11.3.10

Who knew a reindeer could smile?

10.14.10

Pumpkin Pancakes.

1 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup oatmeal
3 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup canned pure pumpkin
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Whisk first 5 ingredients in large bowl to blend. Whisk milk, pumpkin, eggs and vanilla in medium bowl to blend well. Add pumpkin mixture to dry ingredients; whisk just until smooth (batter will be thick). Brush large nonstick skillet with butter; heat over medium heat. Working in batches, pour batter by 1/3 cupfuls into skillet. Cook until bubbles form on surface of pancakes and bottoms are brown, about 1 1/2 minutes per side. Repeat with remaining batter, brushing skillet with butter between batches. Serve with syrup.

10.3.10

Sometimes the world is so beautiful that I can hardly stand it.

Today I sat with a group of starry-eyed kids as we learned an Igbo song about a little bird. I watched each child pound out a rhythm on a traditional drum and shriek at how pleased they were with each other. We rolled on the floor laughing together as they took turns trying on a mask, an exaggerated man's face twisted by tears, as they took turns making their best pretend sobs from behind this mask, this mask made in Nigeria years ago with the sole purpose of letting men know that it's okay to cry.

I came home just before dusk, walked around my neighborhood with my shoes crunching orange leaves like potato chips. A kitten tried to talk to me, tiny meows curling out of its mouth. The clouds hung in the sky, opal-ridged jewels, and the air smelled of cold dirt and woodsmoke.

Now I am home, eating a dinner that tastes like autumn (maple-curry-squash-wild rice-currant bowl), studying a painting I just started of what very well might be the last heirloom tomato of the year.

Sometimes I can barely keep it to myself, it's all so good.

9.19.10

9.3.10

8.20.10

8.10.10

The summer slips away quickly as its balmy evenings. Two of the cherry tomatoes in my garden have turned red. I shipped this painting to a woman in Atlanta last week -- I think I'm going to miss it. My fig tree had some furry little white bugs crawling over it, so I had to throw it in the dumpster. But, I'm going to make pickles from the cucumbers in the garden. Things even out in the end.

5.9.10

4.28.10

4.27.10

I keep making these circular shapes but I'm not quite sure why.

A few weeks ago I went to a local greenhouse to look for plants to put in our upcoming exhibit at the museum. I can't seem to go to a greenhouse without buying something, and drove away with a fig tree. It was raining and I noticed that the leaves pressed against the windows fogged the glass, like children on a school bus. The tree is now in my living room, and has three green fruits. They are hard and are not real figs yet. I read that you can rub them with olive oil and that makes them ripen more quickly. Patience is a virtue I'm trying to exercise. Not just with my fig tree, but in general.

4.26.10

This will be a painting soon. Right now it's sketched and waiting for me on my kitchen table. The trees are half-awake with these little green fists of buds. Spring is miraculous: the first rain that smells like warm pavement, those startlingly yellow forsythia bushes, sleeping with the windows open. My mom is coming to visit on Thursday! Everything is waking up, even in Maine.

4.25.10

Today marks the first day of the rest of my blog. What would somebody say to that in 1912? A dear friend of mine asked me whether or not I had images of my work on the internet, which prompted me to realize it was time to start posting some of my paintings, lists, snapshots, and what have you. My goal is this: to post an image of something every day. Make it part of a regimen, like flossing or combing my hair. Except that I rarely comb my hair. Well, I can work on that just like I can work on this. Here is a newly finished painting of some cherry blossoms -- the trees were loaded with them last week, but now their petals mostly fill the gutters like confetti from yesterday's parade. Gut-wrenchingly beautiful in its own quiet way. I think I am going to start a series of paintings about looking up. There is a lot to be missed way up there.