Twelve Months of Flowers

If only it were true. Unless you count holly berries, there’s really not much in the way of floral color in northeast winter months.

But “Twelve Months of Flowers” can be had via art prints, from the series published 1n 1730 by renowned British horticulturist and author Robert Furber. Mr. Furber’s name is highly attributed to these exquisite prints, and while I’m grateful that he had the insight, substantial research and knowledge (and, no doubt, the funds) to produce the collection, I’m mostly interested in the artistry.

We had two of these prints hanging in our dining room during my growing-up years – one May, one November, the months of my parent’s birthdays. Admired by all, they adorned a modest space with a rich, subtle elegance, (and now that I think of it, may have had an influence on my own interest in drawing things botanical) ~ but in all those years, while we probably did, I don’t remember talking about the artist. Regardless, for some reason they lodged in my mind’s eye today ~ perhaps an unconscious nod to my parent’s wedding anniversary? ~ so I went looking.

First of all, they are hand-colored engravings, produced by English engraver Henry Fletcher from paintings of Flemish-born artist Pieter Casteels . (They also produced an equally stunning second series, Twelve Months of Fruits.) Each work is a glorious detail of plants in seasonal bloom, with each plant numbered, and, at the time, a list of the corresponding names. More than 400 plant species were featured. This was no small project.

And so a few centuries later, I thank them ~ all three of them: Furber, Fletcher and Casteels ~ for their fine, luscious collaboration of study, talent and skill. They are so beautiful, I might even venture to call them a labor of love. But that’s what art is.

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Art, Time Travel and Sears Roebuck & Co.

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“Legend of Watchung”, mural in Sears Roebuck & Co.

I think I time travelled today. If not that, at the very least I entered an alternate universe for about an hour.

It started innocently enough, on a mission to find vacuum bags. First I stop to pick up some pet supplies, (so far, a thrilling batch of errands, no?), and notice a Sears Outlet store next door so I think to bop in and see if they have said vacuum bags. No, but the regular Sears store across the highway will. I fire up the truck and head over. I’d forgotten there was a Sears in this location, but am glad, so I can wrap up all this domestic excitement sooner than later.

Pulling up to a parking space, I’m reminded that I used to come here as a kid. Haven’t set foot in this store for many decades, but in I now go ~ and as I’m directed to the appliance section, an odd déjà vu sensation starts to settle in. I turn a corner. I notice a huge mural on the wall and BAM, I’m sucked in to a vortex of sights, sounds and smells and the giddiness of my little 7-year-old feet exploring plaid flannel shirts and leather chairs and the shoes of friendly staff wearing glasses and I’m no doubt anticipating the promise of hot chocolate when we get home. And the painting. I’m enamored. I keep going back to it. It’s gigantic! It’s got Indians, and a dog and a canoe and a waterfall. It’s very special, and so unexpected, hanging in this store. It’s a piece of history, staring out from an open wall above a double stairwell, right here across from socks and coats and fur-lined hats. It’s a magical place for little me.

I realize I’m smiling. There’s an extra bounce to my step. I share a laugh or two with the salesman who sells me my vacuum bags; there’s a feeling of mutual satisfaction that comes from enjoying something pleasantly unmemorable with a stranger. A moment of connection that carries us more lightly to our next task.

On my way out, I snap a quick picture of the mural to capture this strip of memory lane. I’m not 7 anymore, but it sure was fun going back for a visit.

……………….

I couldn’t find the name of the artist (if and when I do, I will credit), but for the history buffs, this is the “legend” behind the painting (which of course I had to look up when I returned to my 2013 world):

Around 1670, a group of Dutch settlers was traveling from the Amboys up an old Indian trail which is now Somerset Street. They were under the leadership of Captain Michaelson. The Watchung tribe of the Lenni-Lenape Indians was traveling the same trail for their summer trip to the ocean to fish and collect shells for wampum.

During the night the settlers were camped near what is now the center of the Borough. Deer Prong, an advance scout for Chief One Feather’s tribe, was shot when he surprised a sentry. During the skirmish, Captain Michaelson was captured and was to be burned at the stake. Princess Wetumpka, who was traveling with the Dutch, and had some years ago saved the life of Chief One Feather, intervened and saved the life of Captain Michaelson. The Indians befriended the Dutch and allowed them to settle in the valley. The legend ends with the full tribal ceremony marriage of the Princess and Chief.

 

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How To Avoid The World’s Troubles and Other Annoying Things

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“Gordon” / @Patricia Saxton / Book of Dragons

You could, of course, live under a rock. That sounds uncomfortable though; so, no, that wouldn’t do. But with the world teetering on the brink of lord knows what evil, with clever actors paid to persuade us that we have all manner of ill-health and need to take X drug, with things like the disturbing reality that artist Damien Hirst is a really Big Deal and triple bacon cheeseburgers considered a healthy meal, with baseball heroes letting us down and the Kardashians worthy of conversation, avoidance becomes more and more attractive.

It helps to have a meaty project to get lost in. Say, an illustrated book about dragons :  ), or creating the world’s best bread. (I’m reading a book in which the main character is a baker, and it sounds rather yummy, all that dough and kneading and freshly baked bread smell.) You could, of course, read, and then just keep reading ~ since books have a marvelous way of taking you places, away from the here and now. You could take up sky-diving or some other sport where there’s no room for thought beyond your own life flashing before your eyes. You could tend puppies or fill your social calendar with bunco matches (I’ve never played bunco – not sure if this is good or bad to admit). You could build something with your own two hands. You could sail around the world.

If you’re serious about avoiding the world’s troubles and other annoying things, whatever you do, do not turn on the tv. Avoid over-indulgence in social media. Stay away from negative people. Then, focus on the good stuff, no matter how small. Practice gratitude. Be kind. Because life is precious and too short to be fretting over things we can’t control. And just maybe it’ll all go away. Maybe it’s all just a ruse. Maybe whatever happens will simply happen with or without inserting our personal energy. It’s very hard, life. Why make it harder.

It’s not that I don’t care. I do care, maybe too much. It’s not about sticking my head in the sand. Trust me, I get riled. But I’ve realized it’s not my calling to fix the world. A friend, sure. Even a whole bunch of them ~ but the entire world is just too much. If only the world at large would stop all the fussing and fighting. If only.

And so, hours spent creating a dragon that will be part of a book that one day soon may be enjoyed by a fresh-faced, bright-eyed little person – maybe a whole lot of bright-eyed little people – seems a good use of my time. Not only that, you can’t think about annoying things when you’re making art. Works for me.

 

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Things to Believe In

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Life is a bumpy road. That’s a given. Sometimes the bumps are molehills, sometimes mountains. But I’ve found that there are certain things that help carry me through, that go a long way in smoothing out the rough parts ~ things worth believing in.

I believe in magic. I believe in love. I believe that good trumps evil, that light is more powerful than darkness, that laughter is healing and a kind word can change the course of an entire life.

I believe in hope. I believe in possibility, and creativity, and the strength of gratitude and the power of thought and that imagination is boundless.

I believe that true friendship runs deep, and if you can count your most trusted friends on the fingers of one hand, you are rich.

I believe there are angels who watch over us and angels who walk among us.

And I believe that the potential for what may seem miraculous breathes in every corner, bold and patient and forgiving, waiting as a flower does for the right mix of sun and rain to blossom with new life, and I believe that each one of us has the ability to ignite that magic spark.   – Patricia Saxton

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Breakthroughs

They happen when we’re looking the other way. They happen when we’re at the end of our proverbial rope. They happen when we’re sleeping. They happen when we’re on a roll. They happen when we’re at the gym or out to dinner or listening to conversation or reading a book or contemplating a blade of grass. There’s no single formula for achieving a breakthrough – whether it’s personal or professional, they almost seem to have a mind of their own. It’s as though everything in your energy field lines up and you’re open and – “wham!” – you’ve made a leap.

The one key requirement is that we have to participate in our own process.

I made such a leap many years ago ~ not the only one, but a memorable one. At the time, in my early twenties, I’d been drawing for, well, pretty much forever. For a while I drew anything that caught my eye ~ faces, hands, gardens, animals, old mills, tools, you name it ~ honing my skills, mastering my craft. Practice was my classroom, and it paid off. But I didn’t feel very “creative”.

Then one day I thought I’d do a self-portrait. All artists have one, right? So I got my art stuff ready, figuring I’d probably do a realistic pencil rendering, like I did with other portraits. But something entirely different came out.

I remember a sense of being in another zone ~ I’d suddenly switched tracks, landed in a different groove ~ and I went with it. And I loved what happened. It wasn’t another well-executed drawing, it was a true expression! I had no trouble understanding what it was about, and it gave me a real high ~ experiencing that leap and knowing I’d unlocked a door that for some reason I’d previously thought inaccessible. This was huge, and what had been “trapped”, all that color and passion, was oozing out, freed from its imagined confines.

As an aside, I also remember that my family never liked this piece. They see their daughter or little sister looking “odd” with paint dripping all over her face, instead of the sweet chocolate-loving swim-team captain they knew who drew pretty pictures of roses and barns. I can understand that too. But for me, it was an intensely marvelous breakthrough that really opened up my creative faucets and if I’d had any doubt about my path, it was diminished right then and there by a few marker lines and watercolor streams. My muses had decided it was time.

Like I said, this wasn’t the only breakthrough moment, but it makes my point well. We all have breakthroughs, in different forms and guises, and I hope when they happen for you, that you participate, listen and let them flow.

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Self-portrait © Patricia Saxton. All rights reserved.

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Dragon Lair

“I would not want to live in a world without dragons, as I would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Streams of Silver

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Aging Dragon / @Patricia Saxton, Book of Dragons

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Some Doors I Have Known

There’s something about doors that makes me want to walk right on in, see what’s behind them, uncover a mystery, discover a history, a magical passageway, a hidden treasure. And the lavish architecture of Venice just intensifies that intrigue!

Of course, the truth is that sometimes (most of the time) I just have to use my imagination ~ but that’s not too hard with doors like these. ♥ Ah, what stories they could tell…

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In Praise of Black and White: Part IV

It’s a black and white world tonight ~ snow is falling against the dark night sky, which seems to take an edge off the bitter of winter’s cold  ~ and I’m reminded how every year at this same time I feel this same compulsion to post some great black & white pieces. (It’s starting to feel a little spooky, how this happens, on cue, every January.) Whatever the reason for the timing, I adore black and white; always have. From my life-long love affair with the #2 pencil, to the magnificent drama of a fine black & white photograph, I’ve been captivated by the beauty and emotional breadth that can be so singularly captured without a spot of color. There’s character and grace and strength and guts and mood that seeps into your skin. I’ve written at length about these moods in the past, so will spare you the repetition and get on with the show!

"Oak Tree, Sunset City" / Ansel Adams

“Oak Tree, Sunset City” / Ansel Adams

Photo by Hegel Jorge

Photo by Hegel Jorge

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Tattoo

Marilyn

Marilyn

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Tea Wisdom / Patricia Saxton

Artist: Jose Ernesto Rodriguez

Artist: Jose Ernesto Rodriguez

Boneshaker Zinfandel / Hahn Family Wines

Boneshaker Zinfandel / Hahn Family Wines

Gia Photography

Gia Photography

Lovely

Stair Design at Musee Robert Tatin

Land and Sea Clothing Co.

Land and Sea Clothing Co.

Eagle / @Patricia Saxton

Eagle / @Patricia Saxton

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Black & White Mimi Shoe

Black & White Mimi Shoe

Zentangle

Zentangle

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Book Cover

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J.D. Label

Photo by David Mar Quinto

Photo by David Mar Quinto

Photo by Hengki Koentjoro

Photo by Hengki Koentjoro

"Ray" Movie Poster

“Ray” Movie Poster

Vulture / David Lloyd

Vulture / David Lloyd


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52 Weeks of Peace [squared]: Week #82

“To give pleasure to a single heart by a single act is better than a thousand heads bowing in prayer.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

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Thank you, Dr. King.

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@ 1964, Norman Rockwell, “The Problem We All Live With”

Thank you for sharing your dream, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  For fighting the good fight. For lifting up the eyes, hearts and minds of millions with hope, peace, perseverance and integrity.

And Norman Rockwell, thank you for your brilliance.

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