Cafe Memory

I felt so magical with my arms full of flowers, it was like my whole heart was blossoming.

“Cafe Memory” oil on canvas, 22 × 20 inches

“Cafe Memory” is my attempt to use paint to describe a beautiful memory I have carried with me for decades. The scene is mostly invented, because memory and imagination have become entangled over the years. But the spirit is authentic, and as vivid as the night it happened.

The moon was full…and so was my heart (painting detail)

I allowed this painting to evolve very slowly over time, and there are many layers of paint on this canvas. I had a good time messing around in the studio, moving shapes here and there, painting over things, and bringing them back in new ways. I’m happy with how it has turned out. It's not so much that it's "finished,” but rather that I'm ready to let it be and move on with new things.

This particular memory is a romantic date I had (with my now-husband Ian ) over 24 years ago. I think it was the spring of 2001, when I was 20 years old. There was a really cool cafe-bookstore near Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts, not far from Hampshire College where I was enrolled. The cafe was open very late into the night, and Ian and I had made plans to meet there. We both liked browsing in book stores and drinking tea.

My whole heart was blossoming… (painting detail)

There was a bus from Hampshire College to Mount Holyoke, and it was free for students. On my way to the bus stop, I stopped at a local florist in Amherst and bought a HUGE bouquet, glowing lilies of every color of the rainbow. I held them in my arms as I rode the bus, filled with joyful anticipation.

I felt so magical with my arms full of flowers, it was like my whole heart was blossoming.

When I entered the dark cafe, I felt like I was bringing light and magic and color into the space, and that all the heads were turning with surprise and happiness to see my radiant bouquet.

And Ian turned to look too, in surprise. His face reflected that radiance and love.

He was surprised! (oil painting detail)

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Photo from around that time…summer of 2000? Ian and me, ages 25 and 19, at a music concert.

Wilting Summer Bouquet

“…recalling a busy summer in my life

when the relentless yet love-filled demands of motherhood took priority,

and the bouquet had to wait.”

work in progress, at my dining room table, July 2025

In July, my friend Katy gave me a gorgeous bouquet of summer flowers from her garden. I brought my paints home from my studio, hoping to paint the flowers at my dining room table while also getting a little time with my two teenagers during their summer break, even if it was just a passing “hello” as they went by me on their way to the kitchen for snacks. I was especially keen on grabbing as much time with my older kid as possible, as he was planning to leave for his freshman year of college at the end of the summer.

But each day passed without a single moment of painting. Instead, I was distracted by a variety of mundane yet urgent household and parenting tasks, situations that pulled me away from my beautiful bouquet. Each day the flowers wilted a little bit more, and as I felt guilty that I wasn’t able to prioritize them, but I always felt like I had to attend to something more important.

Finally, almost a week after putting the bouquet on the table and watching it slowly fade and wilt, I took my brushes in hand and forced myself to focus. I painted over an old painting, a portrait attempt that I had abandoned earlier in the year. When I recycle an old painting in this way, I have “nothing to lose,” and it frees me up.

“Wilting Summer Bouquet” oil painting detail, an homage to Chagall

In my painting you can see where I included a Chagall print of his painting “The Birthday,” which hangs on the exposed brick chimney by our dining room table.

I love Chagall so much. About ten years ago, I wrote a fun fan-fiction short story about being in love with him: Breaking Up With Chagall, which you can read if you feel curious.

“The Birthday” oil painting by Chagall, 1915

I painted a glimpse my younger son’s upright bass, which can be seen leaning in the corner by the window, behind the pitcher of water and the wilting flowers, hinting at how music fills the house.

“Wilting Summer Bouquet” oil painting detail

Over the next couple of days, I painted, although I was still constantly interrupted by various life tasks and situations. The painting began to capture the busyness and fullness of summer and the beautiful chaos of family life. As I painted, the bouquet changed and continued to wilt. The flower stems slowly bowed downwards, they hung their heavy heads, the fading petals dropped on the table, and the water transformed into that dirty yellow-green color in the oppressive summer heat.

But even so, the bouquet was still beautiful to me. Through the act of painting, I was able to appreciate the beauty of change, dissemination, aging, and the passage of time.

“Wilting Summer Bouquet” oil painting detail

This painting is an act of surrender, recalling a busy summer in my life when the relentless yet love-filled demands of motherhood took priority, and the bouquet had to wait.

“Wilting Summer Bouquet” oil on canvas, 20 × 16 inches (available for sale)

Fig Tree

“…Where everything happens invisible, flowering and fertilisation, and fruiting

In the inwardness of your you, that eye will never see

Till it’s finished, and you’re over-ripe, and you burst to give up your ghost.”

—excerpt from “Figs,” poem by D.H. Lawrence

Last fall I spent a few days painting my neighbor’s green fig tree, a few miles up the road from my house. In addition to being my neighbor, Sheila is also my art studio landlord. She often invites me to come paint on her beautiful property. She has an abundant garden with flowers, vegetables, and fruit trees.

I got really interested in the shapes of the round figs and all the dark leaves and criss-crossing stems. I like the feeling of getting lost in what I’m looking at, and forgetting about myself, and just being with the colors.

“Ripe Green Figs” oil on board, 12 × 9 inches

my easel set up by the fig tree

In addition to a larger 12 x 9 inch painting, I painted three little studies mostly with a palette knife. I love the blue sky against the round green fruit.

“Green Figs, Blue Sky” oil on board, 6 × 4 inches

“Green figs, light and shadow” oil on board, 5 3/8 × 2 ¾ inches

“Green Figs” oil on board, 4 × 6 inches, sold

figs in a pot in Sheila’s kitchen, ready to become jam

Last fall, Sheila gave me some jars of delicious spice fig jam. She made the jam from the fruit of the same fig tree I had painted.

And so, the sweet taste of figs lasted into the cold winter months, and I still have the memory of it now.

JD Wissler: poems and workshops

“I can’t wait to get ink on my fingers and wind in my hair!” —JD Wissler

JD Wissler working at his easel during a monotype workshop.

I have written blog posts about the artist JD Wissler over the years, including quite a few of his poems. Now, on the very sad and unexpected news of his death, I feel the urge to consolidate the posts all together.

I first met JD during a monotype workshop in 2018 at Kings Oaks in Newtown, PA. I wrote in my diary:

“JD is one of the kindest people I have ever met; he inspired me with his genuine joy and goodwill.”

Artists Kristen Peyton and Leslie Ross Stephens look on while JD Wissler demonstrates the monotype technique, Oct. 2018.

After that wonderful workshop, I stayed in touch with JD mostly through facebook. He would often post his artwork on facebook, including beautiful stream-of-consciousness poems. I emailed him and asked if I might publish some of his poems on my blog. He happily agreed, and we went back and forth on planning that, selecting the right poems (there were so many!) and the artwork to go with them. In early 2019, I published three groups of his poems:

Edge

Stars Make Their Own Space

Light of the Firefly

Later that year, I took a second monotype workshop with JD. I wrote about this workshop in this blog post: Monotypes and Wise Words. Again, I learned so much, and I loved being in JD’s presence. I scribbled down things he said in my sketchbook. His words often verged on poetic:

“I can’t wait to get ink on my fingers and wind in my hair!” —JD Wissler

Thank you, JD, for being such a wonderful, kind person.

You made the world feel beautiful, and I’m grateful to have known you..

ink wash by JD Wissler (sketchbook)

Mount Gretna School of Art is grateful to John David Wissler's family for suggesting a charitable donation to MGSoA in lieu of flowers in his obituary. If you'd like to contribute to this fund visit this link for more information.

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All My Blog Posts By and About JD Wissler:

Blogs about Monotype Workshops I took with JD Wissler:

• Monotype Workshop Oct. 2018

• Monotypes and Wise Words Oct. 2019

Blogs Featuring JD Wissler’s Poems and Artwork

• Edge Feb. 6, 2019

• Stars Make Their Own Space Feb. 27, 2019

• Light of the Firefly March 2019

Will Harmuth

“Painting should be a great joy. It should be joyful…

When people look at my painting, I want them to see that it’s alive.”

-Will Harmuth

“Another Day”, 24”x24”, acrylic on panel

This blog post about my wonderful colleague Will Harmuth was originally published March 14, 2018. He passed away earlier this month, and so I felt like re-publishing it again in his memory. Will was very kind and encouraging to me when I was starting out, and through the years I considered him to be a friend and mentor. I feel very lucky to have known him. Rest in peace, Will Harmuth, 1957-2025

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“I like to imagine that he just plows through a thick rainforest-of-canvases, wielding his paintbrush like a machete, gracefully knocking them out with ease…”

 I wrote those words about the artist Will Harmuth two years ago, commenting on an art blog (linesandcolors.com), and it’s still true today. It’s clear Harmuth deeply enjoys his work, much of which celebrates the scenery around him, for example, the bucolic landscapes of rural New Jersey, where he lives, and the urban architecture of Easton, PA. He manages to paint these subjects without sentimentality or triteness. Rather, they proclaim an exuberant strength, an authenticity true to his inner vision.

Harmuth has both facility and confidence in his ability, and for good reason: he has devoted the last 45 years of his life to painting. He began his career with a strong foundation in art education, learning the craft from skilled teachers and mentors at the Art Students League and the Graduate Newark School of Fine and Industrial Arts. After putting time into learning and mastering the rules of painting, he feels quite joyful about breaking them!

“Purple Passion”, 24”x24”, acrylic on panel

Harmuth sees himself as part of a lineage going back to the Ashcan School of American Realism. Robert Henri (1865-1929) was a leading teacher and painter in this movement. He wrote the wonderful book, The Art Spirit, which Harmuth highly recommends. This book is immensely helpful to artists; it gives a mixture of practical “how-to” advice, as well as a glimpse into the deeper philosophical meaning behind the artist’s vocation. Henri writes:

“The most vital things in the look of a landscape endure only for a moment. Work should be done from memory; memory of that vital moment.”

Capturing the moment is what it’s all about, according to Harmuth. It’s something only the artist can do. “Whatever resonates with you, the artist: that’s your moment,” Harmuth tells me, on a recent visit to my studio. “Only you can express that moment. When people buy a painting, they are buying a moment.”

“A View of Easton”, 24”x24”, acrylic on gallery wrap canvas

In addition to Henri, Harmuth finds inspiration in the work of Edward Willis Redfield and Walter Baum, both local artists who painted in the first half of the 20th century, and the contemporary painter and sculptor, Marta Whistler, who was an Easton resident for many years.

Harmuth is married to the artist Lisa Bonforte. They met in art school, and the couple has been together 42 years. They assist each other with both the creative and business sides of their art careers. When Will is blocked, he explains humorously, Lisa helpfully tells him to “get over it.” She provides some common-sense motivation, keeping him grounded. Sometimes the two artists work together on a painting, as they did recently with “Rusty”, a painting of a heroic rescue dog.

Although husband and wife do collaborate at times, the two artists are committed to giving each other space. They both work out of their home, but have separate studios and work schedules. A typical day for Will Harmuth goes like this: wake up early and paint, breakfast, computer/commercial art work, nap, dinner, and more painting. He advocates a regular studio practice: “If you paint every day, you will get better.”

good morning sunday 24x24

Will Harmuth manages Williams and Philips Graphic Design. This sort of commercial art work is how Harmuth has supported his wife and their daughter (now grown) for decades. Of course, a career as an artist has its financial ups and down. After 9/11, the commercial work dried up. Harmuth had the idea to do a whole bunch of small paintings (5”x7” and 6”x8”) to sell relatively cheaply. The idea was a hit, and for a time the family paid their bills, living off of those small paintings.

Harmuth currently finds himself in a stage of his career where he can devote more energy to the fine art side of things, which is his passion. He reveals his enthusiasm for painting with every bold, vigorous mark and in his prolific output of strong, vibrant compositions. He advises artists who are starting out:

“Don’t paint the life out of it. Paint the life in it.”

Here is a portrait of me!  Will painted this after our interview together.  It was such a delightful surprise to see myself through his eyes, sitting in my studio with my paintings hanging on the wall behind me!  

Will Harmuth is an active member of the Easton art community. He is currently represented by Connexions Gallery in Easton, PA, Clinton Falls Gallery in Clinton, NJ, and Weiler House Fine Art Gallery in Fort Worth, Texas.

Childhood Creek: painting with my mom

On Friday I drove down to New Hope, Pennsylvania, the town where I grew up. It’s about an hour south of Easton, where I live now. I like that the Delaware River connects the two towns, it makes me feel connected to my parents.

When I arrived, I set up my easel in my parents’ yard by the creek. This is such a special creek to me. I think it is officially called “Ingham Creek,” but my sisters and I always gave it more romantic or adventurous names. I would make lots of treasure maps and label the creek as: “The River of Fairies” or “The Wild Ocean,” and other such things.

My three younger sisters and I played in this creek for so many hundreds of hours growing up. It was the site of many adventures, treasure hunts, and fantasies. We were pirates sailing the sea, Indiana Jones exploring ancient ruins, mermaids, pioneers, and more. This was all more than thirty years ago.

Recently, my mom has been asking me to come visit and paint the creek, so I finally made time to drive down.

I took this photo of my mom and her dog Dora, painting by the creek.

My mom sat and painted nearby with her gouache paints, and I set up my easel and did an oil sketch. My dad would occasionally come out and visit with us. It was a very peaceful afternoon. We painted, chatted, and took breaks for snacks.

I enjoyed the experience, and it brought up so many emotions and memories for me, as you might expect. I have a lot of feelings of love and nostalgia for this creek, and the land around it. I’m not sure why I haven’t painted it before, I guess I wasn’t quite ready.

But after painting on Friday, I’m feeling ready to return and paint some more. Perhaps I’ll do a series of paintings over the summer. And if it gets too hot, I’ll jump in the creek and pretend I’m a mermaid!

Me painting at my easel. Photo Credit: Irene Tatariw Trindle

My painting in process.

“Childhood Creek” oil on board, 12 × 9 inches

“New Hope Creek” gouache painting by Irene Tatariw Trindle, gouache on paper, 5 × 5 inches

Related Reading:

My Mom’s Beautiful Art

Past Blog Posts Written by my Mom:

Girl With a Flute

Pie Painting Class

ThreeBirds Coffee House

I’m very honored to have three large oil paintings hanging in ThreeBirds Coffee House, my favorite coffeeshop in my little city of Easton, Pennsylvania. These paintings will be hanging through mid-June or thereabouts. Recently, some customers in the cafe kindly gave their permission to be photographed, and I’m delighted to share these photos with you.

If you live close enough, please check them out in real life! I recommend the chai latte, it’s my favorite: not too sweet, and plenty of spiciness.

Man working below “Evening Pizzicato.”

“Evening Pizzicato” oil on canvas, 54 × 64 inches

This is the largest painting I have ever painted, so far. It is inspired by a Bonnard painting, Dining Room in the Country. My own painting draws from Bonnard’s, as well as from my own imagination. I also referred to sketches I did of my teenage son Morgan playing his upright bass.

People having coffee below “The Red Blanket.”

“The Red Blanket” oil on canvas, 24 × 40 inches

“The Red Blanket” is a painting I did of my husband Ian on June 19th, 2024. That day was our 20th wedding anniversary! We celebrated with a mini-getaway in Woodstock, New York. I rented a cute air bnb, and bought many bouquets of flowers, filling the room with them. Ian posed for me for six hours on the couch. He lay on a new beautiful red blanket that I purchased specifically for this painting. What a good sport!

Woman at cafe, below “Peonies.”

“Peonies” oil on canvas, 24 × 36 inches

Finally, “Peonies” is a painting that I did, partly from life, partly from memory and imagination. It is a self portrait of me, in my house, drinking tea. I painted “Peonies” last June, immediately after seeing an amazing Bonnard exhibit at the Phillips Collection in Washington DC. I went with my mom, and it was a wonderful art-adventure that we did together. As always, Bonnard gave me so much inspiration.

A cup of tea…

So, please treat yourself to a tea or coffee at ThreeBirds sometime soon, and check out my paintings!

Love Letters to Ghosts

“…I revel in the ambiguity.” — Kat Good-Schiff

Kat Good-Schiff opening the box of her first batch of chapbooks! Photo Credit: Jen Good-Schiff

My friend Kat Good-Schiff’s debut poetry chapbook has arrived! "Love Letters to Ghosts" was published in February by Meat For Tea Press. And my monotype is the art chosen for the cover! She recently wrote about why she chose it in her blog, Dragon’s Meow: Poetry and Paying Attention. What a gift, to see my artwork through her eyes.

I'm deeply honored to have my monotype chosen as the cover illustration. Kat wrote on her recent blog about why she chose this image:

"What captivates me is the power of the connection between the two figures, depicted gently with just a few strokes of black ink, combined with the atmospheric magic created by the monotype method. The texture and tonality of the ink gives the image a surreal quality, while the few spots of color sing out in surprise."

The cover of the poetry chapbook, illustrated by yours truly!

Kat describes her poems:

"The poems are odes and elegies to—among others—queers, immigrants, factory workers, aspiring astronauts, a former First Lady, domestic violence survivors, Emily Dickinson, Georgia O’Keeffe, Indigenous agriculturists, people with mental illness, feminists, young brown-skinned idealists, and female clergy. It contains a lot of heartbreak. It also includes flowers (of course), survival, forgiveness, hope, and love." —Kat Good-Schiff

You can order a copy of the poetry book at bookshop.org.

The back cover of Love Letters to Ghosts.

One of the poems, Daffodils, was previously published in 2016 by Autumn Sky Poetry Daily.

“Black Socks and Bouquet” monotype by Lauren Kindle, 9 × 6 inches.

Further Reading:

Man With Black Socks: I talk about the painting I made, which came out of these series of monotypes.

In This One: Another poem by Kat Good-Schiff which I had the honoring of publishing in my blog a few years ago.

Collage Workshop

I fell in love with collage-making when I took a workshop with Ken Kewley in the fall of 2022. This two-week collage workshop took place at the Mount Gretna School of Art. Guest instructors were the artists Rotem Amizur and Maria Michurina. In the years since that workshop, I have been making collages all the time: I love it! Not only is it fun, but I can tell that making collages has a positive influence on my paintings and drawings. It forces you to simplify down to the essential, and make stronger compositions.

Recently I decided it would be fun to lead a collage workshop of my own in my studio, teaching others what I learned from Ken Kewley. Since Ken’s house and studio is only a few blocks from mine, I invited him to collaborate with me. So together, we planned a day-long event. Of course I couldn’t really fit in everything I learned in two weeks into one day, but I envisioned it as a good introduction.

The workshop took place on Sunday February 23rd, 2025. At 11 am, our four students met us at Ken’s house and studio for a wonderful studio tour and power-point presentation which Ken had prepared.

During the slideshow, we enjoyed a delicious lunch of veggies, hummus, falafel wraps, etc. from the local Lebanese restaurant Daddy’s Place.

Here are some photos of our tour of Ken’s house and studio:

Paintings and a collage by Ken, over a hallway bookshelf.

Other artists’ paintings on the wall above Ken’s sofa in the living room. Some of the artists whose work is displayed here include Rotem Amizur, Bill Hudders, and Stuart Shils.

Some of Ken Kewley’s paintings on the wall of his studio.

After lunch, we relocated to my studio a few blocks away. Here I led a 3-hour collage workshop from 1-4 pm. We started with painting paper. As Ken showed me in 2022, we used acrylic paint on sheets of 8.5x11” printing paper. For a few of these, we did two layers of color, which is something I had learned from the artist Rotem Amizur.

Students in my studio, painting paper.

Painted pieces of paper to use for collage.

While our paper was drying, I gave the students some paper I had previously prepared for them. I also gave them a page with a grid of nine squares, each square 2x2 inches. We spent 5-15 minutes on each square, responding to different prompts. Some of the prompts:

• two colors back and forth

• three colors, then add some black and white shapes

• make an “imaginary landscape” with two colors

etc…

Collage grid by Berry Steiner.

Collage grid by Michele Davis.

Collage grid by Amanda Close.

Collage grid by Kate Brandes.

Student work.

During the last 45 minutes, I gave each student a print-out of this Matisse painting, and they worked on doing a collage transcription 4 x 3 inches, using a limited palette of 4-5 colors. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, but I think everyone would have loved a little more time. If I run this workshop again, I will add at least one extra hour. Nevertheless, I really love these little collages responding to Matisse!

Henri Matisse. Figure with Bouquet, August 1939, Oil on canvas. The Barnes Foundation, BF980. © 2025 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

“After Matisse” painted paper collage by Amanda Close, 4 × 3 inches

“After Matisse” painted paper collage by Berry Steiner, 4 × 3 inches

“After Matisse” painted paper collage by Michele Davis, 4 × 3 inches

“After Matisse” painted paper collage by Kate Brandes, 4 × 3 inches

For me it was a truly wonderful day. As always, I enjoyed Ken’s slideshow about his collage process, and I was inspired by seeing all the artwork in his studio. I also really enjoyed watching the students play around with a new technique. It’s always fun to share something you love with others, especially if they catch on to your excitement.

My goal for doing this workshop was to inspire, motivate, and encourage the students to add more collage-making into their lives. So you can imagine how delighted I was to see one of the students, Amanda Close, post her new collage on instagram today. Artist Amanda wrote:

“Had the most incredible privilege to attend an in person collage workshop with @lauren_kindle at the end of February. We started with a tour and conversation with the amazing @kenkewley —his Easton, PA, studio is so incredible!! And then we spent several blissful hours in her cozy studio creating and playing with color and shape.

This little study of Lucas Cranach’s Judith (one of them—he painted her many times and in different outfits!) was something Lauren encouraged me to try after the workshop and I had such fun creating this! If you, like me are binging on Judith depictions, I recommend you also check out my sister’s take @art_as_magic as she has a style all her own and has created a true masterpiece!

I’m still processing everything we covered in the workshop so beware: more collage to come!”

“Judith with the head of Holofernes, after Cranach” painted paper collage by Amanda Close,

7 x 4.5 inches

Ken Kewley and I will be repeating this Collage Workshop on Saturday April 5th, this time it will be 11am to 5 pm (adding an extra hour.) 4 spots available

Make me cry for the right reasons.

For the last month or so, every Monday night, I’ve been driving my younger son almost an hour to take music lessons. To be exact, he is taking private classical upright bass lessons. Even though it’s a lot of driving, I’ve actually been looking forward to these evenings, because it means we get time together in the car. Sometimes we are silent, but often we have some nice conversations.

During the lessons, I have been sketching. Sometimes I write some of the things the teacher says…

If you think ‘I’m not going to make it,’ you won’t make it.

“Monday night bass lesson” pencil and poppy oil on paper, 12 × 9 inches

If a note is wrong, the whole scale is wrong.

pencil sketch

Make me cry for the right reasons.

Bass lesson sketches

Bass lesson sketch

“Make me cry for the right reasons” is my favorite so far. That’s exactly what I always want from music. I want my heart to be moved; I want to cry.

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Art With Impact: Supporting Local Food Banks

“Art has the power to nourish the spirit, and together, we can use it to feed the hungry too.

Join us for a day of inspiration, creativity, and generosity.”

— Little Fly Studios

“Pears and Cherries” oil on board, 9 × 12 inches

On Sunday November 24th, I will be participating in a pop-up group art show at Little Fly Studios in my hometown of New Hope, Pennsylvania. I have ten oil paintings in the show, which you can preview here in this post. 15% of the sales will be donated to Delaware Valley Food pantries and other charities that bring food security to those in need. (I will be donating to Fisherman’s Mark, a food pantry and social services provider in Lambertille, NJ.) This event is not just about art; it's about making a positive impact on our community.

If you can’t come to the in-person event, feel free to purchase the paintings here through my website shop. Either way I will be donating 15% to the local food banks. (Free shipping!)

Sun Nov 24th, 10: 00 am - 5:00 pm

Little Fly Studios

6625 School Road, New Hope PA

Little Fly Studios is at the home of Wendy and John Blevins

List of Featured artists:

• Wendy Blevins: Explorations in kiln formed glass

• Louise Levy: Fine art photography from around the world: the transformative power of light changes the ordinary into the extraordinary

• Martha Sperling: Painting the magic of local landscapes and more

• Lynne Goldman: Stunning photography celebrating the bounty of Bucks county farms

• Lauren Kindle: Oil paintings that bring a sense of magic and reverence to the viewer, to reveal and elevate the beauty of the moment

Don't miss this opportunity to support local art and give back to the community!

“Was it worth it? That sweetness…” oil on board, 9 × 12 inches

“Red Rose” oil on board, 8.5 × 5.5 inches

“Cat Nap” oil on paper mounted on board, 6 × 8 inches

“Mock Orange Blossoms” oil on canvas mounted on board, 12 × 16 inches

“Beach Dunes at Dawn” oil on primed paper mounted on board, 5.25 × 8.25 inches

“Snow Scene” oil on canvas mounted on board, 7.5 × 10 inches

“End of Summer” oil on board, 7.5 × 6 inches

“Red Tulips” oil on canvas mounted on board, 16 × 12 inches

“Villa Milagro Vineyards” oil on linen mounted on board, 8 × 11 inches

Replacing the Expansion Tank on the Water Heater

“I think those moments in our lives when the most quotidian tasks lay us bare are really powerful.”

— Bill Strickland, art collector

Lauren Kindle, Replacing the Expansion Tank on the Water Heater, painting detail

About two years ago, I helped my husband install a new expansion tank on our hot water heater in the basement. It was an awkward, dark, and musty job. We struggled physically and emotionally to achieve some semblance of teamwork. As we wrestled with the expansion tank, we came up against our physical limitations and the edges of our emotions.

“You’re doing it wrong!” I remember Ian said. I’m sure I retorted something salty in reply.

As we labored, the light shone in from the basement window, illuminating Ian’s back and arms. I was reminded of those dramatic Italian Baroque paintings that I had been admiring in my art books.

As I held the expansion tank, I thought: this could be a dramatic painting like one of those Baroque paintings…

Caravaggio, The Seven Acts of Mercy, 1607

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith and her Maidservant, ca. 1623–25.

In those Baroque paintings, the subject matter is always something very important and high stakes, like a religious story involving royalty or gods and angels. But why does everything have to be so grand? Ordinary mortal humans, living their mundane lives, surely they, too are given moments of grand drama and tremendous emotion.

So, after the basement task was completed, I went and made some preliminary sketches. Around that same time, I had also been very interested in this series of paintings by Leland Bell, showing a small domestic drama: a cat delivering a dead mouse to a couple in their bedroom. I glued these copies of his paintings in my sketchbook for inspiration. I’m sure you will see the influence in my sketches.

Print outs of Leland Bell's paintings that I glued into my sketchbook.

First I worked in an old New Yorker magazine with a sharpie and some white gouache:

Lauren Kindle, "Expansion Tank" gouache and India ink in an old New Yorker

Then I wrote a couple of letters to friends, and I painted the envelopes:

Lauren Kindle, painted envelope, gouache

Lauren Kindle, painted envelope, gouache

And finally I did two 9 x 12 inch oil paintings.

Lauren Kindle, "Replacing the Expansion Tank on the Water Heater (1)" oil on primed paper mounted on board, 9 x 12 inches

Lauren Kindle, "Replacing the Expansion Tank on the Water Heater (2)" oil on primed paper mounted on board, 9 x 12 inches

I posted all these images on social media and then moved on with my life. .

I didn’t think about the paintings again until recently, two years later. In May, a local collector named Bill Strickland, reached out to me. He and his partner wanted to buy one of those paintings. He had been thinking about them for two years, and they really moved him! That made me so happy. He wrote to me in a private message:

“I think those moments in our lives when the most quotidian tasks lay us bare are really powerful.”

I definitely agree.

And, in a lovely ending to the story, my husband Ian built a beautiful oak frame for the painting. Which goes to show that we do make a good team sometimes, when it’s important.

Driving Out the Money Changers

A few months ago I finished this collage, which I’m calling “Driving out the Money Changers.” The name is a reference to El Greco’s painting: “Christ Driving the Money Changers from the Temple,” to which I am clearly paying homage.

In my collage, I was pretending the figures in the El Greco painting were objects on a table in a still life. The figure of Christ reminded me of a beautiful curving pink pitcher, so I started there, and let myself play.

Here is the original El Greco painting:

“Christ Driving the Money Changers from the Temple” painting by El Greco, 1600 CE

So, what got me interested in this El Greco painting in the first place?

Well, he was never one of my favorite artists. I knew of him, of course, but I hadn’t really thought about him until two years ago. That’s when I received a private message on Instagram from another artist that I follow there, Louis Esposito. He was responding to a painting I had recently posted called “The Poem.”

“I love this!” Louis wrote to me. “I feel Redon, but I also feel Vuillard and Bonnard. But then the way the figure is framed I feel Balthus.”

Of course, you can imagine how thrilled I was to get such a message!

“That means so much to me,” I said.

“The Poem” painting by Lauren Kindle, 36 x 36 inches, 2022.

“Ah of course!” Louis said. He went on to say how my flowers reminded him of a figure from El Greco’s painting, “Christ Driving the Money Changers from the Temple.” He drew my attention to the female figure that was holding a basket.

“Ugh the way her body twists like the stem of a flower,” he wrote. “So good.”

I ended up making her a banana, not a flower…

But maybe in the next collage I’ll try a flower!

After that brief but uplifting Instagram exchange, I spent some time looking at the El Greco painting that Louis had mentioned. It really intrigued me. I thought all the shapes were interesting. I printed out a copy of the painting and stuck it in my sketchbook for inspiration.

Curious about what was going on in the painting, I looked up the Bible story. (You can find it in Matthew 21: 12-13.) The basic story is that people were doing business inside the temple itself. These people were money changers and also people selling animals for sacrifice. Anyway, Jesus was mad at them because they should have been doing their their business outside the temple court, not right inside the place of worship. He was so angry that he overturned the tables and benches and drove everyone out of the temple! He said his famous line:

“My house will be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a ‘den of robbers'.’”

Jesus setting boundaries in the temple.

Eight months after my little Instagram conversation with Louis, I ended up doing an artist residency at the Mount Gretna School of Art for two weeks. It was a collage workshop with the artist Ken Kewley. That amazing workshop inspired me to make a collage that was in conversation with El Greco’s painting.

I clearly still had El Greco on my mind…

“Vessels in the Temple” painted paper collage by Lauren Kindle, Fall 2022

That one was my rough draft, and here’s the final collage one more time:

"Driving out the money changers (after El Greco)" painted paper collage by Lauren Kindle, 8 x 10 inches, 2024

I’m not an expert or Bible scholar or anything, but I certainly did think about that Bible story a lot while I was making my collage. I thought about what it means to have a place—a temple—that is so sacred that the marketplace cannot, or should not, exist within it. In terms of making art, that sacred place for me is my studio. So, maybe one of the things this story could be about, for me, is the importance of having a special place to do art where I don’t think about money. All thoughts like “will someone want to buy this painting?” need to be left outside of the studio door.

On another note, I’m so grateful for living in a world with other artists! I think it’s so wonderful that we can talk about our paintings together on the internet. I’m so grateful for Louis’s kind message two years ago, and for the way his comments sent my mind in a whole new direction, and inspired me to make something which I never would have made otherwise.

So, thank you Louis!

And we will end here with a beautiful painting by Louis Esposito:

“Cyprus Trees Next Door/ Afternoon Clouds” oil on canvas by Louis Esposito

Art Adventure (part 4): Richmond

Previously: Part One, Part Two, and Part Three

Monday February 5th

On February 5th, I took the train from D.C. to Richmond, Virginia. The train rolled into the city in the early evening. My friend’s husband picked me up and drove me to their new home, not far from the train station.

I was so excited to see my good friend Kristen and her husband Daniel, and finally meet her two young children: Alice age three, and Ada, 13 months. Kristen and I first met in Civita Castellana, Italy in the summer of 2017. We were roommates together in the JSS program , through which I had the incredible opportunity to paint in Italy for two weeks.

Over the years since that summer, Kristen and I managed to stay in touch and even meet up from time to time for various art adventures. But I hadn’t seen her since the summer of 2020, when she was pregnant with her first child, Alice. It felt like an eternity!

I had such a wonderful time! I really enjoyed playing with the little kids. But I have to admit, a one and a three year old are a lot of work! (My kids are 14 and 17 now, so I had sort of forgotten how intense younger kids are.) I really enjoyed myself, though. And I did lots of sketches of the kiddos during my visit.

Ada at the breakfast counter, pencil on postcaord

Baby Ada, and Kristen looking at a book with Ada (postcards)

Tuesday February 6th

On the first morning, Alice and I completed this unicorn puzzle. You can see how ecstatic we are at our achievement. It was a Big Deal.

Alice and I complete a unicorn puzzle! #success

That same morning, after dropping the kids off at preschool, Kristen and I went to a nearby cafe for lattes. Then we walked over to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, only a few blocks from Kristen’s house!

Lattes with my artist friend Kristen!

There was a special exhibit in the museum, "Elegy,” a solo show of work by Dawoud Bey. Dawoud Bey is a contemporary American artist, and the show displayed 42 of his photographs as well as two film instillations. It was a sobering and emotional experience, a beautiful yet harrowing look at American landscapes deeply connected to slavery. The show depicted, among other things, images from the Underground Railroad as well as the ruins of Louisiana plantations.

Kristen and I spent many hours at the Dawoud Bey show, quietly looking at each image, just being with it. I thought a lot about slavery, imagining the grim and terrifying realities that enslaved people had experienced in our country for centuries. It’s so strange to think that, historically speaking, slavery really wasn’t all that long ago. It was such a huge and traumatic part of our country’s history and, consequently, the aftershocks of it still reverberate in the present day.

“Elegy” offered a (needed) opportunity for people to contemplate slavery, something that we often don’t want to think about. It was very moving and powerful. After the show, Kristen and I decided not to look at any other paintings in the museum that day, we wouldn’t be able to take anything else in. So we quietly walked home, absorbing what we had seen, and reflecting on our experience.

I took a lot of photos of Dawoud Bey’s photos, but I don’t feel like they came out as well as those that you can see on the museum’s website, so I encourage you to look there. Here is one photo of a scene from the Underground Railroad that I got from the museum’s website:

Untitled (Trail and Trees), 2023, Dawoud Bey (American, born 1953), gelatin silver print, 48 x 59 in. Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Gift of Mrs. Alfred duPont, by exchange, 2020.168.1. Image © Dawoud Bey

There was another landscape in particular that I felt was especially moving, and I spent a long time sketching it. I think I would like to make some monotypes based on the sketch. Here is my sketch that I did that day:

Sketchbook: a Dawoud Bey photograph

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Later that night, I offered to try to put little Ada to sleep. I rocked her back and forth and sang her lullabies, as I used to do with my own babies. When she finally yielded to sleep, I experienced that wonderful feeling, the heavy, damp little thump on my chest, the baby’s head finally giving up and succumbing to sleep. And my own deep breath of relief, grateful that peace has been achieved, at least for the moment.

It brought me almost to tears, realizing how that special period of motherhood is so fully over for me. My kids are big now, there’s no more holding them and singing them to sleep.

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Wednesday February 7th

Me in the museum, in awe. Gouache on postcard

The next day, I had the opportunity to spend some time in the museum alone. What a treat! I loved the main collection there! In particular, they had several Bonnard and Vuillard paintings that I had never seen before, not even in books. There were so many—SO MANY— stunning paintings, and I wish I could put all the photos I took in this blog post, but it would be sooooooo long and impractical. So, I’ve selected my favorite Bonnard, as well as a few favorite details of paintings just to give you a teasing glimpse:

“The Dining Room” oil painting by Bonnard (photo from my phone)

favorite painting details:

I was in the museum alone for many hours and did a lot of sketches:

sketch of a Morandi painting, pencil on a postcard

sketchbook: a Sisley painting

sketchbook: a Bonnard painting

Kristen brought the kids to the museum after preschool was over, and we had lunch there in the cafe. Then Alice and Ada and I had the best time ever going up and down in the glass elevator. Seriously, it was so fun!

We LOVE the glass elevator in the Virginia Museum of Fine Art!!

I painted a postcard of my memory of the elevator rides:

Me and Ada and Alice in the glass elevator at the museum, gouache on postcard

That evening, to celebrate my final night in Richmond, Kristen and I went back to the museum (obviously.) There was live jazz playing, and we shared some wine and listened to the music, sketching together blissfully. Then we wandered around the museum until it closed (9 pm on Wednesdays!) and let ourselves get so wonderfully lost in the paintings. I recall spending a looooong time in front of this huge red painting by Ad Reinhardt.

a painting by Ad Reinhardt… I think the title is “Red.” It’s quite large!

Me and Kristen in front of a Monet painting.

After the museum closed, we wandered around in the warm evening air. We stayed up very late, talking about art, life, and more art. It was just the best!

Thursday February 8th

I caught a very early train the next morning. When I was on the train heading back north to Philadelphia, I painted a bunch of postcards with gouache, and I did a painting—from memory— of the Bonnard painting I loved so much. I didn’t look at the sketch I did or the photo I took, I just did it totally with memory, and it was so fun to do that! I feel like I caught something of the essence of my experience of Bonnard’s beautiful painting, in spirit if not in accuracy.

painting postcards on the train

Memory of a Bonnard painting, gouache on postcard

I had so much fun doing the “memory painting,” that I did two more based on a Monet painting I had seen, a view of his wife scene through a doorway looking in from the garden.

Monet’s wife #1 gouache on postcard

Monet’s wife #2, gouache on postcard

Here is the original, in case you are interested.

a painting by Monet

When I finally got back home, I was exhausted but also elated. Thanks again to everyone who bought a postcard from me, and helped make my trip possible! I’m sure I’ll be slowly digesting all my experiences in the coming months; all the amazing art and inspiration will take some time to absorb. But I already have some exciting new ideas of things to paint! And I have a few things already started in the studio now…

The End

Art Adventure (part 3): The National Gallery

“I did make a sketch of a Mary Cassatt painting:“Girl With a Fan.” …Emma…sat next to me… We had so many deep talks as she sat beside me and I sketched…” — my diary, Feb. 4, 2024

me sketching Mary Cassatt’s “Girl With a Fan”

Photo Credit: Emma Miniscalco

This blog post is part of a series, although the parts are arranged more by emotional theme, rather than strictly chronological order. You may want to start with Art Adventure (part 1) and (part 2), but it’s not necessary.

Excerpts from my diary:

February 4, 2024

Now I’m back home in “my” little apartment…absolutely buzzing inside from all the wonderful art I saw today [in the National Gallery in D.C.]. It was just so much art! I think I was there four or five hours! Maybe longer? I mostly just looked, but I did make a sketch of a Mary Cassatt painting, “Girl With a Fan.” Mostly because it was in an uncrowded room with a convenient sofa. Emma [my friend of 20+ years] sat next to me… We had so many deep talks as she sat beside me and I sketched.

“Can’t quite catch her pout” my sketch of a Mary Cassatt painting

detail of Mary Cassatt painting “Girl With a Fan”

me sketching “Girl With a Fan” gouache on a postcard

My diary continued…

I can’t even go into words, the amount of art I saw: Da Vinci, Rembrandt, Vermeer, the impressionists…Corot…my head is spinning. Two very large a powerful paintings by Kerry James Marshall. I’ll go back tomorrow and sketch some more…Then tomorrow afternoon, I take the train to Richmond.

—my diary, Feb. 4, 2024

detail of a painting by Kerry James Marshall

I ended up spending two full days in the National Gallery in D.C. and I made many sketches. There was a painting by Monet that was so interesting and dark, it didn’t look much like his main body of work. I wouldn’t have guessed that it was his, so maybe it was something from earlier in his life? It was a painting of three people in a dark room, lit only by lamplight. Here is my sketch of it:

pencil drawing of a Monet painting (one of my many postcards)

I was also really drawn to this painting of three children and a dog.

painting by Joshua Johnson, 1807

Later, when I was making painted postcards about my trip, I painted my favorite detail of Johnson’s painting: the corner with a window view of a dreamy landscape.

“Joshua Johnson’s window” my own painting inspired by his, gouache on a postcard

I wrote on the back of the postcard two weeks later:

Feb. 23, 2024

Dearest Rachel, I can’t believe two weeks has gone by since I returned from my trip! I had such an AMAZING time! I feel like a sponge utterly FULL of water—can’t wait to get into the studio this morning—I have SO many juicy ideas! (Maybe we can have a phone date soon?) This painting is my “copy” of a righthand corner of a painting by Joshua Johnson, earliest known Black professional artist! This painting (a portrait of 3 children) was a commission in 1807.

I’m still thinking about this painting, even now. I wish I knew more about the artist, Joshua Johnson. What was his life like? Did he take every commission that came his way, or did he refuse some? Did these three kids pose like little angels, or were they moving around and being sassy while he was trying to paint them? What subjects did Joshua Johnson really love to paint, best of all? What was it like to be a Black artist at that time? How did he learn to paint? Did he have any other artist friends?

“George Moore in the Artist’s Garden” by Manet

Moving on, here’s another painting that really struck me. It’s a painting by Manet, 1879, called “George Moore in the Artist’s Garden.” I really love it. Such decisive, confident, efficient strokes. Dang! He left some canvas bare.

Why not? Nothing more is needed.

My sketch of “George Moore in the Artist’s Garden” pencil sketch on a postcard, 6 x 4 inches

Another painting that moved me: “The Seine” by Henry O. Tanner.

“The Seine” Painting by Henry O. Tanner

A few days later, I learned a little more about Tanner’s life. He was an absolutely incredible painter! He was born in Pittsburgh in 1891. However, as an African American artist, his career was hampered by racial prejudice. “I cannot fight prejudice and paint,” he announced before departing for Europe, where he enjoyed success in the Paris Salon.

His life seems so interesting. I’d like to learn more about him, and I’m hoping to get my hands on his autobiography, but so far I haven’t been able to find it. In the meantime, if you’re interested, here’s a link to some biographical information on the National Gallery of Art website.

“The Seine” Up-close Painting Detail by Henry O. Tanner

So, in conclusion, I had three wonderful days in D.C., in which I immersed myself in the glorious wealth of art in the National Gallery. Then on Monday afternoon, I took the train to Richmond, Virginia. So I’ll stop here, and continue the story of my art adventures in my next blog post. Thanks for following along!

Below: some more paintings, and details of paintings, that especially moved or interested me:

Continue in Art Adventure (part 4): Richmond

Art Adventure (part 2): Washington D.C.

On Friday, February 2nd, I drove down to my sister’s house in Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia. I got to meet my new niece, baby Nina, who was 9 days old! After a short visit with them, I left my car at their house and took the train to 30th Street Station, and then from there to Washington D.C., Union Station. Wow, what a gorgeous train station!

Union Station, Washington D.C.

My friend Emma met me at Union Station, and together we walked a few blocks back to her house. Emma and I have been friends since we were freshmen at Bryn Mawr College in 1999. (So…over 23 years!) Then in our sophomore year, we both decided it wasn’t the right fit for us, and we transferred to different colleges near each other in Massachusetts. (I went to Hampshire and she went to UMass.) Emma and I are kindred spirits. She is a thoughtful poet who loves nature and solitude. Over the decades that followed our undergrad years, we nourished a deep friendship through old fashioned letter writing. I hadn’t seen Emma in person since the spring of 2018. I can remember the day that we walked through the National Mall six years ago, beneath glorious pink cherry blossoms. It was during that walk that Emma told me she was pregnant! And now, in February 2024, she has a 5-year-old daughter named Laurel.

When we got to Emma’s house, I was delighted to greet Emma’s partner Matt, and meet little Laurel for the first time. Laurel was absolutely enchanting. We played together and made lots of paper dolls. I drew a princess, a mermaid, an octopus, and a shark, which we colored in and cut out so they could go on adventures. Then we drew little worlds for them to play in: an ocean, a meadow, and a little house. Laurel showed me all her stuffed animals and was obliging enough to pose for me with them as I sketched.

“Laurel and her stuffed animals” sketchbook

I also sketched their elegant cat, Artemis.

“Artemis,” sketchbook

I had forgotten how much energy a 5-year-old has! (My own kids are now 13 and 17 and it’s quite different.) So, I was pretty tired when I went to bed that night and I slept very well. Emma had a a good friend down the block who owned an air bnb apartment, and he let me stay there for free! I couldn’t believe my good fortune! (I left behind a small oil painting as a thank-you gift for his incredible generosity.)

It was so amazing to have a little apartment all to myself, just walking distance from the National Gallery! And there were so many interesting books in the apartment. (On the first night, I picked up a copy of A Lost Lady by Willa Cather and I read it during the three nights I stayed there. I love the way Willa Cather writes.)

The next morning after breakfast at Emma’s house, I brought out my gouache paints and Emma, Laurel, and I painted together at the kitchen table. I did a painting of the two of them painting.

“Laurel and Emma, painting with gouache” postcard

In the afternoon, Emma and I went on a wonderful long walk around Capitol Hill, looking at all the important government buildings. During our walk we got to talk and reconnect. So much had happened for us since we last saw each other, six years before, and we had so much to talk about. It was unseasonably warm for early February, and the sun felt good as we walked.

Emma convinced me to go inside the Library of Congress, and I’m so glad she did. It was incredible, all the art everywhere, mosaics and carvings and murals. I felt like I might break my neck with all the craning I did to look up at all the decorations.

As we walked back to Emma’s house afterwards, I felt light-headed and giddy, almost drunk with art. It was as if I had eaten a full banquet. Back in my apartment, I took a long nap and dreamed about art.

To Be Continued…

Art Adventure (part 3): The National Gallery

you may also want to read: Art Adventure (part 1): Train Reflections

Emma and me, in the Library of Congress.

“Sketch of a mural I saw in the Library of Congress” postcard

“Memory of an owl mosaic at the Library of Congress” gouache on paper, postcard

Further Reading:

Art Adventure (part 1): Train Reflections

Art Adventure (part 1): Train Reflections

"I feel just like a full sponge, having soaked up so much art..." 
--postcard to my mom

“Train to Richmond” gouache on a postcard, 4 x 6 inches

I had an amazing art adventure last month.  I traveled by train from Philadelphia to Washington, D.C., and then a few days later, to Richmond, Virginia. I visited with some good friends in each city, and I spent many long, lovely days wandering in the art museums.  Now, back home and settled into regular life again, I feel like my soul is brimming full of art. I am excited to get back into my studio with a renewed spirit.

“Looking out the train window (1)” gouache on a postcard, 4 x 6 inches

One of my favorite parts of the trip was the evening train ride from D.C. to Richmond.  As the train sped southward, I felt like I was carrying with me not only my suitcase, but also all of the beautiful paintings that I had seen in the National Gallery the past few days. The luscious and rich imagery was inside of me, riding along at the speed of hte train, as I gazed out the window into the darkness.

Outside the train window, the sun had set, but a vivid pink-red color still lingered on the horizon. The train must have been running alongside a river or some other body of water, because I could see the dark tree branches and the saturated sunset colors were reflected below. As I looked, I was almost surprised to notice my own reflection. My face was translucent; behind my face you could see the sunset and the trees. Suddenly, I wanted to paint it very badly. I was so excited by my urge to make a painting that I could hardly sit still in my train seat.

In the following days, I did a couple of small gouache postcard paintings of this motif, which I am sharing here.  And finally, last week I was able to start a large oil painting version in my studio.  It’s still in the early stages, but I hope to share it with you soon.

“Looking out a train window (2)” gouache on a postcard, 4 x 6 inches

I am now in the process of slowly journaling and reflecting on my trip. I will continue to share more of my thoughts and sketches in future blog posts. (This is the first in a series.)

I have so much gratitude to everyone who pre-bought my hand-painted and hand-drawn postcards. You all helped make this trip possible for me. Thank you!

Hand-painted and hand-drawn postcards to wonderful art patrons.

Continue Reading “Art Adventure (part 2): Washington, D.C.”

Mother and Child on a Winter Day

This is a painting of my friend Marybeth and her first baby, William, from 2018. (She is now pregnant with baby #3!) In reality, Marybeth is much more slender than I've painted her here, but I used my artistic license to exaggerate the size of the mother’s figure. I wanted to capture the feeling a baby has of being totally enveloped in the largeness of his mother’s love. To him, his mother feels as large as the Earth itself, holding him safely. She is his whole world.

Here are some more sketches of Marybeth and baby William:

And then, a few months later, William is walking! A new era has begun…

Further reading: Baby Sketches (drawings I did when my own kids were babies)

Sad Christmas Carols

“Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone...”

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone

excerpt “In the Bleak Midwinter”

Song by Christina Rossetti and Gustav Holst

Even though Christmas is meant to be a joyful holiday, I often feel bleak, lonely, and overwhelmed. But I do like some of the music, and I enjoy playing the piano and singing. Music gives me permission to feel my feelings, even my saddest feelings, and I need that. So all month long, I have been singing Christmas carols in my studio and crying a bit while I make lots of small paintings (6 x 8 inches each) with India ink and white charcoal. Here are some paintings illustrating the parts of the songs that move me the most.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting light

excerpt “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem”

Song by Lewis Redner and Phillips Brooks

Bring a torch, Jeanette Isabella!

Bring a torch, to the cradle run!

excerpt “Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella”

music anonymous 17th century. French: Emile Blemont, English: E. Cuthbert Nunn

I played my best for Him.

excerpt “The Little Drummer Boy”

Song by Katherine Kennicott Davis

Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how
I can go no longer.

excerpt “Good King Wenceslas

Song by John Mason Neale and Thomas Helmore

In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter's night that was so deep

excerpt “The First Noel”

anonymous (traditional English carol)

“I,” said the dove, from the rafters high,
“I cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry,
we cooed Him to sleep, my mate and I…”

excerpt “The Friendly Beasts”

English words by Robert Davis, but the song may be quite old, 12th century France or maybe even older

The stars in the sky
Look down where He lay

excerpt “Away in a Manger”

lyrics anonymous, music versions by William J. Kirkpatrick and James Ramsey Murray

Dahlias and Time

“Painting is an act of consciously letting go.

Beholding. Responding. Releasing.”

Every autumn, my friend Katy brings me dahlias from the little farm up the road where she lives. For several years now, she brings me buckets and buckets of dahlias each week, as long as they are in bloom. The gorgeous blossoms fill my house with color. They are like bright jewels: glowing yellows, fiery oranges, deep reds. Sometimes I come home to find bouquets waiting for me on my front steps. Other days, Katy texts me and asks if I want to meet her in the field, so we can pick the dahlias together. I like those days especially, because then we can talk to each other about life, our struggles and hopes. We give each other support and encouragement.

The cyclical abundance of dahlias in my life naturally inspires a lot of paintings. Katy has told me that she loves to see all my dahlia paintings, and that she gets a vicarious sense of pride whenever I sell one of those paintings. And I love to paint them!

work-in-progress

However, the thing about dahlias is that they demand to be painted now, and they won’t hang around until later, either. I must drop everything else I’m doing in order to try and capture these glorious bouquets. Otherwise, they fade away, and all I have is my memories. I guess this is true with many things in life. Maybe everything…

In her book How to Do Nothing, Jenny Odell writes “Hockney valued painting because of the medium’s relationship to time. According to him, an image contained the amount of time that went into making it, so that when someone looked at one of his paintings, they began to inhabit the physical, bodily time of its being painted.” I love this concept. It makes the act of painting into something magical.

my house was filled with dahlias

I recently started writing a poem about my desire to capture time before it changes. Painting, and especially painting dahlias, is sort of like trying to paint my teenage children, to catch them in the act of growing up. Because my kids are growing at an incredible pace. I can almost observe them growing as I paint them. It’s wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time.

This obsession with painting my kids constantly, this feeling of desperate urgency…is it a deluded attempt to try and stop time? To try to hold my kids close to me forever?

Of course that can never be. And so, painting is an act of consciously letting go.

Beholding. Responding. Releasing.

“Dahlias in a Mason Jar” oil on board, 12 x 9 inches

“Autumn Dahlias” oil on canvas mounted on board, 12 x 12 inches

“October Dahlias” oil on canvas, 10 x 8 inches

“Dahlias in a Blue Vase” oil on board, 12 x 12 inches

“Dahlias and Marigolds” oil on canvas mounted on board, 12 x 12 inches

“Katy’s Blue Vase” oil on board, 12 x 9 inches

“Family Arranging Flowers” oil on board, 16 x 20 inches

Me, gathering dahlias…