Sawmill Pond

Yes, it’s a million degrees today, but even so, the nights are longer and cooler, and in the heat of the day, you can see the changes in the landscape. The greens have grown dusty and rich, the thin yellow edge of spring fading, dissipating. Here and there are sprigs and lines of reds and oranges, the first licks of early autumn.

Over the course of the summer, I tutored a neighbor girl in painting. Yesterday, we stood in the hot trailing edge of summer and painted this pond and its fall-edged foliage. I’ve enjoyed painting with her. At 14, she is gifted at painting, among other things. But it’s been hard to get her to step out of doing what she does well.

It’s always scary, leaving what you know for what you don’t. But I think that if you have even just a kernel of faith, you will be led safely down the new path. I urged my young friend on, and watched her hesitate, admit that she was scared, take the first halting step, then the second, then the third. By the fourth, she was smiling. And though she didn’t finish her painting, she knows the way – and it’s no longer so frightening.

If you’re interested in buying this painting, please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com for price and shipping/delivery information.

Give Me That Ball!

There are days, aren’t there, when the company of dogs is preferable to the company of humans? Or to put it another way,  that there are days when the company of humans is preferable to the company of dogs.

This long, hot stretch of a summer has been tough on our oldest girl. She’s a chow-German shepherd (not the dog in this painting, who is a bearded collie from the local dog park), and she’s 14. Her muzzle has grayed, and her legs are stiff. She sleeps a lot. But her eyes, behind a bluish, cataracty film,  are bright and interested. She greets me with a smile and a sparkle, and even, sometimes, a sprightly trot across the yard.

The glory days are behind her now, but we both remember. We remember how she ran across the fields, strong and fleet and tireless. We remember how she chased deer, and how she roared and snarled at strangers, protecting me from all danger. We remember how she leapt, how she plowed through snowstorms and rolled in drifts, and shook off the cold as though it were nothing. She dreams these memories today; I hear her nails clicking against the floor as she runs and races in her sleep, young again and fierce and proud.

If you are interested in buying this painting, please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com

She follows me these days, with her eyes and with her body, too. Follows me and looks, sometimes, deep into me, into my eyes, into my heart, as if I have the answer for why she can no longer hear, no longer run. I can’t run, either, I tell her. But I can walk, and you can walk, and we can walk together. And I can love, and you can love, and that will never end.

Fat Guy at the Diner

On a recent, sweltering morning, we were going in to eat at the diner in this painting, when I saw a car parked with a dog in it.

The windows were cracked open, but the car was in the direct sun. It was already 86 degrees and getting hotter by the second.

“Who owns the car with the dog in it?” I asked, loudly, when I got into the diner.

“We do,” a man said. “And he’s all right.”

“No,” I said, “he’s not. And if he is now, he won’t be in about 10 minutes.”

“He’s all right,” the man said, “and it’s none of your business.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “It’s everyone’s business. That dog is going to get sick or die if you don’t get him out of there.”

“You want to take him for a walk?” the man said. “Take him for a walk then.”

“No, I don’t want to take him for a walk. I want you to move the car.”

“He’s my damn dog, and he’s fine,” the guy said. His wife and young daughter said nothing. The three had clearly just arrived, and were studying the menus. It would be a long time before that dog was safe.

By this time, we were seated, and I was crying. I hate this, but it happens to me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“I’m going to call the police,” I said to Peter.

The guy overheard. “You want to call the police, call the damn police.”

“Fine,” I said, “I will.” I turned to Peter. “Let’s go,” I said. “I can’t stand to be here and watch this.”

I called the police, and we left.  I wish I had done more. I wish I’d stayed until the cops came. I wish I had taken the poor dog for a walk. But at least I did something.

“Fat Guy at the Diner” is oil on canvas, 24 inches by 36 inches. If you’re interested in buying it, please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com

Sunny Saturday

On Saturday, artists from the Wallkill River School took to the historic streets of Montgomery and painted. We started early in the morning, and finished at noon. Then we framed our wet paintings and put them up on easels in the Montgomery Senior Center.

A few hours later, the paintings were up for bid at a wet-paint auction.

What fun this day was! I challenged myself with this painting, a long downhill perspective on a skinny canvas (10 inches by 30 inches). I fought and struggled, painted and repainted, and when it finally fell into place, I was delighted, and my onlookers were, too.

That’s one thing about painting in public – you’re out there on display, and every stroke, good or bad, is made with people looking on.

At first, it scared me. I make a lot of strokes that I change. I scrape paint off, I push it around, I cover it up. I am an active, intuitive painter. Sometimes I wish I were more thoughtful, more measured, more precise – but I yam what I yam.

I made two paintings on Saturday morning. This was the first; the second was a little hurried, a little time-crunched. Both paintings sold at the auction, which made me happy, indeed. Most of the money went to the Village of Montgomery Bicentennial, and that seems like a good cause.

I met a few Zest readers while I was out on the sunny sidewalk, and that was a real treat! Thank you all for stopping by and introducing yourselves.

Gaspe Cowscape

I am very excited about the upcoming paintout in Montgomery! It is this Saturday, (Aug. 7), and it promises to be a lot of fun.

A paintout involves a group of artists making paintings in a specific period of time, and in a specific place. Someone honks a horn or rings a bell or sounds an alarm, and the painters begin. A couple hours later, everyone stops. Then, we frame the pieces and hand them over, and they are auctioned off. It’s fun for the painters, the buyers and the onlookers.

On Saturday, the painting starts at 9 a.m. and continues until noon, in the historic village of Montgomery. You can watch artists paint, and also see and buy already finished paintings we’ll be displaying near our easels. Framing takes place from noon until 2 p.m. The auction will be at 4 p.m., in the Senior Center in Veterans Park. You can preview the work from 3-4 p.m. Afterwards, there’s a party and reception at the Wallkill River School on Route 17K (Ward St.)

It’s sure to be a fun day, and it’s a benefit, too, for the Village of Montgomery Bicentennial. It’s a great chance to meet some of the people associated with the Wallkill River School, as well.

For more information, call the Wallkill River School at 845-457-2747.

Gaspe Cowscape is oil on canvas, 48×60. If you’d like information about price and delivery, please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com

Sheepdog

On Saturday, I had the last of three back-to-back-to-back weekend art fairs. I’d worked on this fair, and it was scheduled long ago, so I was committed.

But that meant missing the opening reception of a show that is probably even nearer to my heart.

This is an exhibit of animal-themed works to benefit the Port Jervis/Deerpark Humane Society. It was put together by Susan Miiller, a wonderful painter and fellow Wallkill River School artist. The show is in the Port Jervis office of Dr. Jeffrey Parker, artist and podiatrist.

The show remains there (156 Pike St., Port Jervis) through Sept. 10. You can go see it! I don’t think he’s open every day, but you can call hims office at 845-856-7700 to find out his hours.

The paintings are by local artists, and also by artists who participate in one of my projects, the Art for Shelter Animals Project (artforshelteranimals.blogspot.com).

Artists who are involved with ASAP make portraits of animals in their local shelters or with local rescue groups, and then donate the art to the shelter or rescue group. The shelter or rescue group can do whatever it wants with the pieces. It can sell them, auction them, offer them as rewards for adopting pets or putting in volunteer hours. It can use the art to make the shelter a more pleasant place. Whatever the shelter wants to do with the pieces, it can do.

Before the artist hands the piece over, he or she sends an image of it to me, and I post it on the blog.

Artists from around the world participate in ASAP, and are participating in the Port Jervis exhibit! Painters from South Africa and England have sent pieces, as have artists from many places in the U.S.

So, thank you to Susan Miiller, and to Dr. Parker, and to everyone who has participated. I hope you all go to see the show! And if you can buy a painting, please do. The proceeds will help the animals in the Port Jervis/Deerpark shelter.

If you’re interested in joining the Art for Shelter Animals Project, check out the blog (artforshelteranimals.blogspot.com) or email me (carrieBjacobson@gmail.com) with questions. Also, if you’re interested in buying the sheepdog, or having me make a painting of your pet, please get in touch!

Azaleas

By Carrie Jacobson

This spring seems like a spring from my childhood. A real spring.

For decades now, it seems, spring has come in like a blast furnace. A few warmish days and then – WHAM! – a patch of August-like heat – and then, summer.

This spring, we’ve had the nice, cool nights, the long, warm afternoons, the very best of spring. And the land has responded, spilling over with blossoms and flowers and greenery.

It is all that I can do to look from the edges of my eyes at the news stories of the oil spume in the Gulf of Mexico. If I look too hard, or too directly, I see the end of the world in that disaster.

So I wrench my eyes away, and tear my heart back to the here and the now and the joys of what we have, while we still have it.

If you’re interested in this painting, email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com. If you like my work, check out my blog, The Accidental Artist, (link is on the Zest home page) or my website, jacobson-arts.com.