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December 20, 2013 In art By Patricia Saxton

Getting Christmassy

The tree is full, shining and beautifully decorated (if I do say so myself) with ornaments from years past and present, each like a special friend you see only once a year. Cards have gone out. The stockings are hung. The little village with lights in the windows and carolers caroling on the miniature snowy lawn is on display. Gifts await wrapping. We’re feeling Christmassy. Busy, but Christmassy.

And what better time – the only time, really – to appreciate some Christmas art. So I share with you a few favorites. I hope they bring a smile, and maybe some extra sparkle to your holiday spirit. : )

I Love Lucy

Charlie Brown

Charlie Brown and Snoopy

Norman Rockwell

“How the Grinch Stole Christmas” / Dr. Suess

Frederick Childe Hassam

Raphael

Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol”, illustrated by Frederick Barnard

“The Polar Express” / Chris Van Allsburg

“Twas the Night Before Christmas”, illustrations by Jessie Wilcox Smith

I Love Lucy

December 7, 2013 In art, books, children's books, creativity, design, drawing, illustration, imagination, inspiration, peace By Patricia Saxton

Holiday Goodies from Saxton Studio

It’s that magical, hectic, gift-giving time of year! And again I add my voice to the chorus of choices, with gifts about reading and imagination.

I’m truly grateful – and pleased as punch – that my books are enjoyed and continue to sell year after year, and I extend a heartfelt Thank You to all of you who’ve supported my efforts!

If you know anyone else who might like to give or receive these books and products, please feel free to share the love and pass this post along. To purchase, a click on the image above will take you to my Amazon Author page. Links to individual books and related gifts are listed on my blog’s Shop page!

Wishing you every blessing this holiday season.
Don’t forget to feel the magic!

December 4, 2013 In art, graphic design, history, life and the universe, work and play, writing By Patricia Saxton

Wednesday

So, I have a bunch of essays lined up, in various states of completion. The way a story comes to mind, then you get distracted by life or laundry or something, and you quickly jot down some notes so you don’t forget your brilliance – and then a few more days go by of other this’s and that’s demanding your attention, and in that span of time more ideas, more thoughts, more inspirations happen, (that you do or don’t jot down), and the cycle repeats until you realize you just want to be still for a little bit. Mindless.

Of course, this is where I might normally spew the wonders of meditation, but I’ll resist the temptation to be meaningful just this once. I don’t know why exactly – could be a loosening of the grips of an innate need to be mindful, purposeful, responsible.

Instead I’m going to share something interesting but frivolous, in that it really serves no purpose except to tickle the brain. And because it’s Wednesday and I’ve always wondered why it’s spelled so oddly. And because it’s the curse of a writer not to write, so I must write something.

And this is as far as I’m allowing my brain to go for now. (Good thing I jotted down my more impassioned thoughts, though, right? … so they can come marching forth again in all their splendor when I’m back in the mood for them … and less tired. Which, for better or worse, probably won’t be long, once I’ve meditated and such. But I’m veering towards meaningful again, so I’ll stop here and get on with simple, frivolously interesting.)

Why is Wednesday Spelled so Oddly?

Wednesday comes from the Middle English Wednes dei, which originates from Old English Wēdnes dæg, meaning the day of the Germanic god Woden. Associated with both fury and poetic inspiration, Woden thrived as an Anglo-Saxton god in England until about the 7th century. He also had a career in curing horses and carrying off the dead, and Wednesday is his day. Woden’s day has had various spellings – Wodnesdaeg, Weodnesdei, Wenysday, Wonysday, Weddinsday – but even Shakespeare’s quite sensible spelling of “Wensday” didn’t last. So in the end it turns out that (perhaps born from fear of his Woden’s wrath, or loss of poetry) the “d” and the day remain. And now you know.

November 30, 2013 In appreciation, art, fine art, illustration, inspiration, painting, poetry By Patricia Saxton

Day is Done

Dark Sky / © Patricia Saxton

The Day is Done
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

November 24, 2013 In art, books, books & stuff, children's books, craftsmanship, creativity, design, drawing, illustration, imagination, intelligence, words and language By Patricia Saxton

The Conjuring of Beasts and Things

I feel like I should be handing out cigars. Well, not quite yet ~ but maybe I oughta stock up in anticipation, as I’ve reached the final stretch of my long walk into the magical world of dragons.

It’s a good feeling when months of creating ~ revising, adding on, taking away, nurturing and bonding with creatures that somehow feel alive in your mind, made real through your hands, with paper, pen, pencil, brush and keyboard ~ finally comes together. Like carrying a child for nine months, you find you’re anxious to give birth. Like rehearsing a play, the hour comes, the curtain rises, it’s showtime. There’s relief, trepidation and confidence, all mixed in. Cigars and (more likely) flowers are shared. And we’re almost there.

Once it’s edited and packed off to press, once it’s printed and bound and shipped out to the Amazon’s and Barne’s & Noble’s of the world, it’s all very tidy looking. For any illustrated book like this, the pages show a certain level of thought and detail and complexity, but not the background steps ~ not the conjuring, the sketches, the fine-tunings, the first, second third, fourth drafts, the hundreds of decisions along the way. The “fitting in time” when there really isn’t any, which means a pretty grueling schedule. It’s quite the process… satisfying in many ways, invigorating in others, tiring in others, and always hope that at the end of the line it will be well-received.

This will probably be my last book of this”trilogy”: mermaids, fairies, now dragons. And that’s a good place to stop. But there are other works that’ve been waiting backstage ~ stories, poetry, paintings ~ so it certainly won’t be the last of me.

For right now though, I’m off to dot those final i’s and cross the last t’s. Then my publisher will have a whack at it, and I’ll start ordering those cigars in honor of birthing more beasts and things. (Due dates to come … stay tuned!)

November 21, 2013 In appreciation, art, color, craftsmanship, creativity, design, drawing, fine art, illustration, inspiration, painting, skill By Patricia Saxton

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.

November 7, 2013 In appreciation, art, creativity, inspiration, intelligence, life and the universe, philosophy By Patricia Saxton

Storytelling and Why We Create

Why do we paint? Or write, or play an instrument or dance? Because we have to. Because if we don’t, we’ll become cranky and irritable. We’ll be rotten company not only for others but ourselves.

Some say it’s because they have a message or a moral or a special meaning to it, but I say it’s instinct. There’s a story that needs telling, and we happen to be the vessels. It’s gut. It’s primal. Like eating or sleeping or hugging. You just gotta do it. It’s for survival of the spirit.

So this is for all who answer that call. The poets, novelists, essayists, and scriptwriters; for the orators, artists and musicians; for all who move our hearts and elevate our minds, take us to new worlds, teach us new ways of thought, bring us tears, laughter, wisdom and peace with the richness of their expression, the telling of stories ~ blessed are the storytellers. Please, keep doing what you’re doing. ~ Patricia

November 4, 2013 In appreciation, art, fine art, life and the universe, painting By Patricia Saxton

Art, Time Travel and Sears Roebuck & Co.

“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.

October 31, 2013 In appreciation, art, creativity, design, graphic design By Patricia Saxton

Have Broom, Will Fly

I’ve been thinking “I need to make a Halloween post on my blog”, like I’ve done every year (whether it’s cancelled or not!). I usually gather up some of the coolest pumpkin carvings I can find and make a nice spread here. Write something clever to go with it. But instead, I’ve been immersed in the far spookier world of finishing my next book ~ which I’m happy to say is progressing well, but it’s quite time consuming, and then there’s client work, and there’s life. All that.

So rather than my pumpkin fare, I’m taking a “loftier”, more spiritual approach …. and hoping you all conjure up a very happy, magical, appropriately creepy and preferably hot-chocolate-filled All Hallow’s Eve, with blessings all around.

October 25, 2013 In art, creativity, inspiration, life and the universe, philosophy, photography By Patricia Saxton

The Humble Pumpkin

My daughter went to a local farm and came home with a little tiny pumpkin. (This is what happens when one is spending one’s own hard-earned money ~ the great big pumpkin is no longer so important!) Of course it’s terribly cute, the way small things are. And it brought to mind a vision of the sprawling pumpkin patch… nature’s bounty, plump and happy, and I thought – not for the first time but maybe the thousandth, which (to me) makes it even more intriguing – what a wonder it is, this mystery called life. What a wonder! ~ this indestructible power of creativity. Born each day in all things, all creatures, each and every one of us; every season, ever-present, renewing, recycling, rebellious against all odds.

And there it is, this little pumpkin – one of millions of simple, round, mostly orange and sometimes amusing members of the fruit family (a berry, in fact – who knew?!), triggering thoughts of grandeur! Silly ~ maybe so, but I allow my mind its folly, and see them rambling lazily in autumn fields, these brightly colored smile-bringers, sculptures in waiting, deceptive hosts to uncountable swarms of life-giving seeds and hundreds of lip-smacking pies, and for a moment my thoughts free-fall in wonder at this stuff of life. Because it is, really, pretty darn amazing.