Leaving, Returning

Leaving, Returning. Prints and cards available here.

We live, we learn, we leave, return;

 fly south and north, the back and forth,

 the fifth, the sixth, the palimpsest.

Our journal faded, overwritten,

never lost;

forgot;

forgiven.

We meet, we sleep, we meet again;

again

again

again

again

.

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Restricted View

    The modifications to this blog post are in accordance with proposed guidelines for the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA), also known as House Bill 3261. In all manner of art and speech,  the government  reserves the right to remove any inappropriate matter which contains offensive material such as nudity, words, or colors that are not beige.

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As an artist, of course, I'm against Web Piracy, but when lazy lawmakers write vague laws hoping the Supreme Court can sort out the details, we have to call them out. 

Leaving You at Sundown

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day15

Sunset on Sundown Road, Laytonsville, Maryland. January 15

Leaving; riding beside the split-rail toward the sundown road. In the crisp winter air, the smell of oak wood smoke fades; the warmth of your whisper still wrapped like wool around me.

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On The Dock of This Day

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day13

On the dock of this day, 1928

Eastern horizon quickening, lightening; sea of sun rising, readying, raising the mainsail of morning; dawn’s winter wind roars like stevedores on the dock of this day. Swaying ship masts of high hill pines creak and caution, as icy hatch hinges slam and shudder; flags snap and shiver. The crew of crows comes aboard from the valley, cawing commands; all is ready before the mast, this day may get under way. Day breaks cold against my face charting a northwest course; with the western moon over my left shoulder. I turn and face into this fine adventure.

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Once

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day11

On a rainy Wednesday afternoon, in the empty aisle of gift wraps and greeting cards, past the paper plates and party hats, a lace gray grandmother, with spectacles and a pocket magnifier, lingers alone, reading sentimental Valentines, just like the ones her children used to send her.

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This Day

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day10

This Day ~ A Drama in Four Acts

There is one moment, in the frosted hour before dawn, with the full moon melting, moving low, in the west behind the tall line of pines, with the fog facade on the eastern valley trees, before the crow caws the morning message, before obsculta in the deep silence is overwhelmed by the white noise of aeroplanes and motorcars. There, in that full circle surrounding, I can turn in any direction, take a moment, take a breath, and begin this day. That moment, when the fullness of nature nods knowingly, and wakes the world. That is my moment.

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UNION Exhibit & Valentine's Book Signing

Terah Ware ~ Modern Vintage Jewelry with a Neo-Victorian Style

The UNION exhibition will open in Boonsboro, Maryland at GiftsInnBoonsboro on February 4, 2012, and continue throughout the month.

I am so pleased to share the gallery space with Terah Ware. Terah is a jewelry artist, teacher, and writer from Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. Her website, An Era’s Ambiance, is a beautiful, modern vintage masterpiece.

Right next door to the gallery is Turn The Page Bookstore and I will be signing copies of UNION: The Courier Journals at the Valentine's Book Signing on Saturday, February 18, 2012 from 12-2pm  with Nora Roberts / J D Robb , Mary Burton, Mary Kay McComas, Donna Kauffman & Sarah Wendell and local author, Mary Alice Baumgardner.

UNION is a mixed media art/journal exhibit commemorating the sesquicentennial of the American Civil War. This exhibition includes a series of collage pieces that follow a personal journey through the fictional journals and love letters of a cavalry courier between 1861 and 1865. A slideshow of the art pieces is available here, and the book is available here. 

Small Stones

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day8

Bowl of Stones. oil painting ~ Michael Douglas Jones

At our feet are small stones that glow brighter than summer stars, but only if we see the light inside them. Were we not distracted by the babble and chatter of the cobblestone city, we would walk on stars; the glow rising through our feet to our faces. You would see it in my eyes, as I see it in you. 

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More like May

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day7

More like May ~ Michael Douglas Jones

This warm January morning, more like May; a mockingbird, with mate, in the winterberry tree, plucks a berry ripe red, and flies to the top of the redbud. Turning back, he wonders; in this struggling economy, will there be enough berries to last until the June bugs return. Turkey vulture, high above, knows there is always plenty.

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The Farm in Fox Hollow

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day6

Seven Buff Browns ~ Michael Douglas Jones

Down the ridge road at the farm in fox hollow, fresh this morning from the house of hens; seven Buff browns and the duck’s one daily. Down on the farm; no discrimination. 

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The January Garden

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day5

October’s uncarved pumpkins
in the January garden,
one by one, become
a winter dinner bowl
for passing passerines.

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Pristine Moleskine

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day4

Pristine moleskines,

four to a drawer,

tucked inside

the chiffonier;

waiting for words

I thought unworthy

of pristine moleskines,

four to a drawer.

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Predawn Snow Shower

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day3

Winter. A collage sketch by Michael Douglas Jones

   Snow shower, sugar powder, dry and drifting down the ferry road, where I walk, winter warm, recalling summer girls, with funnel cake faces, waiting for the Ferris wheel.  

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First Day Back

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day2

Crow painting by the incredibly talented Kandy Vermeer Phillips.

Fifteen minutes before dawn,

 black dashing in every direction,

 fifteen crows cawing, complaining;

 they’re already late for work.

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This First Day

Rainbow north, this first day.

one small stone in a riverbed of stones; day1

Seconds before sunset,

our ancient mother’s

 glowing smile;

 my doubts

 about this day

 dissolved.

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