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GALLERY FEATURES

Richly Colored and Full of Life

Oct 4th 2011

Gardens put to bed until next year. I made paintings of my tomatoes, but it's tough competing with Mother Nature! Painting fresh vegetables is like painting flesh; both are richly colored and bursting with the dance of life. The tomatoes do move, but not as fast as dancers do.

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Drawing in the Dark

Sep 16th 2011

It’s like dancing in the dark. You call on instinct, experience, desire, and feel. Then, you move.

I am sitting in the audience at this year’s MassRaqs Gala at the Boston University Dance Theater. The show is exquisite. Each dance is like a little jewel in a box, separate, colorful and distinctive. I am entranced by the color, the movement, the beauty of the music. I need to make a few notes to myself about what I am seeing. I need to sketch. Continue reading...

The Soundszzzz of SummerrrRRrrRRRrrr

Aug 31st 2011

Tomorrow, I told myself, I will walk the beach at six a.m.. I imagined the lapping waves, the singing sand, the tumbletoss hiss of pebble against rock, the plaintive cry of the seagulls. The soft and subtle sounds of summer were calling to me. I needed to be there.

By six a.m. the next day, I was ready. I had wakened rather suddenly to the roar of three tractors laboring on the fairway near my house. They were spiraling around in concentric circles with blowers on their backs the size of sewer pipes, drying out the grass. Their sound faded into the distance as I drove off toward the harbor, where I would begin my walk. Continue reading...

The Town Hall Bellydancers (A Dialogue)

Aug 6th 2011

“Are you here for the Selectmen’s meeting?”

“Nope, I came to read a report to the ConCom. Just waiting to go in.” Continue reading...

The ER Shimmy

Jul 18th 2011

Blood was all over the place. I squeezed my hand at the base of the thumb to staunch it where the slash was deepest. “Darn!” I thought of all the times I had cut picture backings with this very utility knife, reminding myself to be careful and aim away from my hand. I recollected some previous gardening tasks and wondered how clean the blade had been before it sliced into my skin.

Some suspicious spongy white stuff edging out of the cut encouraged me to call my nurse friend Ron for advice. His question about the date of my last tetanus shot sent me off to the local hospital ER. Since I was not spewing blood from any orifice, nor had I amputated any major extremity, I resigned myself to a long wait. Continue reading...

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