve always had an interest in Marsden Hartley. Ever since I saw this painting at the Art Institute of Chicago, where I was simply drawn in. It is in the same gallery as Night Hawk and Georgia O’Keefe, whose subject matter is somewhat similar. There was something about Cash Entry Mines, New Mexico , 1920 that spoke to me. Maybe it was how big nature is or the color palette: dun, washed red, faded black lines, sand colors. We can never know exactly what will touch us, but I suspect it has to do with peace. I bought at a library sale a monograph about Hartley and I learned that while living one summer in Nova Scotia with a local family the family lost 2 sons and another family member. Their boat was caught in a storm and the lads were lost at sea. This was devastating not only...

A few posts ago I announced that I have been awarded a residency on Great Spruce Head Island, once the vacation home of Fairfield Porter who hosted numerous characters from the New York School of painters and poets, namely James Schuyler who had a room reserved at both the Maine and Southampton home of the Porters. Fairfield Porter was an artist that only seemed to grow in importance after his death—like so many artists and writers. While alive the kind of art he pursued had no purchase, no level footing amongst Abstract Expressionism. Jackson Pollack was an acquaintance and neighbor of Fairfield Porter on Long Island (as was Willem de Kooning)—yet the two were worlds apart. Firstly, he was viewed as a hobbyist. This was mostly due to the fact that he owned an island. He came from a wealthy family and in truth didn’t have to work or earn money. Yet he lived relatively modestly. Among the Bohemian crowd he circulated with, he was a bit of a dad, okay, a bisexual experiment...

A new week. A new day. But somehow I am having a hard time shrugging off last week and the election. I am trying to move forward. Winter is coming. When I was younger this might have been the time of year when each week brought something wonderful. Starting with my sister’s birthday in October, followed by Halloween, then my birthday, it was one party after another. Festivities leading up to Thanksgiving and Christmas took over school. I was in choir so we rehearsed for a Christmas program. Industrial arts/home ec was given over to a great selection of craft-making options. My brothers and sisters and I always made some top-notch presents that when we were clearing out Mom and Dad’s last home, an assisted living place we were still unearthing these prizes. That’s tells you either how much they loved junk or how much they loved us. A bit of both. Now—after the passing of my parents, and some of my friends and peers, I’m feeling a bit melancholy about the holidays. Not exactly...