further a field

  

In a field

I am the absence

of field.

This is

always the case.

Wherever I am

I am what is missing.

When I walk

I part the air

and always

the air moves in   

to fill the spaces

where my body’s been.

We all have reasons

for moving.

I move

to keep things whole.

Mark Strand

 Keeping Things Whole

Further a Field, encaustic on canvas, 11x14in, 2013, available

phantom fading

Since we have learned how beauty comes and goes:
A phantom fading from the hills like light,
Summer and slow disaster in the rose,
An April face that wanders toward the night,--
It is not strange that we who linger here,
Are haunted by the colours of the sky,
The ghost of beauty in the stricken year,
The thought of beauty gone too swiftly by.

So that men strive with chisel, pen and brush,
To save the lifted brow, the transient spring,
Happy if they may fix the fading blush,
Or make the mood a memorable thing,
And snare one glowing hour from fleeting time,
A golden bird, caged in a golden rhyme.

David Morton: Salvage

Salvage, encaustic etc on found panel, 10x14in, 2013, available

kindred spirit

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver. The Journey

Salvage 1, encaustic etc on found panel, 7x7x2in, 2013, available

White-Eyes

 In winter

all the singing is in

the tops of the trees

where the wind-bird

with its white eyes

shoves and pushes

among the branches

Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep

but he's restless

he has an idea,

and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings

as long as he stays awake

But his big, round music, after all,

is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.
    

In the pine-crown

he makes his nest,

he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,

I only imagine his glittering beak

tucked in a white wing

while the clouds—

which he has summoned

from the north—

which he has taught

to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall

into the world below

like stars, or the feather

of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
 

that is asleep now, and silent—

that has turned itself

into snow.

Mary Oliver

 Winter 5, encaustic etc on found panel,  6x14in, 2013

 found panel

save

sal·vage 

n.

a. The act of saving imperiled property from loss.

b. The property so saved.

3. Something saved from destruction or waste and put to further use.

tr.v. sal·vaged, sal·vag·ing, sal·vag·es

1. To save from loss or destruction.

2. To save (discarded or damaged material) for further use

Winter 3, encaustic etc on panels, 10x109n, 2013, available

As mentioned in a previous post, I am deconstructing in order to reconstruct and have made a conscious effort in my art-making to incorporate only what I HAVE and only what is around me . I will not purchase new canvas, tools or panels -the latter of which I will paint over and use in new ways. And although I require paint and wax, the challenge is to stretch their use as  far as possible.

 In the above image, the top portion was made in 2008. 

The lower panel consists of another early painting, but I have layered it with a beautifully aged oxide roof shingle from a dilapidated shed that I see, walk by and take refuge in when painting in rain and snow. 

The wee building has been vacant and weather worn for 30 odd years but was originally built for the farm workers to store fruit picked from the orchards. 

 The wire used to embellish the image is aged as well. At one time it was used to anchor the vineyard posts and organize the vines.

The vineyards have long since been torn out and the velvety looking wire now sits piled  in the back field, overgrown with vine.

I find the linear quality of vine and wire to be irresistible and it is relatively easy to manipulate. Portals are appearing in the field.

on winter’s margin

On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;
By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad!
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.

Mary Oliver

 Winter 2, encaustic etc on panel, 6x12in, 2013, available

Lines For Winter

Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself --
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.

Mark Strand

Winter 1, encaustic on panel, 6x10in, 2013, available

the more things change

 detail, January, departure, encaustic collage on found panel, 2013

I have been re visiting earlier work with the intention of deconstructing and reconstructing with new ideas and approaches. I like to do this every few years. After all, inspiration and interpretation are subject to change. Or are they?

This image was made in 2013

January, departure, encaustic collage on found panel, 9x10in,  2013

The below image was made in 2004