April Afternoon

By Carrie Jacobson

I love spring. I love the greening of the grass, the lengthening of the days. I love the crocuses and the birdsong and the sweet smells of hawthorne and honeysuckle. I love the way forsythias seem to trace bright yellow explosions, and the way lilacs drench the air with scent. Most of all, I think, I love azaleas.

They’re only beautiful for a week or two, I know – but for that week or two, there’s nothing better. I drive around a curve and suddenly, the world is pink, even scarlet, and that horizontal splash of color and light takes my breath away.

I’m not a real golf nut, though I do admit to enjoying watching the slow progress of that quiet game spill itself over huge stretches of green – but I love the Masters, because of the azaleas.

If you’d like to buy this painting, email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com, or call me at 860-442-0246 and we can discuss price and delivery options.

Maryland Hill Farm

By Carrie Jacobson

When we bought our house in Carroll County, Md., one of the innumerable papers we had to sign said that we understood that we were moving into a farming region, and that there would be farm smells, farm noises and farm equipment in the area.

That was 13 or 14 years ago, and enough has changed here that I wonder if buyers still have to sign that document.

The farms are not all gone, but roads that used to wind past farm after farm after farm now wind through a few farms and a bunch of developments.

Certainly, people need places to live. But does everyone need a new house? Does everyone need to live outside of the city where they work? In Baltimore, I saw beautiful but abandoned buildings everywhere. With a little money and a fair amount of work (or the opposite) these buildings could be reclaimed. Whole neighborhoods could be reclaimed. And while this would be a form of gentrification, there are enough empty buildings there to mean that the renewal need not ride in on the shoulders of displacement.

Here in the foothills of the Appalachians, here in these rolling hills, farmers still till the earth. But for how long?

If you’d like to buy this painting, email me at carriebjacobson@gmail.com

Gus

By Carrie Jacobson

I’ve made a number of these minimalist paintings of dogs and cats, and I have to say that I love them all, and this one in particular.

This is Gus, or Auguste Corleone Jacobson, my first dog as an adult. Before we knew about pet stores and puppy mills, before we understood about shelters and rescue groups, Peter and I went to a pet store and he bought Gus for me.

I’d never do that again – but I never regretted it, either. I loved Gus from the moment I saw him. He was as full of life and personality as any dog ever. We brought him home, and he raced around the house, faster and faster, barking at Najim, our Pekingese, and playing, and running and sliding on the floor, and then, all of a sudden, he collapsed, flopped right down, all four legs splayed, and dear God, I thought he was dead.

But no, that was just Gus.

He lived to be 16, and they were 16 fine years. He went fishing and camping and hiking with us in Idaho and Montana and Canada. He helped Najim recover from back surgery, finding a way to play that could engage Najim even during the weeks that he was paralyzed. When Najy was better, he and Gus would fight, on occasion, with a fury of barking and snarling and gnashing of teeth, and never any bloodshed or actual biting. Well, Peter and I were bitten a couple of times, wresting the tiny titans apart.

In Maine, the boys got to peeing around the house, marking territory, so we put them in crates when we couldn’t watch them. The crates were side by side, and after a while we realized that they were peeing on each other through the sides of the crates. Nice.

I still miss Gus. He loved to snuggle, loved to ride in the car, loved to go places and meet people. Our rescue bichon, Woodreau, is terrified of everything. He doesn’t like any of that stuff. But he is a nice little dog, and I love him dearly, and he desperately needed to be rescued.

But he is no Gus. And really, truly, he shouldn’t be.

Himalayan

By Carrie Jacobson

Easter Sunday and I am renewed, revived, reawakened.

Saturday brought a church service, a baptism in the midst of an Easter celebration. For me, unaccustomed, the event shines, stands alone in a raft of Sundays, a raft of churchless Easters.

The day has never passed without my recognizing it. Never passed without my sense of rebirth, or a quickening of the breath of faith. But this Easter dawned on the heels of celebration, oflight shining deep into the darkness, of voices raised together in joyous song.

I made this painting earlier in the day, in the sunshine on the sidewalk outside of Center Framing & Art in West Hartford, Conn. The gallery represents me, and this month, the owner has given me the front window! If you’re interested in the painting, shoot me an email.

From left, in front of the gallery window stocked full of my stuff, is my niece Larkin, brother Rand, me, and friends Lizzie and Al.

Tiger Cat

By Carrie Jacobson

Anyone who lives with cats knows that we don’t own them. And while it might be tempting to say that they own us, I for one believe that no cat would deign to own a human. We’re big and loud and messy and don’t spend half the time we should doing what they want. So they’re OK with having us as their loyal subjects or, at the very least, employees. But own us? No way.

Every once in a while, you get a cat who likes to cuddle, and is willing to do it when you want. But really, that’s a very doglike thing to do. Most cats want us to behave like big, warm beds. We should sit quietly and adjust ourselves until they are comfortable, and then hold stock still.

When we’re not acting as warm pieces of furniture, we should spend our time using our handy opposable thumbs to open cans of food, clean their litter boxes and supply them with fresh water. Also, we should grow catnip. Whole fields of it in the summer, and pots of it all over the house in the winter.

Three cats live with my husband, myself and our dogs. The cats tolerate us, but are repelled by the dogs. You can see the disdain on their faces. One of them, Puffy, takes it out on any dog she can get, swatting pretty randomly at the big, smelly creatures whenever possible.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about cats, as I am painting a dozen cat portraits for a project for Center Framing & Art, the gallery in West Hartford, Conn., that represents me. This painting is one of the 12. It makes me think of George Carlin’s line that when a cat looks at you, it’s like he’s testing a new set of eyes.

Interested in this painting? Contact Lori at Center Framing & Art, 860-233-7804 for price and delivery options.

Carrie@zestoforange.com

I Know Something About Love

By Carrie Jacobson

This week, I painted in May-warm afternoons, and I turned my face to the sun and my heart to springtime, and I let my soul warm until winter’s wrath was something barely there and unremarked.

I’ve made a vow this spring to smile more, to accept more, to give and forgive and in relationships, to be willing to settle for “good enough.”

As I painted these pine trees and their reflections on a warm Friday afternoon, I felt alive – and lucky to be alive.

“I Know Something About Love” is oil on canvas, 10×30. Contact me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com for price and delivery information.

Range Rovers

By Carrie Jacobson

Fellow Zester Shawn Dell Joyce and I hosted the opening reception for “Celebrations” on Saturday at the Wallkill River School. It was raining torrentially, which kept some people home. But the reception was crowded and fun and happy in spite of the rain, and Shawn and I truly appreciated the folks who had the courage and will to come out  in spite of the weather.

During the show, we both gave demonstrations, continuing work on paintings we’d started before the reception. I was pretty nervous. I often paint in public, and I’ve given workshops, but both of those are far removed from painting – in my dress-up clothes – to a room packed full of people.

I paint with a palette knife these days, and as I was slathering on the paint, I could hear people behind me saying “That looks like fun.”

Well, it is! So I turned and offered the knife around, and lo and behold if people didn’t take me up on it. Well, that calmed my nerves and made the whole experience utterly delightful.

The show is up until the end of the month, at the gallery on Route 17K in Montgomery. Check the Wallkill River School website (to the right on this page) for hours and directions. I think you’ll like the show. Shawn’s pastel paintings are vivid and deliciously painted. They are exciting, with interesting angles and boldly graphical presentations.

I’m happy as can be with the paintings I’m showing this month. Many are large, and most are bright and lively and eye-catching. The one at the top of this entry is one of the ones in the show. It captures a small herd of cattle who crossed my path in Wyoming. They looked pretty formidable; I took a photo from inside the car, not daring to get out.

If you’re interested (it’s a big painting, 34 x 60) contact me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com for price and delivery options.

Sunset in Sonoita

By Carrie Jacobson

This one nearly slipped by me! I’ve been so wrapped up in working on “Celebrations,” my show with Shawn Dell Joyce at the Wallkill River School, that I nearly forgot to post to Zest. Yikes!

This painting, one of the ones you will see in the show, is of an area south of Tucson, Arizona, a place called Sonoita. A spine of mountains rises above the plains, which are rich with grass that glows and waves in the wind. It’s a lonely, lovely spot that picks up the colors of the air and the sun and the wide-open prairie.

Our show is on now at the gallery, 232 Ward St. (Route 17K), Montgomery. See the website (to the right) for more information. And come to the opening reception on Saturday, from 5-7 p.m.

Marching in Montgomery

By Carrie Jacobson

The Wallkill River School occupies the ground floor of the Patchett House, outside the downtown part of the lovely Village of Montgomery.

Originally a tavern, the Patchett House stands on the corner of Factory Street and Route 17K, part of the old Newburgh-Cochecton Turnpike. The Patchett family, which owned the woolen mill at the end of Factory Street, bought the house late in the 19th century, and lived there until the 1970s.

In 1980, the house was added to the National Historic Register. Later, the house fell into disrepair. The Devitt family, whose purchases and renovations are part of the fabric of the Village of Montgomery, bought the home late in the 20th century and brought it back to its glory.

It is in this home, with its 14-foot ceilings and hardwood floors, its 10-foot-high windows and spectacular staircase, where I will be showing my art, starting a week from today, with Shawn Dell Joyce.

Shawn has made a series of paintings to celebrate the Village of Montgomery’s bicentennial. And I have plans for a couple, myself.

One of them, I finished yesterday. This painting is from the old photograph on the cover of the Village of Montgomery Bicentennial calendar, which is on sale at the gallery and around the village, for $10. The painting shows the Firemen’s Parade, as it makes its way down Ward Street at the turn of the 19th century.

I started with the intention of using only sepia tones, but color overtook me – a little! Come to the show, which will be up through the end of March – or come to the reception, Saturday, March 13, from 5-7 p.m. You won’t be disappointed.

Contact carrieBjacobson@gmail.com for information on price and delivery options for “Marching in Montgomery.”

A Bend in the River

By Carrie Jacobson

I stood on one bank of the Wallkill River last week and marveled at the beauty. The river flowed strong and deep and dark. Ice grew along its edges, and trees poked through the ice. On the far bank, last year’s leaves lay brown and amber and warm in the afternoon sun. A frigid wind blew off the top of the water, searing the already chilly afternoon.

I took refuge behind a Dumpster and painted until I could paint no longer. It felt as if the cold had gotten through my clothes, my skin, my flab, and all the way down to my bones. I knew I would not be warm for days.

This painting will be part of the show fellow Zester Shawn Dell Joyce and I are having at the Wallkill River School in March. Come and see! The show opens on March 7; the artists’ reception is March 13, from 5-7 p.m.; the show will be up until the end of the month at the Wallkill River School Gallery, 232 Ward St. (Route 17K), in Montgomery.

“A Bend in the River” is oil on canvas, 12×48. Contact carrieBjacobson@gmail.com for price and delivery information.