Monday, May 20, 2019

My Paintings on Display at 510 Warren Street in Hudson, New York

Some of my paintings will be on display for the month of June at 510 Warren Street in Hudson, N.Y.

The gallery is located in the heart of downtown Hudson and represents the work of artists from the Hudson Valley, New York City and Berkshire County.

The opening reception will be Saturday, June 1, from 3 to 6 p.m. I hope you will join me and several other artists working in diverse media and stylistic approaches.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

What Ways Are There to Celebrate May?

In the meadow this morning are three horses brown white and grey
and today they are playing and whinnying and galloping and they just don’t stop
I think to
myself it must be
that they are feeling like me enveloped in the
warmth and
of spring.
What ways are there to celebrate May?
The dance of the hummingbirds lighting at the feeder

The sprouting of bleeding heart in the garden
The sudden appearance of a messy birds’ nest above the porch light
(with threads of blue twisted into the mix of brown twigs and grass.)
It’s just the most beautiful spring day
It is warmth and breeze and sunlight 
and a sky of blue crystalline perfection.
And whinny I would if I could to say a humble thank you God
for bringing me to this day to this season to all of my blessings
a house
my health
my grandchild
my husband
my children
my puppy dog
two sisters and a brother
a father and a mother in law
my dear friend Sharon
and on and on and on
like the endless shush and whisper of wind
the sweet twitter of birds
the scarlet tanager I saw with my very own eyes
oh and thanks too for these eyes
which help me to behold  
life and creation and bliss
and hands to write this
this poem.

Dedicated to Mary Marino and Sharon Flitterman-King, two AMAZING human beings..

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

How It Feels and How to Change It

Ask me how it feels and I’ll say
Do you really want to know and
then I’ll tell you:
there’s a swamp rotting away in my gut,
and it’s flooded with something like gasoline
and yes, it will explode into flames if I
touch it with a match. Or, imagine this:
I’m a bear with raw bloody flesh hanging from
my vicious incisors. I shake my head and stare at
you with a savage look in my eyes.
My claws are poised to rip off your face.

Yeah, so, ok, I think that covers the emotions
scissoring through my chest this morning.
Enough of that. Now try this:
Inhale. Close your eyes and take the air
way down deep into your pelvis
and then keep it going until it fills your legs and feet.
And don’t stop until you are
breathing calmly.

Now open your eyes and look out the
window at that itty bitty hummingbird
sitting on top of the shephard’s
hook. Gaze out into the lush green meadow
where the two brown horses are lazy grazing,
their tails switching.
Then stare at the red tulips and the pale
yellow daffodils in the garden.
Close your eyes again and type the word
Until you can see it make everything glow.

Remember this:
there are going to be
so ravaging, so
you won’t
know how
to move
So don’t even try.
Just let your (s)words
fall into warm seafoam waters.
Lie back and float on the calm blue seas that
you create out of your own stanzas.
Be grateful that you have a basket full of
four-color images ready
inside your head
and whenever you want to
you can
pour them out on paper
until the crisis passes.            

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Flame Painting

Have switched out of my dream painting series, into something more bold.

I am painting this a layer at a time. The paint is really thick so it's taking some time to dry. I keep it on the easel and keep trying to see what it needs next.

Meanwhile, a painting of mine will be in the Stockbridge art show next week.

I call it "Racing Heart." I've had it so long and I feel so close to it, that part of me really doesn't want to sell it.

Monday, April 22, 2019

Photos Worth A Million Words

We all know the saying, a picture is worth a thousand words.

But then there are pictures which are so precious, so close to our hearts, they are worth way more than that.

A million words, easily.

I don't often post family photos on MyStoryLives, but I'm going overboard today. That's because we had such an amazing weekend celebrating Passover. My daughter Jocelyn and her husband Evan made a Seder dinner for 18. My grandson Ronen, who is five, wrote all the place cards.

When it came to writing his mother's card, he wrote her name, Jocelyn, and on top of that he wrote "Tarzan," because Jocelyn is pregnant and he long ago named the baby Tarzan.

Yesterday, we had breakfast in a wonderful Jewish deli cafe called Mamale's, which is in Cambridge.

And then we walked up Newberry Street, stopping for coffee and ice cream, and some shoe shopping. All in all, we had a wonderful time.

 Here are me and Jocelyn and my husband, Richard, at Mamale's.

And here is me and Ro at Seder, cuddling on the sofa. If you look to Ronen's right, you will see the baby doll he has begun caring for, in anticipation of being a BIG BROTHER TO TARZAN. Jocelyn has explained to him that the baby's name definitely WON'T be Tarzan after she is born.

I haven't asked, but I'm pretty sure they are not considering naming her Jane either.

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Poetry as a Mining Tool

Two Drops of Ink has published a new essay of mine, called "Poetry as a Mining Tool. "

It starts this way:

There are many reasons I love to write poetry –
it makes me feel good
it centers my emotions
it is exhilarating to feel my way through words --
but there is a very practical reason I write it too. 

(Continue at Two Drops of Ink)

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Reaching Toward Heaven, Take Two

By now, most of you probably know about my dream of last December, the one where my 1850's farmhouse in Austerlitz was modernized. The most amazing thing about the dream is what happened when I opened the back door.

The sand and the ocean were right there, even closer than the pond!

This was followed up by the appearance of a painting, the most beautiful (and celestial) painting I've ever seen. I knew it was a painting of heaven and I woke up dying to try to paint it myself.

The first version of the painting is called "Reaching Toward Heaven."

And today I think I've finished the larger version of the painting, the one I'm calling "Reaching Toward Heaven, Take Two."

The reason I say that I think the painting is finished is that when I stand in front of it (it's about 18 by 30 inches) I feel the same excitement I had when I woke up from my dream. It's a feeling in my torso and abdomen, one that is both tingling and expansive.

Oh, and another thing: the painting makes me want to smile.

Now I think it's time to do something new. I'm thinking of painting a large canvas a dark blue.

Stay tuned.

Thursday, April 04, 2019

Rejoicing the Pond

I sit here pondering
my pond.
I sit here trying to
find just the right words
to describe
the precise shade of its
grey green surface.
Not silvery,
except for spots
at certain angles.

Not pewter,
except now and then
when the light disappears
pewter fits a large patch.

I could say the pond is the
color of an elephant's
hide but then I'd have
to say that doesn't
capture the way the sunlight
plays in winter, skating
across the absolutely
smooth and frozen crust of water.

Why am I so hellbent
on communicating the color
of the pond? Why
am I compelled to freeze into words
the warm excitement I feel staring
out the window at this sight? 
It has everything to do with
the play of light.

Still, I ought to stop trying
to find the right words
and just let my eyes settle
and fill with the awesome 
beauty of the water.
I move my
mind to the bench and there,
I pull my bathrobe tight and
breathe in the breeze and 
rejoice in the pond and the glowing sunlight
turns the surface white
and slightly mirrored.

Wednesday, April 03, 2019

Poetry as Prayer, Painting as Meditation

Yesterday I painted a larger version of

"Reaching Toward Heaven." That was the painting I did after a dream like no other.

I was in the other house, the old one, although it was now modernized. The best thing about the dream about the house was, when you opened the back door, there was the sand and the ocean.

And at the end of the dream there was a painting of heaven.

I had the dream in December and I am still trying to paint that painting.

Today I sit. And I contemplate the new painting, and the original.


Then I turn my attention to the pyramid candle. I stare into the white lick of flame, and the blue core at the bottom of the wick. 


This is always the same flame.  The same flame I stare into every morning.  


What?  You say what? What are you saying?


Yes, I pray.  My prayers are my poetry, my poetry is prayer.

I pray to Mary.  And to all of creation.


I say, Mary, stay with me.  Let your blue silk cape drape over me.  Make it a tent over the world in which I move.


Guide my every


Moment.  Let the words I speak I sing when I open my mouth


“Pour your chant from the bushes,


Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.”


Make of my soul’s yearnings a flutter of hope.  A wild cry bent by starlight, far spread by rain, raised on clouds to the mountaintops.  


Let me chant inside and out, systematically covering the crops, the animals.  That the Earth be blessed.  


Let that chant not be stopped.


For.  Ever.




Friday, March 29, 2019

Robins Robins Everywhere

I so wish I had a photo
so you could see what
I saw
in the meadow:
dozens of robins
landed there
in the brown
stubble of
Every which way
they crisscrossed
the field
coming close to
the house.
I would not
say they
were bobbing.
But rather, they perched,
their rust-colored
tbrust boldly
Never in my entire
life have I seen
so many robins
promising so
And maybe never
will I see it
which is why
I so wanted
a photo
which is
I lay
these words
to save
the moment.