Archive for winter
A blustery blustery Monday. A blustery January Morning and all I want to do is sit on this leather couch underneath a Pendelton Indian blanket and sip my maple creamed coffee and stare at the Christmas tree. Yes, it’s still up. And listen to the wind. It comes and goes, gale force then a rumbling sort of silence. A faraway sound like the ocean when you’re inland about a mile.
I grew up on the ocean in Florida. I know the sound of gale force winds, of the ocean rumbling far away. This small house in the middle of nowhere, perched in a valley surrounded by fallow fields, this place is my island in a vast ocean of snowy sound.
Henry, the rooster, crows. Not so much a cock-a-doodle doo but something more visceral, commanding and desperate at the same time. Irritated yet hopeful. Forlorn yet energized. It’s more like Er-er-er-Errrr.
Bella is not here, she’s with her mom. Chevy’s asleep, curled tight for warmth.
Bella’s dad is wrapped in a wall of blankets upstairs. He’s not a morning guy.
We’ve been together for awhile now, three winters to be exact. He looked at me last night over the table of a tony Utica restaurant and said, I never thought we’d be together three years later. It’s true. We weren’t meant to last a weekend. But here we are, together in the middle of nowhere, winter’s claws tightening around us.
He of the unlined face, the rebel outlook, the jalopy car, the beautiful daughter not yet five years old. How does he connect with me…LA woman, world traveller, rural greenhorn, dreamer, artist, mother of a man closer to his age than not?
It’s a mystery. We let it be a mystery.
Like the weather.
Yesterday it rained, there was an epic rainbow. Spring sang her siren’s song, we knew better to believe her but still…
This then is frozen Monday. The wind howls, the cock crows and I’m staring at the giant Christmas tree in the den that absolutely must come down.
Oh, but what a beauty she was.
“To me they are as beautiful as anything I know,” Georgia O’Keeffe said of the sun-bleached bones and skulls she found in the desert. “To me they are strangely more living than the animals walking around…. The bones seem to cut sharply to the center of something that is keenly alive …”
Lil Jester, the Story
I did know this little guy.
In 2011, I flew from LA to CNY to see my house for the first time (I bought it the month before, sight unseen) and to stay with my neighbor, Tim, who first posted the picture of the house on Facebook.
This was Mother’s Day weekend.
On Mother’s Day, Lil Jester was born, there were twins but one died and this one survived, barely. The mother rejected him, so Tim and I hand fed LJ for the first few days of his life.
There is another story where I was in charge of him and he disappeared and I thought he’d been swallowed by a coyote or ferret and I cried inconsolably, but I’ll save that retelling for later.
Anyway, by the time my house was being renovated in July 2011, he was a handsome young goat with nubs where his majestic horns would be.
In the country, not all goats are created equal and boy goats do hot hold the same rank as a girl goat, a girl can be milked and bred, a boy can be annoying and eaten when he is of the right age.
This was the fate of the little boy goat.
His bones were left in a field behind my house, I knew not where until spring 2013 rolled around and I was on one of my long walks through the mud.
Spring mud pushes bones to the surface that Winter stripped clean.
There he was.
I brought him home.
Dunga Brook Diary
Infused Metal Plates
Float Mounted, Ready To Hang
Art comes into being in that abstract interval between a thought and reality, and no one – not even the artist who created it – can remeasure the influences that caused it.” (Edgar A. Payne)
“One of my mentors, Miss Pamela des Barres, imagines that if my images were music they would sound like Beethoven, Sinatra and the Beatles combined. I’ll take that.
It is my intent to deify and illuminates the ordinary and my desire is that you might find the beautiful in the ordinary, too.
Each photo is imbued with the mystery of love at first sight, infused with my present and my past and my daily rebirth into a new freedom, a swan dive, if you will, into the deep end of the pool, lit by color, texture, and emotion.”
If you are interested in being a collector, thank YOU!
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