Mine

Now, this one is definitely mine. I picked up the Wildman himself at the airport just last night and he was able to identify himself as captured photographically by one of the training staff while patrolling through some very lush and wet woods. He and his fellow traveller were tired, having gotten very little sleep all week, but well satisfied with their training. It appears the action was realistically grimy and noisy with blanks fired from M-16s and fake grenades. Much of it happened at night, deep in the woods, complete with furious attacks by a group known only as "Reaper". This nefarious group had a habit of attacking from treetops, booby-trapping campsites, and leaving laminated Grim Reaper cards in one's very own sleeping bag (after climbing in with muddy boots to teach one a lesson about leaving one's camp and equipment unguarded.) And of course they were all bitten from head to toe by the voracious mosquitoes, in spite of ample bug repellant. Much fun and coolness was thus had by everyone.

We're off again, this time on a camping jaunt to places not yet planned for. Where the wild things are... See everyone in about two weeks.

Passages

When I lie in bed at night, or early in the morning, and my window is open, I can hear the ships' horns from the river and lake. They speak to each other in their own language, which every mariner knows. The sound carries so well across the water that they could be gliding past my room, especially if there is fog.

My parents were immigrants and I married an immigrant. There are passages in journeys as well as in art and music. The ship horn announces the commencement of the passage and if you listen you can hear the words.

Acrylic paint, silk, found scrimshaw ornament*, and 22K gold leaf on paper. 56 x 38 cm.

*Scrimshaw ornament is a reproduction by Suzanne Storen Carlson of a painting of the "Sea Witch". The original painting hangs in the ballroom of the Grosse Pointe Yacht Club. I found the ornament in a local second-hand shop.

Ship Horn Symphony

Hedge Fun

There's something about that shrubbery which looks veeery familiar... but I really have no idea if we are looking at the Boy or not. I snatched this photo from the page of progress photos from his latest training. I guess they jumped right into the camouflage, and it appears they have already gotten real down and dirty by crawling through a mud field with rifles and engaging in some hand combat training as well.

Looks like just the kind of thing he wanted to try on. Now, excuse me while I fetch my hedge clippers.

"...from coast to coast to roam..."*

The Boy has flown away on his first solo airplane trip, sans adult escort, to attend another training. I heard from him as he relaxed in a USO lounge, awaiting other cadets before being whisked away to a more remote area. At that location he will practice marksmanship, and navigation through a wilderness setting. He will also learn rappelling and the art of camouflage.

Let's hope he remembers his bug spray.


(photo courtesy of "Anchors Aweigh", 1945, MGM Studios)

*“How happy is the sailor's life, from coast to coast to roam; in every port he finds a wife, in every land a home.” - Isaac Bickerstaffe

The Fragrance of the Night

“A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse: a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.”*

Perhaps I can lay the blame on the flowered skirts I’ve been wearing to the studio. Sumptuous skirts of recycled sari silk that, at the slightest breeze through the open windows of my battered red pick-up truck flutter up to orange alert levels as I drive through neighborhoods that are modest in the extreme.

“They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night.”*

Perhaps it is simply the warm, sultry weather, and the hydrangea that blooms profusely at the side of the studio steps. Or the fact that the Boy has been away, training on a watery border with a distinctly masculine retinue, equipped with body armor and weapons. (His re-training will include an insistence that every colorful description need not begin with the letter “F”.)

Suffice to say that my painting mood has turned to ancient texts and perennial themes...

The woman in the garden and the men in the night occupy two separate worlds, yet the walls are breached by the flight of tiny, fragile moths.

For the WWI soldiers, searchlights and biplane, I used several period illustrations and sculptures as reference, combining them in a montage.

Acrylic paint with silk and 22K gold leaf on Arches paper. 28 x 38 cm.

* Song of Solomon, King James version

Music of the Spheres

Acrylic paint with silk, leather, snakeskin, beads, seeds, cotton, brass, rubber, enamel, silver, white metal, paua shells, and 22 K gold leaf on Arches paper. 38 x 48 cm.

Doppelgänger

I had my eye exam early this morning, so I am a useless artist until the dilation wears off. But last night I snapped a picture of my nearly-completed sculpture, along with the model, who seems quite pleased with herself.

It's housework for me today. I'll see you all tomorrow (far more clearly) with two new paintings.

Toodles!

The Song My Paddle Sings

West wind, blow from your prairie nest
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west.
The sail is idle, the sailor too;
O! wind of the west, we wait for you.
Blow, blow!
I have wooed you so,
But never a favour you bestow.
You rock your cradle the hills between,
But scorn to notice my white lateen.

I stow the sail, unship the mast:
I wooed you long but my wooing's past;
My paddle will lull you into rest.
O! drowsy wind of the drowsy west,
Sleep, sleep,
By your mountain steep,
Or down where the prairie grasses sweep!
Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,
For soft is the song my paddle sings.

August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I,
Drift, drift,
Where the hills uplift
On either side of the current swift.

The river rolls in its rocky bed;
My paddle is plying its way ahead;
Dip, dip,
While the waters flip
In foam as over their breast we slip.

And oh, the river runs swifter now;
The eddies circle about my bow.
Swirl, swirl!
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl!

And forward far the rapids roar,
Fretting their margin for evermore.
Dash, dash,
With a mighty crash,
They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash.

Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe!
The reckless waves you must plunge into.
Reel, reel.
On your trembling keel,
But never a fear my craft will feel.

We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead!
The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway,
As the bubbles spray
And fall in tinkling tunes away.

And up on the hills against the sky,
A fir tree rocking its lullaby,
Swings, swings,
Its emerald wings,
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.

Emily Pauline Johnson, aka Tekahionwake, Canadian/Mohawk poet

Photo: Laurent Chappuis

Battle Plan

Tomorrow the history buffs are off to the Adirondacks and Fort Ticonderoga, significant in the French and Indian War (that would be the Seven Years War for my European friends.)The French and Indian War was really the first global conflict, although most people are not really familiar with it. For a really good series, see; "The War That Made America: PBS".

The above image is courtesy of the Library of Congress:

"This 1759 manuscript map dating from the era of the French and Indian War, shows a battle plan proposed by the British for their encounter with French troops near Fort Ticonderoga, New York. Drawn by William Brasier, this map is from the collection of William Faden, one of the most prominent British publishers of American Revolutionary battle maps. His collection includes many beautifully colored manuscript maps that later were incorporated into engraved maps of the period and were printed and sold by Faden in London."

The hiking boots are packed. See you next week!

Detroit Wildlife

A beautiful new film by Parisian filmmaker, Florent Tillon. Who admits that in many ways Detroit is more pleasant than Paris, which I have been saying for years. Monsieur Tillon is still in Detroit, and I think he should buy that home he said he was considering in his interview on WDET.

Detroit Wildlife

Out On The Spar

Erie, PA, Fourth of July, 2009

Send Me

Send Me. Send me letters. Send me Love. Send me out to sea. Send me music that will send me over the Moon. Send me away or take me out to the ball game. Send me cigarettes. I don't smoke, but send me Faros, Faros away. Send me up in smoke. Send me horses - my Queendom for a horse! You send me.

Acrylic, postage stamps, photo, cigarettes and coffee on paper. 28 x 38 cm.

I Can Give Him A Ship...

...but he'll have to find his own star to steer her by.*

The Boy doesn't know it yet, but for the weekend of his graduation from medical training I have arranged for a day sail on the historic Brig Niagara . Oliver Hazard Perry, during the War of 1812, at the age of twenty seven, took over command of the Brig Niagara and won the battle of Lake Erie on September 10, 1813. She is either a reconstruction of the original, or a replica, depending on your definition of either: Brig Niagara/Museum Ship/Wiki

Regardless, it should be one helluva Fourth of July for a certain young history buff. Participants are part of the crew and assist in hoisting sails and any other chores they are able. Day sails and longer two or three week trainings are available. I may sign him up for one of the longer trainings next summer, depending on his schedule, and if he likes what he sees on Saturday. This will give him a taste of the life as it was way back then.

Photo is courtesy of tallshipcelebration.com.

*Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas 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 wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.


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

John Masefield

News From the Front

Got a letter yesterday - the first from the Boy, who is studying emergency medical care on the 100-year-old Army National Guard base. Old-fashioned mail the only way to communicate with him. No email or cell phones, or even calls on a public phone are permitted until the day we go to pick him up. No leave or liberty, either.

He tells me he has been made Assistant LPO (Lead Petty Officer), which is really good. And that the course and tests are challenging, the (for now) imaginary wounds gruesome and shocking. The students will meet with a real Navy doctor, ride with an EMS team and spend some time in an ER in a hospital.

Good. I'm satisfied.

Shall we sing along? The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B

Fear of Butterflies

What can I say? Sometimes it takes so little to strike fear into the hearts of men.

Acrylic paint, beach glass, glass beads, slag, silver and pearls on marble.

Deer Me!

I was recently pondering the demise of Detroit's industry and the renewal of wildlife within the city. I thought that since we have pheasants, peregrine falcons, raccoons, opossum,foxes, coyotes and now beaver, the only animals missing were whitetail deer and black bear. Oh yes, and wolves.

Last night I was walking the quieter back paths of Belle Isle, in the big meadow area where I like to go with my dog when he suddenly lunged into the thicket. Up from the tall grasses and dense shrubbery leapt a large, perfectly healthy and sleek whitetail deer - a doe. She bounded away directly in front of us and across our path to enter the wooded area near the Blue Heron Lagoon. The dog followed her trajectory in a perfect radius from the taut end of the leash like a pencil tip on a compass. It was all I could do to hold him and to keep my balance.

So astonished was I that I completely forgot the I had my camera with me, as always, but she was much too fast to capture in any case.

I wrote an email to the manager of the Belle Isle Nature Center to inquire about the deer and if they were aware of her presence on the island. This was his answer:

"Thank you, Erica, for bringing this to us. Yes, Whitetail deer sometimes swim down from the neighboring land mass or are let loose on the island. We have had reports and sightings of her throughout the winter. We will continue to monitor."

So there you have it. Wild Canadian deer in downtown Detroit. What's next? Excuse me while I whistle an old song from my childhood...

If you go down in the woods today
You’re sure of a big surprise.
If you go down in the woods today
You’d better go in disguise.

For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic...

Hurry Up And Wait

The bags were packed the night before.The dog stood watch...

A couple of hours drive and we arrive at our destination: a 100-year-old army camp:

On either side of the straight road into the camp were POW barracks, which housed Italian and German prisoners during WWII:

Hours later, we were finally released to drive home, without the boy.

He's here to train in emergency medical care:

He's No Choir Boy

I went collecting again at Belle Isle and had a revelation of sorts. I found plenty of glass, from Coke bottles, wine bottles, and lots of bits and pieces from Hennessy bottles (a favorite beverage in Detroit.)

I found some wonderful pieces of slag (the by-product of smelting ore to purify metals) from our local steel mills just downriver. The steel mills have been there for around 100 years or more, so this slag could be very old. I thought it would make great hair.

I also found what appeared to be an old outlet plug, from the 1920's, about the same era my own home was built.

I say "appeared", because it was then that I noticed the tiny horns on one end of the outlet plug. I turned the plug around just in time to see a small devil attempting to hide within the plug! His horns and tail were clearly showing as he tried to squeeze himself further into the outlet.

Suddenly, it all made sense! I had seen a serpent that very morning, along the shore. It had slithered away from me when I stole its likeness with my camera.

The fact is that there are actually many tiny Edens, and many tiny moral struggles, all around us, and angels and demons may be found anywhere and everywhere, at any time of the day or night. Therefore, my task was as clear as the glass I had collected (which is actually kind of frosty and nicely weathered...) I must make a mosaic showing the Angel on one shoulder, and the Devil on the other, just as we remember them from our childhood fables.

I pieced together a makeshift angel from tile, glass and beads...

...and positioned him opposite the devil, who is so ashamed of himself he cannot even face us.

I placed both creatures on the shoulders of my Hennessy Man, who wears his addictions even on his necktie.

He can use all the help he can get to resist the temptations that are choking him, because, after all, he's no choir boy.


Acrylic paint, glass, slag, ceramic tile, beads and outlet plug on marble.

Not Baaaad At All!

Extreme Sheepherding Art

3 From the D

My first classical sculpture. Now it needs to dry out slowly, then be fired in the kiln.

The next session will be on just head and hands, life-sized, employing the same model. Should be fun.

“Sculpture is the best comment that a painter can make on painting.”
- Pablo Picasso

Couple

A couple of years ago, when we had our driveway removed, we discovered slabs of pure white marble underneath the concrete. What it was doing there was anyone's guess; it was almost the kind of thing you'd find in a cemetery. In any case, it is proving to be a useful find, as it provides a nice surface on which to do some mosaics. I have three pieces. This is one of them.

Broken bottle glass, beads, garnets and lapis lazuli, Chinese turquoise and acrylic paint on marble. Roughly 30 x 36 cm.

Make It So

Oh, dear. A very ugly corner of my alley.



This will not do at all.


Drag out the collected tiles and mosaic bits and pieces, mix up the thin set mortar and begin.

Add some patio tiles and pea gravel for a neat and tidy floor.

Yes, that's much better. It resembles a bright and cheerful crazy quilt.


Just what my alley needs.


It sets off the artwork that graces either side of my garage.

When We Were Very Young

She must have squinted hard into the bright morning sun, as the green balloon escaped from her tiny fist and rose quickly into the sky, along with all the other balloons. The air was bright with color, as she shielded her eyes with her other hand and waved to the balloon as it disappeared over the farms and railroad tracks.
..............................................................................................
Some days later, a woman, a kind of crazy artist who was collecting bits of colored glass and other junk from a Belle Isle beach happened to see the tightly bundled plastic sandwich bag among the flotsam.

She almost passed it by, as just another piece of trash, then stopped when she spotted the scribbles on the paper inside the baggie. She noted the bit of burst green rubber still clinging to the long colored ribbon and guessed that it all meant something. Reaching into the pocket of her hoodie, she fished out her camera and snapped a picture of the thing in place.

The woman didn't have a knife and the knot was very tight, so she tossed the bag into her collection of glass and other odds and ends and took it home.

And this is what she found...

The Devil's in the Details

Continuing my sudden, summer love affair with Belle Isle, I have collected an ample supply of broken beach glass from along the Belle Isle river front. Mostly from the Canadian side of the island, where one must interrupt one's collecting expedition pleasantly to wave to passing pleasure boats and freighters. I am using the bits of vari-colored glass to produce crude mosaics, combining the glass and glass beads, semi-precious stones (in this case, tiny garnets from a broken necklace) shells and tiles.

Some of these mosaics I intend to use to make a "call and response" intervention with the secret mosaics I found earlier (See: "Tile Be There", May 11, 2009.) Others I already have installed in my own garden.

Here is a small green devil done mostly in Coke bottle glass, on some sort of micaceous rock...

He is ready to tempt this tender woman, who is innocently enjoying herself in a swing beneath a flowering tree. Bad devil!

Have a nice weekend!