FACE OFF This is not a true story... He paused when he entered the room and made eye contact with no one. Was he embarrassed? Him...embarrassed? No. Impossible. It had to be something else. Something important. Dire, perhaps? Whatever it was it was in his eyes. Unmoving. Staring at something but nothing. Vacant. Those who... Continue Reading →
THE CHILD It was a whirl-wind romance fraught with complications. No one knows for sure because no one talked even though asked...but The Child could surmise the complication was a drunken night on the town with him shipping out the next day to fight the end of a war, and her rebounding from a heartbroken,... Continue Reading →
THE LETTER It was there on the table waiting for him. The letter. Words written down. Finally. This after years and years of mental word choices, sentence construction. What to say? The Son was having health issues. Was it a genetic disorder. Inherited condition. When to write? Answers needed now. Important and imperative information... Continue Reading →
CHAIR WITH MAN A reunion of as many siblings who could make the journey. It wasn't as long-planned as it was necessary. For some, those left who could still journey, came in great anticipation of sibling camaraderie, retelling and reliving memories, softening sibling youthful blows and jabs, but mostly an attempt to tamp down... Continue Reading →
PICNIC: 3PEARS2FIGS If we started counting... The bus drivers who take your children to school, or you to work. The paper-people who deliver your morning read to your front porch, the bush next to your front porch, or miss entirely and hit the roof. The cab driver who doesn't ask questions and doesn't sing,... Continue Reading →
GIRL WITH CHAIR He is sitting on the rim of a wood planter box that houses a smallish palm tree providing no shade on this warm day, and looking away from where I am standing. My camera is a second away from capturing this perfect shot. An image photograph for a potential sketch. One... Continue Reading →
TALK TALK TALK "The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax Of cabbages - and kings - And why the sea is boiling hot - And whether pigs have wings." Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, Ch. 4
PENN'S TABLE Watercolour by RRiederMy Reader says I've been reading too much. Reading and listening to the daily news, overhearing conversations, listening to opinions from all sides, some aloud some silent but seen face-on just the same. There's something to be said about that, but you won't hear it directly from me nor My Reader.... Continue Reading →
It happened today, this semi-dark soon to be rainy afternoon, after the dog walk but before lunch. The local newspaper provided the perfect, actually more than perfect reason for the needless revisit to my post RELAXING IS RELATIVE. Just four hours ago My Reader whispers. I'm so excited...the clothes in the dryer can wait. Today's... Continue Reading →
STEWED TOMATOES Not a joiner. Never liked to stand out. Always stood at the rear of the crowd. Invites to parties, celebratory showers...even my own bridal shower...were angst ridden. The Mother said, "You have to go to this one...and maybe one more." There you have it. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Probably a control thing. My... Continue Reading →
DH IMAGINED He asked when can I meet you? How about I deliver myself to you on my thirty-ninth birthday? Chuckle. Then, he said...perfect. Seems like forever ago when we walked up to each other for the very first time. He looked at me and I him. What I saw for the first time...my... Continue Reading →
MANDARINS Isn't this just the berries? Actually, not berried at all...more like fruit-looped, but no matter. It's great to be on the other-side of winter. The easel in the studio remains occupied and work honing watercolour skill and hoping to find that sweet-sweet place of satisfaction is the continuum. It is the forever hope... Continue Reading →
He salutes me every morning. Him…that old guy…the early morning walker. Like me. Although, I know that I’m not the only one. I imagine he salutes every one he passes whether on the same side of the street, or not. Ex-military, for sure. Crisp camouflage pants, green jacket with emblems on the sleeve, name... Continue Reading →
The Dancer stood. Then moved toward the floor. No need for another. The music moved The Dancer. Along with the others. In confident directions. Last dance. Last call.
An idea within an idea within an idea. It never seems to stop until...someone else is doing something else that someone else is doing and the fire is lit..and it begins again. In a different place altogether from where you think you've started. My Yorkshire fellow artist and friend Rebecca from STUFF AND NONSENSE, (can... Continue Reading →
Jasper Johns burgled my mind. He took all the thoughts I’ve had about my ART that tumble around in my head, and said them aloud to important curators of important museums and important writers working on important feature essays about ART and artists. Importantly enough, wordsmith gems gleaned and made with humour sometimes not, are... Continue Reading →
FALLING INTO BED "And some artists try to make something out of nothing, order out of chaos, demanding of themselves that they ably communicate structure and composition, colour and balance, and that each piece they create serve to communicate a predetermined issue as well. A piece of art asks people to stop and look in... Continue Reading →
PEGGED It wasn't what they said. Actually it was exactly that. It was not only what they said but the how of it. It was neither smart nor kind. The stolid and impassive back and forth seemed to go on for ages (because everyone agreed it had been ages)...and was in the end...all for naught. ... Continue Reading →
IRISH FARM HOUSE Did you get my message? The Reader said it was about time we had a sit-down, and The Reader is right. It really is time. There isn't much that comes and goes around that The Reader doesn’t comment on, has an uninvited opinion on or a question about. However, this is not... Continue Reading →
PESCE The Reader looks more than dubious that somehow I can connect fishing for words to the watercoloured fish on a platter surrounded with leafy, green things, yellow-ish squiggles and red rounds that may or may not look like small, yet delicious potatoes. I can't so I won't. No surprise there, The Reader smirks. Very... Continue Reading →
SIMPLY ORANGES THREE Caps with flaps or Santa hats Presented here for thee and thee, A modest image as sure as you please Of simply orange oranges three.
IT'S A TOSS UP NO IT'S A COW Both of my kids have a picture of a framed cow that graces a wall in each of their respective homes. They were born on a family dairy farm and know the value of hard work. They also know the value of working together and of... Continue Reading →
NUMBER FORTY-SEVEN "All his own geese are swans, as the swans of others are geese." Horace Walpole (1717-97) British writer Referring to Sir Joshua Reynolds. Wait! Wait! shouts My Reader. Geese? What geese? That's a cow...I don't see any geese! Point taken...
A WORK IN PROGRESS... Note: My grand-daughter just celebrated her 13th birthday. I know, I know. I didn't think I was old enough to have a thirteen year old grand child...and I'm not. Not really. But while My Reader debates the above "not old enough" statement, please read the letter I sent to My... Continue Reading →
BIRD IN A BOWL Funny thing about that weather. Yesterday on the half-past five morning first dog walk of the day the weather was clear-skied, star-studded crisp and thirty-three degrees. Then again, at the morning nine o'clock second dog walk... Continue Reading →
Normally, I’ve been reluctant to besiege My Reader with facts, that particular part of my art researching profession that requires accuracy closely bordering the edge of boredom. However, just this once and feeling safe in the “historical fact” arena because I’ve taken liberal liberties with wording and comments…the curious art researcher and enquiring mind bubbled... Continue Reading →
This is how it goes, usually… 1 January – take down Christmas tree. Pack. Store. This is how it went… 26 December – Christmas tree down. Packed. Stored. Five-day head start on usual Christmas tree take-down. Forget January. Early. Easy. Done. Forgotten. Bliss. Thirty-one plus five extra days of forgetful bliss. Thirty-one plus... Continue Reading →
At first it was curiosity and wondering about a word. Then mental machinations and mindless wanderings took the high road and soon profound curiosity became a fever-pitched research obsession. It was all about a word, and the word was G-R-E-A-T-N-E-S-S. A good word GREATNESS. A great word. Greatness (n.): from the adjective GREAT to... Continue Reading →
"Day after day, day after day We stuck, nor breath nor motion As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean." The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Fetish for FIGS... It came as a challenge It came as a dare, So I went to the studio And plopped in my chair. What began as the one But concluded with four, It became quite apparent There was room for one more. Five FIGS to be settled In harmonious collusion, On a bed of... Continue Reading →
Do you ever find it difficult to put into words…words that capture the event…that do justice to every sensory, audible and emotion felt? Can you convey, really convey what happened? Can you describe the experience as whole and not just parts of the whole? Can you adequately describe what the mind imprinted, and what now... Continue Reading →
I’ve got a confession to make: I’m in love with Lyle Lovett. I’m fairly comfortable making this declaration out loud in writing because the only person who reads JOTS is on holiday. (I do so hope My Reader remembers to bring me a present.) You must realize by now that Lyle and I have a... Continue Reading →
Life Drawing (Drawing of Blue King) (A2) 2018
The National Gallery of Art in Washington has indefinitely postponed a Chuck Close retrospective because of allegations of sexual harassment. The 77 year old paraplegic artist is alleged to have made inappropriate remarks about the bodies and sexual activities of women he invited to his studio to pose, allegations which he largely denies. Other museums, including the MoMA in NYC and the Tate Modern in London, are considering what to do about the works in their collections.
Recently, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston opened an exhibition of Egon Schiele’s work with new wall labels addressing the fact that Schiele was arrested for the kidnapping and statutory rape of a 13-year-old girl. He was acquitted but was eventually found guilty of “immorality” because the girl had seen some of his nude works in his studio. “Wall labels in the exhibition…
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LAPIN BLEAU via Thoughts on Integrity Sometimes words spoken or written by others hit a nerve, make a point, provoke, and not just a mere thought but myriads of thoughts....that are too important to ignore. Angst, about when the sky will finally fall, real or imagined, is palpable. This is not about Chicken Little. This... Continue Reading →
BRAE TOFTS One dollar. Every three years. For the past 25 years. I’ve been paid one dollar, every three years for the past 25 years to move house. I’ve packed my pets and belongings and moved house. To a new house. Different part of the city, same state. Different neighbourhood. It didn’t take me long... Continue Reading →
MEYERED MARBLE It is curious, is it not, how others find us via our posts in the round-about-traffic, that interchange between and beyond you and me, and me and you, and you? What makes Ellie's POEM of consequence to me? I've begun to wonder what "kids"* think about as they look toward tomorrow. Their future.... Continue Reading →
Michael and I have never met. We live land masses and an ocean apart. I know him through his art, see him through his eyes, and can feel him through his brave, brave heart. Michael’s thoughts speak to me, his words speak for me…..
Refugees (20 cms x 40 cms charcoal and pastel 2016)
It’s always the children, isn’t it? It’s always the kids who get it.
When the strutting despot, Putin, decides to help out his old pal, genocidal tyrant Bashar Al-Assad, before too long hospitals and schools and aid convoys are bombed; the UN Security Council gets angry and the usual suspects play their veto cards like this is some bizarre game where the person who wins is the one who does the least. Before you know it, Iran is implicated. The EU discusses sanctions but somehow nothing happens. The British government says it’s OK to sell fighter planes to countries where human rights mean even less than women’s rights. Refugees pour over borders and citizens panic: far right-wingers make a play for government by stoking up fear and dread in the electorate. Desperate people cram boats made of scrap metal and…
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Jots from a Small Apt. 