Wishing all Happy New Year 2012

The above is a photo I took this time last year as I had to make a journey in treacherous snow conditions to the countryside. We had had a lot of snow and fortunately I was on a bus but at this time of year I am reminded of the poem I showed earlier in the blog "Stopping by woods on a snowy evening" by Robert Frost. Since I first wrote that post I have learnt the background to the poem which you can see by checking out the comments to that post. It is quite interesting. Wishing all the blog followers a Happy New Year and look forward to posting many more and exciting new paintings in 2012. Best Wishes Jim

Thomas Hardy Poetry -- Lyonesse

It's been quite a while since I held a visit to poetry corner so this post is a little diversion from art to entertain a little fantasy type poem. Lyonesse was a place near Cornwall in England, according to the legends of King Arthur. This poem written by Thomas Hardy recalls when he visited this place and met his future wife there. Enjoy...

When I set out for Lyonesse by Thomas Hardy.

When I set out for Lyonesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray,

And starlight lit my lonesomeness, When I set out for Lyonesse, A hundred miles away.

What would bechance at Lyonesse, While I should sojourn there, No prophet durst declare,

Nor could the wisest wizard guess, What would bechance at Lyonesse, While I should sojourn there.

When I came back from Lyonesse, With magic in my eyes, All marked with mute surmise,

My radiance rare and fathomless, When I came back from Lyonesse, With magic in my eyes!

Poetry Corner -- Featured poet -- Anna Vera Williams

It's been a while since poetry corner featured on the blog. So here is a poem from a very original poet who is still producing some astounding work. It is reproduced here with kind permission, and you can see more at her blog.

Do you wish

Do you ever wish
To paint your life
In black and white,
And hang some sad nostalgic music in the back,
And put it on a TV screen
For men in future years to see
And say, "This must have been
The way things used to be"...?

Do you ever walk the street
And half-imagine you might meet,
Some half-forgotten face from long ago
Although inside you really know
You're walking where they'd never go?

Do you ever sit and look
At ancient photos you once took,
Long-lost faces in a book,
And examine them a million times
As if to read between the lines,
As if you might see something more,
That wasn't ever there before...
Something new, that might resolve
The mystery you never solved?

Do you ever wonder why
Faces wilt and flowers die,
People change and time goes by,
Leaving you to stand and sigh
At night beneath the starry sky
Watching comets fall and fly...?

Anna Vera Williams

10000 visitors since June last year...Sep 3rd

The blog has just hit the 10,000 mark!


Photos of current work are thrown in here amid the celebration!! (top photo was manipulated to contrast it a little as it was taken in sunlight and came out pale, but now is a little darker than my painting - other photo is lighter than the painting, reality is somewhere in between).

And here's a return to poetry corner to celebrate.

I sit beside the fire and dream of all that I have seen,
of meadow flowers and butterflies in summers that have been.
Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silversun and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be,
When winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.
For still there are so many things that I have never seen;
In every wood in every spring there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago,
And people who will see a world that I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.

Anyone like to tell me were they think that's from, well
it's easy find out, just google it... a very famous person...
Enjoy!

A winter poem

Those who have followed this blog periodically will have seen less posts over the last month or so.. not surprising considering how busy I have had to be on non-art related things. This is still the case and with the season that's in it, I will have little time unless I am ruthlessly disciplined. That is a trait I have to develop and I appear to be a little lacking in that department over the last few weeks, so updates and work on art has taken a back seat to marketing of art and house projects. I don't want to anticipate January events, but hopefully I will be able to sell some work beginning then, based on some of the marketing efforts and contacts I have made this week. Today I showed my work to the curator of a gallery, and their initial response was favourable. I shall talk more about this in the coming weeks. This week will see the shortest day of the year, and psychologically this is always a boost. With that here is a poem, origin unknown to set the scene, I sort of remember. I knew it better a few years ago.

When days are shortest and winds are coldest,
When snow is deepest and year is oldest,
When frost is hardest and storms are strongest,
When skies are darkest, and nights are longest,
Then powder your nose, and feather your nest,
And dress in your richest, and finest and best,
For Winter has brought you the worst it can bring,
And now it will bring you the promise of Spring!

Hallowe'en - Where has the year gone?

The summer is well and truely gone and with the advent of Hallowe'en the rush into Christmas will surely begin in earnest. Looking back, it's easy to say time has gone quickly, but actually when I really consider it, I can see that I have done a lot of things with the time. That's good - although sometimes, so I've been told, it's okay to just do nothing. That's okay for a short while to relax, but not in the long run. I have progressed a lot of goals in the art field this year and can say I have learnt a fair amount along the way. This week I used an online company to design and order some business cards, so hopefully they will arrive in due course. The designing was very easy and I liked the site. http://www.moo.com/ Unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to paint this weekend due to other commitments, but shall squeeze some time in eventually. This is just the way it will be for another month, I estimate. As for the week that's in it, here's a short rhyme, more than a poem that I always liked.

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I saw a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today.
O God - I wish he'd go away.

Wishing all a creepy hallowe'en. If you're in the mood for a scary story I highly recommend "Pet Semetary" by Stephen King, and if you dare, check out "The haunted painting - ebay" for a creepy story (or maybe it's just hype).

Brush up your Shakespeare...Poetry Corner

Here's the latest offering from the poetry corner - it's a poem by Shakespeare and one I like for it's final lines which are very uplifting.

Sonnet XXIX

When in dispute with fortune and mens eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcaste state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my faith,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least,

Yet in this state myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the Lark at break of day arising,

From sullen earth sings hymns at heavens gate,

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

There is a lot in this poem, the lines following on each other in a natural rhythm, speaking of things that we all experience. The metaphor of the lark arising from the sullen earth makes us feel like flying up into a bright blue sky on a sunny morning. Each word is so precise and conveys so much that it seems impossible that any other could take it's place. Shakespeare isn't known as one of the best writers ever for nothing...

Poetry Corner

West wind - were dost thou blow,

The small rain down can rain,

God - that my love were in my arms,

And I in my bed again.

Anonymous.

Now I am taking stock and resting from painting. Soon I will feel myself wanting to begin painting again, but for now I am at that in-between stage that I always find myself going through from time to time. It's hard to describe but it always happens this way. I take a breather for a while and then feel drawn back to painting. I guess it's a natural recharging of the batteries. I think sometimes it's good to do this. But I won't get too lazy... so keep checking in for when I post new work. Enjoy the poetry corner!

Poetry Diversion

It's that time again... so here's a light-hearted take on that great poem "If" with sincere apologies to Rudyard Kipling. Hope it's not too corny - I gave it my best shot.

If you can make your mark when all about you,

Are falling short and blaming it on you.

If you can try to draw when all men doubt you,

A perfect circle or a straight line too.

If you can see and be inspired by seeing,

What others don't and only strive in vain,

Or being copied don't give way to copying,

And yet don't get too proud nor talk Artspeak.

If you can dream, transferring dreams to canvas,

If you can think and then make thoughts your muse,

If you can deal with Art-houses and auctions,

And treat those two imposters just the same,

If you can bear to see what you have painted,

Cliched by critics and misunderstood,

And be rebuked repeatedly by galleries,

Yet walk on to the next with worn out shoes.

If you can make a mess of most your drawings,

And though frustration rises not get cross,

Erase, to start again at your beginnings,

And not regret a moments effort lost.

If you can face up to procrastination,

And sit and paint 'til brain and limb go numb,

And when you stomach says there's nothing in you,

Break briefly for some food but then paint on.

If you can keep your shirt and get an agent,

And sell to kings - being sure to charge enough,

If neither foes nor loving friends can stop you,

From painting frequently but not too much,

If you can fill the unforgiving canvas,

With what looks something more than colours run,

You might become a rich and famous Artist,

Unfortunately - long after you're gone!

Don't take this too seriously. Art is not that intense, it's meant to be fun. It's just a crazy poem!

Check back again when I will progress the blog with more work or information on art technique.

Poetry Corner ... Autumn Poem!

With the dismal summer we are having here in Ireland, (we recently had a month's rain in five hours) I think we should just forget it and move on to Autumn. Maybe it will be better. After all we often get an Indian summer here, as in good weather in September. So I thought the poem that follows is appropriate for to herald in the next season. Actually there might still be some hope for a few fine days here, but nobody is holding their breath.

So here is a poem that might be appropriate...it's raining even as I type this!!

Feathers of the willow

The feathers of the willow
are half of them grown yellow,
Above the swelling stream.
And ragged are the bushes,
And rusty now the rushes
And wild the clouded gleam.

The thistle now is older,
His stalk begins to moulder,
His head is white as snow.
The branches all are barer,
The linnet's song is rarer,
The robin pipeth now.

Richard Watson Dixon (1833-1900)

The above photo is a typical example of a view that could be executed using a minimum of colour - analagous or monochromatic colour scheme. I have to say I really like www.wetcanvas.com reference gallery. It has some great photos. I might try using ideas from this photo for a future painting.
That's it for now. Until another rainy day!

Previous Work - Oil Painting

Freedom - Detail

This is a painting I remember working on in my grandmothers old farmhouse, quite some years ago. I finished it at a slower pace than work I have done recently - not sure if faster is better. Still think about that from time to time. I used to spend a lot of time on some paintings, to get them really perfect. I often felt it was worth it. But on reflection, it really was too intense perhaps.

To a child dancing in the wind

Dance there upon the shore,

What need have you to care,

For winds or waters roar,

And tumble out your hair,

That the salt drops have wet,

Being young you have not known,

The fool's triumph nor yet,

Love lost as soon as won,

Nor the best labourer dead,

And all the sheaves to bind

What need have you to dread,

The monstrous crying of the wind.

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William Butler Yeats. 1865-1939

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I have omitted the second verse...not as nice as above.

Winter Sun in New Jersey

Winter Sunlight in New Jersey

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Oil Painting - Recent Work

This is a painting of the area around Watchung, New Jersey. I painted this in January. It is in oils on canvas, dimensions, 10" x 14". It is available for sale. If interested contact Jimsartemail@hotmail.com

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From doing the poetry corner I realise, an awful lot of poems seem wistful or melancholy. Here's another to add to that pile. I hope it doesn't depress anyone too much!!

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Fading-leaf and Fallen-leaf

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Said fading-leaf to fallen-leaf,

I toss alone on a forsaken tree,

That rocks and cracks with every gust that racks

It's straining bulk, say how is it with thee?

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Said fallen-leaf to fading-leaf,

A heavy foot went by an hour ago,

Crush'd into clay, I stain the way,

The loud wind calls me, and I can not go.

.

Said fading-leaf to fallen-leaf,

Death lessons life, a ghost is ever wise.

Teach me a way, to live till May,

Laughs fair with fragrant lips and loving eyes.

Said fallen-leaf to fading-leaf,

Hast loved fair eyes and lips of gentle breath?

Fade then and fall, thou hast had all,

That life can give, Ask somewhat now of death.

By Richard Garnett (1835-1906)

With regard to an earlier poem, "The road less traveled" I have included an update to that poem's post by adding a new link to that post, pointing to an artists thoughts about that poem and how it applies to artists. Still with me, click "The road less traveled" to see it.

Also I was reading about an emerging artist from Alabama, who is just starting to make a name for himself in the world of art, at the ripe old age of 112, yep, you heard it right, 112!! I wonder does he still have his banjo?

Poetry Interlude - Stopping by Woods...

It's time for a break from art for today and a visit to the poetry corner. Another poem by Robert Frost, not that I particularly like his poetry but it's in the public domain. I just like poems on a case by case basis, and I like this poem. Photo courtesy of http://www.wetcanvas.com/

Stopping by woods on a snowy evening.

Whose woods these are I think I know,

His house lies in the village though,

He will not see me stopping here,

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,

To stop without a farmhouse near,

Between the woods and frozen lake,

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake,

The only other sounds the sweep,

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

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If you've been following the last few days landscape painting demonstration, check back over the next week where I should be able to upload the completion of this painting. It's dry now and ready for to continue on to the next stages. I just need to find the time!! Over the next while I shall be showing further demonstrations, similar to this one. For me, these type of posts are interesting, as they serve as a visual diary of my work in progress. So where possible I shall continue them.

A Road Less Traveled ...Painting and Poem

A road less traveled...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both,

And be one traveler, long I stood,

And looked down one as far I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that the passing there,

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay,

In leaves no step had trodden black,

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Poem by Robert Frost

This poem is from the public domain, and I discovered it after I had completed this painting. Poetry and art have some things in common, in that they can stir emotions. In that regard they sometimes compliment each other. If you want to say "stir emotions" in art-speak, you would say " enhance the aesthetic appreciation of the viewer"!!!
You can tell I don't like art-speak.

Visit this article by Steve Atkinson which I stumbled across to see how this poem relates to the artistic journey.
Well that's it for a short post today, and hope you enjoy the painting and poem.

Ebay Auction up and running...Etsy to follow.

Crohy Head, Donegal

Yesterday I set up my first Ebay auction - see here. It was interesting to go through the learning curve. Also I intend to explore setting up a shop on Etsy which looks to be a neat way of hosting paintings. Reading reports from veterans of both sites, it appears that Etsy might be giving the competition a run for their money. I shall try both Ebay and Etsy and make my own judgements and report back here in later posts.

As for today, I'm including a poem now from the public domain which I like, by John Masefield.
Enjoy and check out my auction, thanks.

Sea Fever

I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the winds call, and the white sails shaking,
And a grey mist on the seas face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the sea again, for the call of the running tide,
Is a wild call and a clear call, that may not be denied,
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the sea again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way, and the whale's way, where the winds like a whetted knife,
And all I ask is a merry yarn, from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep, and a sweet dream when the long trips over.