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.

All My Blog Posts By and About JD Wissler:

Blogs about Monotype Workshops I took with JD Wissler:


Blogs Featuring JD Wissler’s Poems and Artwork

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

“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

“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

“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

“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

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!  

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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…

Cry of a Lone Bird

“there in the darkness we listen…”

— poem excerpt by JD Wissler

"Remembered Reflection" ink on paper 8.5 x 9.75 inches

Poems and Paintings by JD Wissler

Cry of a Lone Bird

as we stand at the edge of light, there where the barn wall turns....

leaning together…peering into the void, we hear the sound. 

a cry...in the dark (our eyes adjusting, we see edges of things)

cry of a lone bird....calling, no squawking...as if to find another...there in that unknown night landscape

(we would know it in the light of day....but not now, even though we recognize the dark mass of leafless tree)

there in the darkness we listen (mom and I) leaning...both listening

we are silent...the bird ...its squawking begins a rhythm..1-2-3 there.

There it is again. 1-2-3 again...

what is it...this bird...a lone hawk....crying....

(a night hawk, is there such a bird? a black crowned night heron....?)

the moments, adding up...unaware of how long we are standing there...we listen, we share

leaning into the dark at the edge of light...I shift...she looks.

we both turn, the gray flat surface of the driveway looks vast....she walks toward the house...a light in the window....her figure (small) moving slowly...looking in...looking at the house....

the lone cry becomes distant...the bird has moved away...mom does the same.

It is different now, these experiences....

oil painting by JD Wissler

Leaves, golden brown


leaves , golden brown.

air moves them

one falling into the meadow

 

our eyes (we three) follow the other

falling into the creek

 

the surface of the water is a crisp reflection of sky

we look at each other

eyes welling with tears, reflecting the same

 

the leaf comes to life as it rides just under the surface of the clear water

touching the billowing gray white cloud

the cloud

 

My father saw these things in this place

as a child

as an old man

 

he loved them

water, sky, leaves

us

 

water now carries him

a gray white cloud through the stream.... moving, ultimately to the ocean

we say these words....remembering

 

remembering his life

his love

moving

 

moving, like water

stream

through us (we three)

 

the sky is crisp

clear

beautiful

diptych by JD Wissler, oil on canvas, 30 x 48 inches

Rain

rain

hitting a window, which side of the house?

where is the wind coming from?

 

his feet are wet....

soap on the rag, his foot in my hand

washing

 

where is the rain hitting?

stop to listen

it...seems important

 

something we all should know

where the wind is

where the rain is

 

his feet

showing time

old, how long they have walked.

 

where have they walked?

rinsing them now

we stop

 

stop to reminisce

where have they walked...

his feet

 

toweling them dry now

carefully... between each toe

smiling as they tickle

 

I never knew

he was ticklish!

his feet!

 

in my hand

dad

in my hand

 

the rain is no longer hitting the window

we look to see

if it is over

 

the rain

no longer hitting the window

mom smiles

 

she is there

always there

she, he

 

rain

 window

      me

oil painting by JD Wissler

"Silent Jazz" ink on paper 5.5 x 9.25 inches