11.11.03
November has been grey and chilly. Very satisfying. The leaves are mostly off the trees and swirling across the ground whenever I look out the window.
A little late this month with the cover, but there's good stuff in the pipeline. The background image is taken from an SX70 manipulation I did last year at Rocky Hollow during a fishing trip.
New cafe opens next week, paintings are being hung, photos taken. Busy, busy.

10.31.03
Happy Halloween! Here's a sneak preview of my Day of the Dead table for 2003. I commemorated the California fires in the watercolor image laying on the table. I'll be adding more to it - we're going out of town tonight so I have it set up day early.

Hope your evening is chilling and spooky and altogether satisfying.

10.26.03
From my sketchbook, to get you in the mood:
The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe

10.25.03
Here are two Polaroid transfers I made this week. I used a Polaroid 340 Land camera with expired film, and Arches 140lb. cold press watercolor paper. All of my transfers are done standing in the spot where I took the image, and are unique images. The results were much better than I expected - some spotting from the film being expired, but the color was surprisingly good.

The Federalist House #1
The Federalist House #2

10.15.03
From the archives, Wonder Horse. Online examples of my first foray into altered Polaroid images, from nearly three years ago.

10.02.03
How to eat a pomegranate. Since you asked.

10.02.03
Welcome to October. The painting in the background is "Autumn" by Egon Schiele. The illustrated ephemera - words and leaves and such are my own.

I ate the first pomegranate of the year today. I had to buy one once I found them, and even though I wasn't feeling well I ate it because I just couldn't resist. And I figured if it didn't stay down then I'd get all ceremonial with the second one and pass it off as the first on a technicality.

It wasn't pretty on the outside, but it was like opening a jewel box full of scented garnets. Oh, how I savoured it. Pomegranates are the most perfect collection of reds. It was so sweet and fragrant that it had the odd effect of clearing my senses and making me extra-aware of the smell of autumn and the sway of the trees outside my window. The children were walking home from the bus stop in the three o'clock goldlight of the afternoon, and it was as though I was walking with them, kicking leaves along the way.

10.01.03

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that talks of going

But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
- Robert Frost