"This land, this water, this air, this planet - this is our legacy to our young." (-Paul Tsongas)

A December graduate of our program at Duke died last weekend. 

Another student had written and told me the sad news in an email, which I read fairly late last Saturday night.   I debated whether or not to mention it in my blog,  but I decided that I would.  

Of course, he and his family, and all of the other students, have been on my mind all week long.   He was in the prime of his life.   Like so many of our students, he was smart, talented, passionate, full of ideals.   He was definitely someone who would have done remarkable things in his future, but it wasn't meant to be.    Rather, he was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident: one minute, he was alive, and the next moment, he wasn't.   

This was not a student I knew very well.   We smiled at one another in hallways, I chatted with him briefly when he'd come into our office here and there, and I observed him on campus at different times, but I was not close to him.    His impact on the entire school this past week, however,  is so very apparent, and it's obvious that his is a life that had real purpose;  already, at a young age, his was a life lived well.  How many of us can say that?

Sadly, I learned much more about him in death than I did while he was living.  
 

I traveled to Massachusetts late this past week, because I had an event I was attending at Harvard.  It was an excellent event, and I'm glad I was able to go.  I also saw my own son and my daughter-in-law the first night I visited.  I shared with them that I felt so fortunate to be visiting my son, while this student's parents would never have a chance to see their son again.   I had wanted to attend the memorial service at Duke for this student, but I was gone when it was held.  

His faculty advisor wrote that he'd read a portion of a Robert Browning poem in this student's honor at the beginning of class, which touched me:

"the wild joys of living!

the leaping from rock to rock,

the rending of boughs from the fir tree,

the silver shock of the plunge into a cool pool of living water..."

And I thought of this quotation I clipped long ago:

"This is the beginning of a new day.

You have been given this day to use as you will.

You can waste it or use it for good.

What you do today is important because you are exchanging a day of your life for it.

When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever; in its place is something that you have left behind...

let it be something good."  (-Unknown)



"Remember that the most valuable antiques are dear old friends." (--H Jackson Brown, Jr)

Joe and I both love to spend hours navigating all the paraphernalia there is to see in flea markets and antique shops. 

We used to go early most Saturday mornings to the Raleigh flea market,  trying to get out there before the sun would be searing hot.   We've found all sorts of things that have tugged at our heart-strings over the years, and our home is testament to  it.   

I have a delightful set of tiny juice glasses and a matching pitcher that we got for a song--they're perfect for breakfast juices.   You've seen some of our other finds: there's our bluebird salt and pepper shakers, of course, and the yellow carafe that doubles for us as a great vase.  There's a pretty china container that matched the colors  in our bathroom that we'd newly remodeled, and I use it for holding Q-tips!    We've come away with pretty linens, and delicate little bowls in a set of 5 are still precious to me, even though I know one is missing. 

There's something about rummaging through old things: I think it's that I consider how these objects lived a different life with someone else and I've kind of adopted them in mine.  I like to come up with novel uses for things I find, and I'm pleased to give old things a new home.  We never spend a lot on things we pick up, but I think of them as little treasures, just the same.   Joe and I are good adoptive parents--we take good care of things, appreciate them, and use them; each is cherished.

This sweet embroidered piece above was calling out to me on one trip to an old antique shop in downtown Raleigh a number of years ago.   I lightened the photo up a bit so you can see it better.  In the flesh, it's a very old piece, on faded linen with beautifully embroidered letters, and I loved it: we hung it in the entryway of our guest room.   The simple black frame came with it, and I gingerly hung it the minute we got home, since I knew just where I wanted it.

Every time I look at it, I think about some woman who sat and painstakingly dipped needle into fabric and meticulously held the soft fabric and thread in her hands.  The stitches are tiny, precise "x's."   I hate that it was tucked in a corner of an old shop, with no one to enjoy it. 

"I collect antiques.  Why?  Because they're beautiful."  (-Broderick Crawford)

(posted at LaGuardia airport while I wait for the next plane to Boston, since my flight was canceled.) 

"I enjoy the quiet life." (--Martin Yan)

A Quiet Poem*

When music is far enough away

the eyelid does not often move

and objects are still as lavender

without breath or distant rejoinder.

The cloud is then so subtly dragged

away by the silver flying machine

that the thought of it alone echoes

unbelievably; the sound of the motor falls

like a coin toward the ocean's floor

and the eye does not flicker

as it does when in the loud sun a coin

rises and nicks the near air.  Now,

slowly, the heart breathes to music

while the coins lie in wet yellow sand. 

(-Frank O'Hara)

*(for Chris and Rose)

The Sketchbook Project is live: they're on the road now!

I think the best way to see them is probably to select  "View all Images" and then select "Gallery View" setting. 

"Every spring is the only spring--a perpetual astonishment" (-Ellis Peters)

This little guy has been chomping on all our pansies in the front yard.  I catch him most mornings as I'm leaving for work, and see them cropped and devoid of color every day.  But he knows that the first signs of spring are starting in North Carolina.  He's no fool.   I'm so glad we live where we do get a winter, but spring is not far off...

For now, I have to content myself with little Piu Piu inside, holding paper clips for me.   But soon, the birds will all be cannoodling and building nests.  I've been hearing them recently--they're much more vociferous than they have been, and I know that's a sign that they'll be starting their spring rituals soon.   I'm looking forward to new little ones like this sweet thing below who greeted me a year or two ago in our front yard:

He hasn't quite grown into his own beak or legs yet.  I think he looks like he's asking me, "Are you my mother?"  

 And remember our bluebird babies?  Soon, they will be nesting--usually March is the deciding moment for their first clutch.

Until then, I'm patiently enjoying my bluebirds here inside...

 ...and using my bird vase to enjoy until the real things get kicking. 

Last night, on my way home to Cary, I noticed a pink flowering tree already blooming along the avenues dividing the two lanes of traffic.  My heart skipped a beat.   Unbelievable, right?!  Our tulip foliage is popping up and the daffodils will soon be open.  Joe picked a gorgeous red camellia from our back yard and put it in a tiny vase for me last night. 

It's coming!!

I got a note from the ArtHouse Coop folks, and they did receive my sketchbook, and they said that this weekend is the first weekend for viewing books, and very soon, the books will head off to cities around the country.  How fun!

Have a great weekend, all!



"We need to find a face-saving solution" (-Mohamed ElBaradei)

Well, it finally happened: talk about losing face. 

Our face fell off the maple tree in our yard the other day: one more task we'll have to get to on a weekend here soon.  The sage old man who's overseen our gardening efforts (and I suppose, our birds,) for about ten years now,  is showing signs of age.   You can hang these eyes, nose and mouth on a tree, and they'll stay there for years, ever diligent in guarding us.   Eventually, though, trees do grow and expand, pushing the features out to the surface,  and one by one, they have come off.  Time to start anew.  In the meantime, I'll miss him!

"Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty--they merely move it from their faces into their hearts."  (-Martin Buxbaum)

"Wild Strawberries"

"Are Wild Strawberries really wild?

Will they scratch an adult, will they snap at a child?

Should you pet them, or let them run free where they roam?

Could they ever relax in a steam-heated home?

Can they be trained to not growl at the guests?

Will a litter box work or would they leave a mess?

Can we make them a Cowberry, herding the cows

Or maybe a Muleberry pulling the plows,

Or maybe a Huntberry chasing the grouse,

Or maybe a Watchberry guarding the house,

And though they may curl up at your feet oh so sweetly,

Can you ever feel that you trust them completely?

Or should we make a pet out of something less scary,

Like the Domestic Prune or the Imported Cherry,

Anyhow, you've been warned, and I will not be blamed

If your Wild Strawberry cannot be tamed."

(--Shel Silverstein)

"Sewing mends the soul" (--Unknown)

First of all, thank you all so much for so many kind words of support over this past year, while I have periodically freaked out over my sister Claudia's health issues.  I've been so concerned about her, and it really helped to have people be so kind.   Unlike my mom, who never told anyone for years that she had MS, I'm not the kind of person who can keep that all bottled up inside; it helps me to get it out. 

Anyway, Claudia had her final surgery yesterday: she'd been sick with a dreadful cold and fever, and we were all worried that they might even put off this last surgery, and she'd have to wait even longer, so we're all very relieved that she  was able to have the surgery, and now she can finally start to feel like she's moving forward without tons of difficult things to face.  I'm so happy for her and so proud of her.  Many, many thanks!!

I've mentioned before that when we were growing up, my mom and my sisters, (Mary Kate and Claudia,) and I would often spend hours on end in the basement of our house.  

Why, you might well ask? 

Well, we were all avid seamstresses, and in our basement, we had several sewing machines, along with an ironing board, dressers, and drawers overflowing with patterns;  hanging racks with piles of fabrics, a radio, and a washer and dryer.   For someone who sewed, it was like being in a candy store. 

We thought nothing of whipping up a new outfit one night and being able to wear it the following day.  My mother had so many clothes, and was a beautiful seamstress.  We all taught ourselves to sew and loved making new things.  In fact, I would probably still sew all my clothes today if it wasn't a lot more expensive than it used to be, and if stores carried more fabrics that weren't primarily meant for making curtains and pillows! 

I have fond memories of us heading down to that basement: talking and commiserating with one another when something we were making wasn't going quite as we'd hoped.  

I hadn't thought about that basement for a long time, but  I found myself remembering some of those days while Claudia was sick over this past year... 

"Asking a seamstress to mend is like asking Michelangelo to paint your garage."  (--Unknown)

"Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit" (--Peter Ustinov)

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone.

I'm thinking once again of my sister Claudia: Monday is her final surgery.     

I'll be so glad when this is over for her.  It will be the end of a difficult passage in her life.    She's taught me a lot this year, and she's handled herself with grace, humor, and strength through adversity.

"Here is the deepest secret nobody knows.

Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

And the sky of the sky of a tree called life:

Which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide.

And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart.

I carry your heart.

I carry it in my heart."

(--ee cummings) 

"Art is the only way to run away without leaving home" (--Twyla Tharp)

OK,  I have a confession to make.

I have definitely come to the sorry conclusion that I'm just not a neat painter.  In fact, truth be told, I'm really quite sloppy.    It's a bit embarrassing.   I'll watch other people I know who paint, and somehow, the pigments in their palettes always look so pristine and organized, vibrant and lovely to me.  I'm in awe of them.  I've never been able to do that.  

Mind you, I have numerous palettes, because believe it or not,  I am somewhat particular about them:   I don't care for the plastic ones; I like metal Holbein-style palettes, but aside from that, my bad habits with them all are the same:   I very rarely wipe off the mixing well areas after painting, because I admit that I kind of like it when the paints dry and make neutral grays and diffuse tints.   

I just sort of dab whatever's there with water again, pick up some pan pigment, and  have at it the next time.  I don't care if there's been a green in that mixing well; if I want a pink, as long as there isn't a really dark stain left in the well, I just slap in a bit of alizarin crimson, or a magenta or something like a rose madder pigment mix in there, anyway.  

 I read, not too long ago, that Lucy Willis, one of my favorite artists, does that, and it made me feel better that someone as talented as Lucy had such idiosyncracies as well.   (Lucy never sketches first before painting, but she always goes directly in with paint, and sometimes sort of "sketches" out a light image with those muted grays that are formed from old mixes, first.)   She's amazing.   I have found myself doing that same thing quite often lately, so it made me feel validated to read that she does so.   When I'm finished, I do clean off my brushes, and put them safely away, but then I just close up the palettes with all the mess right there to greet me again the next go-round.

On some of my palettes, I shamefully admit that I don't even keep the pigments separate in separate pans.  I mean, I squeeze tube watercolors two to a pan sometimes, in opposite corners, but sort of like twins, sharing the same room. 

You can definitely see which paints I use the most, because they're the pans with big, gaping holes where vibrant pigments used to be.   French Ultramarine is a definite favorite that I evidently reach for all the time.

I'm also not one of those people whose yellows are spotless and light--I always have dabs of green or blue or red somewhere in their midst.  Same with my reds--I almost always find bits of blue there, where I've been mixing lavenders or purples.  I figure, you never know what interesting tints might emerge from such serendipity, and besides, if I really must, I can always resort to spritzing a little bit of water on them, and dabbing them off a bit to neaten them up.

I don't really think people would know I have such bad habits if they didn't watch me in the act.  It just sort of reinforces to me, though, that watercolors are far more forgiving than a lot of people seem to think they are. 

So...  There. .. Now you know. 

"Truth is like the sun.  You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away."  (--Elvis Presley)

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another" (--James Matthew Barrie)

"And the seasons they go 'round and 'round,

and the painted ponies go up and down

we're captive on the carousel of time.

We can't return, we can only look behind

 from where we came,

and go round and round and round

 in the Circle game."

(--Joni Mitchell)

It's that time of year again in our academic cycle:  We're reviewing student applications.  

If you read my blog, you've heard me say before how enamoured I become of our students at Duke's Nicholas School of the Environment.    They impress me immensely in their sense of purpose.  They really are extremely smart, passionate, hard-working, and driven in their ideals and their determination to effect positive changes in the world.  

Recently, one of our International students posed the following question: "What should I expect from my life?  Youth confusion."   I'm quite fond of this particular student, and I was so touched with how earnest she was:  I thought about how universal her question is, in a "Man's Search for Meaning" kind of way. 

My heart went out to her, because, well,  let's face it, when your goal is to change the whole world, it's hard to know just where to start.    I wound up commenting to her that if she lives every single day to the best of her ability, in the end, when the days all add up, she'd wind up having lived a very good life..  Her response was "I guess I should JUST DO IT." 

Shouldn't we all....

One of my very favorite Ralph Waldo Emerson quotations is this:

"Finish each day and be done with it.  You have done what you could.  Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in, forget them as soon as you can.  Tomorrow is a new day, you shall begin it well and serenely..."

Have a serene weekend!

"You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt" (--Unknown)

 I've been trying to walk around the Duke campus each day for an hour whenever I take lunch for the day.   I browsed through Duke Gardens last week and thought about how pretty it is there, even in winter.

Nothing much is blooming, but the terraces and fountains, the chattering birds, and the conifers that stay green all year long are still beautiful.

 

The Nasher Museum of Art has fabulous outdoor sculptures of men crouched low and hugging the trees, and written all over these guys are the names of famous musical composers throughout the centuries.

The heron that frequents a lake in the gardens doesn't care if it's winter; he and the ducks are still happy. 

And statues and bridges still highlight the landscape, making it all serene and lovely.

We're fortunate that we're not getting deluged with snow the way much of the country is right now, and even though it's been chilly, the weather's turning milder and it's beautiful on this oasis of a campus.

Tomorrow night's the big basketball game for the Blue Devils: the rivalry between Duke and UNC is the stuff of legend, and tomorrow's the big night.  All the students who've camped out for weeks on end in the cold will know if they get tickets for the big event.

I'm actually a fan of both teams, so it'll be difficult for me. 

"Rivalry adds so much to the charms of one's conquests."  (--Louisa May Alcott)  



Google's Art Project

OK, am I the last one to this party!?
Did you all already know about this?

I'm at work, having lunch, and my son just made me aware of the Google Art Project!  I can't tell you how thrilled I am.  Some of you may already be aware of it, but this is news to me, and I love it.


What an amazing idea: we will all have the possibility of intimate views of art masterpieces.  Think Google Street Views in the world of art.  Think armchair-traveling to the world's finest museums in your own home: the Frick Collection, the Rijksmuseum, The Uffizi Gallery, MOMA, Versailles, the Tate, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Van Gogh Museum, etc...


Yahoo!!!...


...or, well, I should say,... Google.

Way to go, Google.
(Can you tell how excited I am??)

And on a totally unrelated note, if Eric's dad was still alive, today would be his birthday.  Happy Birthday, Bob, wherever you are.

"Happy are the painters, for they shall not be lonely" (--Winston Churchill)

I'd always known that Winston Churchill was a passionate painter, but it wasn't until June of 1991, when I saw an article in Victoria magazine, that I saw any of his actual paintings.  Needless to say, I kept the issue, and I'm sharing some of them with you here.

His subject matter was often landscapes, boating scenes, gardens, and all things outdoors.  He loved painting en plein air, and his medium was usually oils.  I have saved some wonderful quotations about painting from Churchill: 

"We cannot aspire to masterpieces.  We may content ourselves with a joy ride in a paint-box.  And for this, Audacity is the only ticket." 

"When I get to heaven I mean to spend a considerable portion of my first million years in painting, and so to get to the bottom of the subject.  But then I shall require a still gayer palette than I get here below."

He would paint primarily outdoors, but if it was a cold, rainy day, he'd content himself with painting still life subjects and groups at table.  The painting above remains at his home, Chartwell. 

The interior above is considered the best he ever painted: it is a rendering of the tapestries at Blenheim Palace, the patriarchal home where Churchill was born.

The painting above is a church along a lane in the south of France.

Here's another still life of the silver set at Chartwell, undoubtedly painted during a rainy afternoon typical of the British Isles. 

Isn't his work beautiful?  I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.  

"Politician, statesman, author, Winston Churchill is most fondly remembered by his daughter Lady Mary Soames, standing at his easel."  (--Victoria magazine)  She chronicled her father's favorite pastime in a book, Winston Churchill: His Life as a Painter.

He once said:

"If it weren't for painting, I couldn't live; I couldn't bear the strain of things."