If These Rocks Could Talk

Sneak Peak of "Rockers Interrupted"

Stones, rocks and boulders - that's what NH is made of. Every gardener knows it's our best crop! So we don't take NH for "granite" and, we think, neither will you after Art Esprit's upcoming "rocking" tour.

Remember how we filled the streets of Rochester with huge shoes? Well it's us again bringing a new exhibit to town.

Art Esprit, a non-profit organization of visual and literary artists, will be exhibiting a temporary art installation for a "rocking" tour in downtown Rochester, NH. Twenty rocks on pedestals will be transformed into works of art including poetry with each piece. The event is free to the public and runs from June 4 until October 17, 2010.

An Old Lady in a Little Kid Suit

So how do we dress these days - those of us who are over 65? There used to be rules for this stuff. You know, no white shoes after Labor Day, etc. Clothing for those of us at this age used to be dowdy or dignified, maybe even stately. But today a Mickey Mouse tee shirt is not uncommon and then again there is even wrinkled cleavage. Years ago a friend of mine commented that her daughter came home shocked that she had seen a lady's "Cleveland". I assert that such exposure should be confined to Cleveland! At any rate, what do we wear?


There are those who dazzle in artistic finery. But if I showed up in a short leather skirt, everyone would laugh. Then again laughter is a good thing. So maybe it's the inside that is affecting the outside.

I really don't feel old. My 80 year old mother used to say that she thought she could still become a ballet dancer. So it's really not a body image, rather how we think. I do chose color for effect. Pink if I hope people will be kind to me, yellow if I am missing the sun and red to be assertive.


I am enjoying this age. I can flirt without censure; express opinions regardless of how goofy, yet still shovel snow and haul wood. It's a pleasure to surprise someone with odd ball knowledge they never suspected I had.


So perhaps we are getting the clothes we actually need. Like jeans, undershirts and fluffy socks. Now that I'm thinking of it, my mother was always chilly in her beautiful polyester blouses.

Shameless Commercialization

Morning Traffic

If you were a member of Artesprit, you could take a turn displaying your art work in the tax office. It's a tiny case with two glass shelves so no furniture need apply. Each year I have the opportunity to "dress" the case and live out my desire to work as a display artist.

Years ago I applied to work in Jordan Marsh's Display Department only to be told I needed a degree. So I was relegated to the sales floor. Mrs. Better Dresses and Maternity were quite a bit to live up to for a sixteen year old. But Maternity had a display case. No one seemed to care that I didn't have a degree, so I happily changed the case frequently.

Fast forward to today. For one month a year I can do whatever I want. To flesh out a painting of an old garage I included some of my Dad's oily parts. I've sprinkled stones and leaves, used grass and an old china shoe to augment various paintings.

So please stop by and check out the toy car. I'm doing a series of toy vehicles in domestic settings.

Travels with George

Long distance driving used to be a part of my life. My mind was free to wander as I drove all across the country. So I picked up George Washington. Although we logged many miles together, it was, unfortunately, a one sided relationship. Perhaps it was his teeth that prevented him from participating fully in the conversation. But I was quite willing to do all the talking. He was so impressed with my driving. Asked me repeatedly how I knew where I was going. As the miles rolled by I explained the interstate system to him. He remarked frequently about the quantity of pavement we drove on. I showed him how I could pump diesel and we often dined at truck stops. I could tell he marveled at my abilities. But what about you George? Again he was hesitant to speak so I kept both sides going.
This relationship lasted for years. The odd part was that he never arrived. As I pulled into my destination, he faded away. Waiting, I guess to be resurrected on another trip.

As many long distance relationships will, the thrill was fading. Why wasn't he more forthcoming? More conversational? Well, what did he think? So I bought a paperback history book about the life and times of George. He rode horseback. Well that was cool but it must have taken him a long time to get anywhere. Didn't he think my way was better? Sailing down the highway at high speed surely beat having your horse go lame half way there. But I noticed he was looking at the farm land because he was, after all, a farmer. Maybe he wasn't so impressed after all. I took a good look at George's face. He was actually said. He didn't like moving so fast. On our last trip together he finally told me he was leaving and would be joining the Amish. They traveled at a pace more to his liking. And he admitted he had always been embarrassed at my clothing. It was a bitter pill.
Years have gone by and I see our relationship with different eyes. George was patiently waiting for me to grow up and see him for who he really was.

Merry Christmas

Yes, I'm still here. That sure was a long "wait,wait" between postings! Thank you for your patience.

The reference for this painting was discovered on a snowy ride to the beach. My sister-in-law and I were headed to do some photography for a possible commission when we passed this old vehicle. It definitely called to us to stop and take some pictures.

Why was it there beside the road? In all sorts of weather? Surely that light would never be sufficient for driving. The image stayed with me and I hurried home to get it on canvas. Then I realized it was a "God" thing. Who is always there - beside the road and wherever I am? In all sorts of weather? It's God. How could I have failed to realize that it's God's light that is guiding this vehicle and us.

May God guide your steps through a wonderful Christmas and into a meaningful and joyous New Year.

Old Is New Again

In an attempt to create a more contemporary treatment of my favorite subject, cars, I started by by skewing the composition. This car was not actually climbing a hill, just posed for take off. Recently I've been drawn to mixed media collages - innumerable layers of brilliant colors signifying something or nothing as the case may be. What would I do for the background? Or more importantly, why was I painting a Nash in the first place? Perhaps both questions could be solved together. So I wrote what this car meant to me. I would paint the words into the background. But then would the words dominate the car? Should they wrap around the car or read like a regular page interrupted by the car? So you can see my dilemma.

I decided that each effort could stand on its own merit - the painting and the remarks. So the background became a loose collection of vibrant marks - which I discovered looked a little like tire tracks. And here are the results.

My freckled little brother sat between our mother and father. His car seat was held securely in place by two metal arms that curved over the back of the front seat. My brother was blonde just like our Dad, but Dad's hands were dark with grease and oil from his job as a mechanic. He worked long hours yet always had time to help others with their ailing vehicles. Dad had lots of car stories. My brother was too young to understand the finer points of standard transmission repair or installation of those new directional signals. But what my brother could always do was spot a Nash. Regardless of the vintage or model, he would point his finger and shout, "At's a Nash" and he was always right.

Blast from the Past

What? No pictures? This better be good!

Remember, don't be afraid to fail. Something good may come out of it - like a posting.

Many years have passed, so now it can be told. Occasionally I wrote school assignments for my kids. It was a tradition from my own years in school when my mother wrote assignments for me. Once in a while, when my activities loomed larger than my homework, my mother would say, "Dear, don't worry, I'll do it". And then she would wait anxiously for "her" grade.

However my daughter was up against an issue of unfairness. She was driven to high school by her "always late" Dad. Obviously she got into trouble for the constant tardiness. Driven to frustration and trying to make a point, her teacher demanded an essay on the situation. Talk about conflict. So naturally, I said, "Don't worry Honey, I'll do it."

So, from many years ago, here is "her" completed assignment.

"The Lowell's are always late. It's a proud tradition of tardiness passed from generation to generation.

My grandmother was not only always late but could usually be counted on to have a flat tire enroute to her destination. She even had a dog that was late in making it outside and left a disaster in the front hall. My father stepped on a nail before his wedding and was late for the service. As a child I thought all moves began in the middle and breakfasts were supposed to be cold.

Now that I am older, I face a great decision. Whether it is nobler in mind to disregard time in order to fulfill my ancestor's destiny or live my life punctually, thus becoming the black sheep of the family.

The tardy bell has just rung so I'll have to make my decision later."

As luck would have it "I" never received a grade. My daughter's teacher merely said that the paper "cracked him up". Surely that merits a B+ at the very least?