Noisy Night and Various Blessings

(Seeing as it's nearly impossible to take pictures of sounds or noise, the photos here are going to be drawn from other inspirations. Personally? I don't like blogs that lack pictures! However, last night, I went to use the bathroom and happened to see a few of Bob's recent sculptures, illuminated by the downstairs hall light. It was atmospheric enough to stand in for an illustration of "sounds".)
In any event, last night at The Bauhaus Chicken Coop was spectacularly noisy. As Bob and I donned our sleeping caps and settled down for a early summer's night nap every possible thing that could make noise made noise.
I don't remember what was first, but there was an odd persistent sound somewhere between video game electronic music and herds of ruminating hoofed animals. We kept going to the open windows, attempting to isolate just what was making that sound. No luck. But it soon mixed with tree frogs, birds and the occasional giant airplane transversing our yard, directly over the sky light. Also heard were endless drones of motocycles or cars and trucks from the nearby highway. Then there was the persistent yapping of various neighborhood dogs as well as the sharp and protracted complaints of what sounded like at least ten coyotes, near and far. And suddenly there was a tremendous BOOOM!!! from what must have been a gun shot, probably fired at the coyotes. And next- inexplicably- the rapid explosions of fireworks. And it's not even the fourth of July. So much for the sound effect portion of this posting...

(Eerie, no? So it was 2:00 when I went out to take these photos, but unlike the night before, it was utterly silent! But you have to look closely to see Bob's sculpture...)

And, yes, I received several blessings recently. Maybe it stems from my new-found appreciation of a pope who actually seems to have a heart and a mind. (Gotta like a pope that not only states that human life is causing climate change, and also remarks about income disparity and our wasteful consumer culture. You go, pope!) In any event, last week I had just wheeled a hefty barrow full of horse manure around to the compost pile when I spied a car in the driveway. I approached, thinking it was probably some of Bob's customers for his garden metal work. But as I got nearer, I saw a thick book in the hand of the lady who had alighted from the car. She said, "I'd like to invite you to a study group that I'm certain you'll find interesting." I responded, "I don't think you really want to talk to me or invite me to your group. I'm an artist and a heathen." Without missing a beat, she asked, "And how long have you been a heathen?" That was pretty funny! But she threw some sort of all purpose blessing at me as she got into the escape vehicle.
And a a week or so earlier, while in Brooklyn, Bob and i passed by an open air worship service of some sort. Hell, we were looking for art but we received a free blessing from a young woman trying to drag us into prayer. And of course, I walk by the house of the retired nuns up the road and they're always dispensing blessings to me and Jules the Dog. For being a heathen artist, I seem to be awash in blessings!

New Show at Gallerie Kenmore and Open Studios

Now showing at Gallerie Kenmore is none other than my sister Cathy! Congratulations to Cathy on her two one-person shows! Not only is she the featured artist at Gallerie Kenmore, but her work is on display at the John Bryan Gallery in Farmington CT. Her drawings of cats continue to be stellar, capturing the true "cattiness" while using an economy of line. Brava!
Cathy's show leads quite nicely into today's sermon.
The phenomenon of the so-called "Open Studio" is much like the "Art Fair": they are suddenly everywhere, and both offer crash course overviews of just what is out there for aesthetic consumption. In full disclosure mode, I admit that I have personally taken part in a number of open studios and therefore have experienced this adventure from both sides.
Recently, Bob and I traveled to the Bushwick section of Brooklyn and braved somewhere between 75 to 100 studios, out of a potential 500 (plus). Bob and I have similar tastes and habits and have a sort of shorthand that allows us to see art at this break neck pace. If after 2 seconds of entering a space neither one of us is moving forward, being drawn deeper into the studio or gallery a brief flicker of eye contact is all that's needed to signal a speedy departure. We know what we're looking for and it's almost always immediately apparent- or not. I am certain that we occasionally miss works of quiet genius but mostly we conserve energy for more gripping fare.
I am relieved to announce to my non-New York based artist friends that (to my eye and mind) we have nothing to fear. I guess the suspicion is that work in New York must always be of a higher caliber, more challenging subject matter, more cutting edge... just more more. I am hereby reporting that we saw A LOT of painting, some good, some okay and some just plain peculiar. Fr'instance, who could have predicted that we'd see so much "classical" figurative work? I was nonplussed at just how much the nude (women in particular) occupied artist's time. Really. Lots of what I call "intestinal" painting abounded, too. That's work defined by large digestive-tract inspired squiggles and grace notes in pastelish tones. (The art fairs seem to celebrate this impulse, too.) And just as I remarked to Bob that we had seen almost no sculpture, we both realized that the three studios where we were the most engaged and liked the work the most were all sculptors.

(That's a gratuitous view of my studio table and a sneak peak of what I'm working on. Tons of minute letters...) And interestingly, we saw very little installation work or video! I guess nothing much that I would describe as "new media", except this one studio that we had to climb three flights of stairs to be met with a lack-lustre assemblage of a couple of oranges hung in a net within a geometric frame. Not very interesting and further into the studio (Bob had already exited) were to entirely self-absorbed young men (one probably the artist) deep in a private conversation with their backs to me and the other two people who had delved into the space. Apparently, behind a curtain in the corner was a video but absolutely nothing welcomed me and I exited! Artists: at least try and engage your audience! They're very hard to come by and may actually be collectors or gallery owners. As it is, Bob and I were further reinforced in our unfortunate assumption that 95% of the attendees to this Open Studios were artists. Very few dealers/collectors/art policy people in sight!

(Another interior shot of my studio). The other observation that I offer about all the studios and galleries and buildings that we visited was the smell. This was an unexpected experience. The studios- especially the interior ones- smelled almost impossibly of floor paint, newly coated walls, oil paint and it's accompanying solvents and human odors such as perfume, cologne and sweat. A few spaces had us retreating so fast that I couldn't even tell you what they were showing.
I also admit that I perused a few "Best of Open Studios" listings after the fact and we somehow hadn't seen any of them. I guess that's understandable when there are 500 or so spaces on display. No one offered us a list of must-sees before the Open Studios. And then there is the fact that all art work is subjective and what one viewer likes, the next one hates. That's art for you!
And the word that best summed up our overall experience? I called much of what we saw "apologetic" art. Colors were pale, gestures were tepid and there seemed a lack of conviction or just a sense of apologizing for it's existence. It's as if many of the artists felt less than convinced about their need to make or show work. I am sympathetic as being an artist isn't easy and lord knows there isn't a whole lot of support or love out there,( not to mention the constant hustle and push that frequently make other artists large pains in the asses. Don't get me started!) I came home feeling newly reinvigorated about my own direction and purpose. I feel GOOD about my work!

Garden Mistakes

Okay, we'll start with the good stuff. I especially like this view of the garden, with everything sort of spilling backwards towards the horse barn (which always looks so much tinier than it is.) There's plenty going on: Spireas echoing the color of the Chamaecyparis obtusa "cripsii" and the variegated yucca. And to the left, there's some good bright red from a Weigiela(also with variegated leaves). And a good dark section thanks to the bronzey foliage of Physocarpus opulifolius "Coppertina" (commonly called "ninebark".)  And the white and green variegated ribbon grass in the right adds a bright spot. Nice! Lots going on...
And this will serve to distract us from the inevitable... Garden Mistakes. Oh! The horrors!
Both of my admission to major mistakes are in the Blue Garden. You can imagine what the problem is: the flowers are not blue.

See that? Nice tall spikes of Camassia but the danged things were supposed to be BLUE. I plant these bulbs in the fall and have to wait half a year to discover that there's been a labeling mistake. I contemplated pouring a pint of blue food color around the roots, thinking maybe the plant would draw the color upwards into the flowers... But no, I'll dig them up and move them to the white section. Alas.
Here's the next travesty:

Yes, it's magnificent. A beautiful volunteer foxglove (Digitalis) from somewhere but why did it have to land here in the Blue Garden and be such a pretty speckled pink? So I'm torn. It is truly out of place in the Blue Garden, but I can't just yank it out. I will probably dig it out once it starts to set seed as I'd love it to sow itself... just not here!

This Is Your Horse on Drugs

In this picture, poor Maggie is staggering. Why, you may ask? Because the vet came today to administer her annual shots and I suggested that maybe her teeth needed floating. Several things conspired to make this a less than pleasant visit...
First, allow me to introduce the uninitiated into the mysteries of horse dental practice, called "floating". Horses teeth, housed in a seriously long and strong jaw, wear unevenly and cause the horse to chew their food poorly and not be able to digest all that nice hay and grass and grain thoroughly. They also suffer from cuts to the inside of their mouths from sharp points that form on their teeth. It makes the bit of a bridle feel less than comfortable, too. So the vet brings files and rasps and pries the horses jaw open, pull their tongue to one side and file away. It sounds sort of awful and it's not for the feint of heart to witness, but it is "good" for them in the long run. (It is, quite simply, one of the many reasons that horses in the wild live much shorter lives than domesticated horses.) But some horses want none of it. Mine proved to be one of these.

My typically low-key horse decided that the attentions of a vet- who didn't exactly introduce himself in a warm and fuzzy manner- were most unwelcome. And I will add the worst thing was that they sent a different vet than the one who usually comes and whom I requested, so this guy was a stranger to her and me. Maggie put on quite the display of Black Stallion-like antics, rearing and striking the air with her front hooves and circling frantically at the end of her lead line and generally becoming very agitated. The vet kept saying to me, "Just hold her really tight." I was like, "Yeah, sure" as I was pulled into the air. And mind you, this was to just administer the shots, not even float her teeth! He finally got the needle into her and she probably thought the worst was behind her but no! This lunatic was trying to grab her nose and look into her mouth! Now she was REALLY upset.
I confess I didn't really know what to do as Maggie was wound up and possibly dangerous (as horses tend to be while terrified), so when the vet offered two scenarios, I was torn. One was that he leave and return at some future date, when we'd probably encounter the same situation all over again (and he'd charge me another $100 for a house call), or two that he drug her. I admit to not liking the idea one bit, but realized that she needed her teeth done and she was utterly distressed; why put her through that again?

 So she got another needle- no easy feat that! and in like two minutes her head was drooping and she was sedated enough to float. The vet's assistant and I had to hold Maggie's head up so that he could proceed and let me assure you that a horse's head is really heavy. But it got done...
I feel badly in hindsight that poor Maggie had such a hard time. I know from past vet visits that she's not wild about "procedures", but I also think this vet was not a charming guy. Put bluntly, I didn't like him much. On the other hand, there are only a couple of horse vets in the area. Next time, I'll make sure it's his partner that comes out!
He did have one interesting thing to say though. When he was feeling Maggie's throat, trying to locate a vein, he felt this peculiar dent that Maggie has on her neck. Typically, it's under her mane so that you don't see it. He said, "Oh, she has The Prophet's Thumb". You can google this to see the whole story, but legend has it that the Prophet Muhammadselected five mares that had proven especially loyal to him and he "blessed" them with this indent (his thumbprint). Supposedly, the horses thus marked are especially swift and intelligent and just plain special. My Maggie! They're also supposed to have good luck, but I guess her luck ran out today.
And here's Jules, being jealous of the attention that Maggie got. He didn't realize he was the lucky one, stuck in the house but not requiring the services of a veterinarian!

Hooray for Rain!

Well, yes, the rain is a good thing except that it came in buckets and piles and droves and gigantic, epic cascades. I was outside, attempting to plant some of the many plants and seedlings that need attention, making decent progress when it started to rain. I ignored it for a few minutes, being already muddy and soaked through. But the thunder came and the rain got harder and harder and even Jules wondered why we were still outside. It's a good thing I sought shelter when I did because the rain was heroic and continued for the entire evening. And into today! I even left work a bit early as it was slow, thinking I could return to my gardening tasks but it started pouring on my way home and I was washed out again.
But there are some early (for me) garden high lights. The above Clematis "Elsa Spath" (apparently also called "Xerxes") was a rescue. I bought it- on clearance- two years ago at Walmart of all places) for (gasp) $1.50. It consisted (at that point of a badly bent stem, all of about eight inches long with this one giant flower. I admit it, I didn't have any real hope of its survival; I just felt bad for it. But here's one grateful clematis! Great color, too. I tried (unsuccessfully) to get a good shot of the dark purple smoke bush (Cotinus) behind the Clematis as they really are spectacular together. Here's a closer shot- these flowers are huge!

Of course all that rain has probably shattered the flowers; I know it's making a mess out of the peonies! Gardening has its frustrations. Too bad we can't all put out multiple buckets and collect all the extra rain and send it to California.

How about a cheesy shot of fiddleheads? I took this a couple of weeks back on my walk. I know people eat them- and they're delicious! but they're so early to come up that it seems a shame. Not much else is green then. And now suddenly, so many things are blooming!