I started this post during the first day of losing power during the big cyclone bomb blizzard that entirely knocked out electricity on Cape Cod. With hurricane force winds, the storm was terrifying, especially when the transformer blew and turned the predawn sky neon lime green. All of my windows were coated with snow so I couldn’t see what was going on. I also couldn’t open the outside door downstairs because snow had piled up against it. I’ve been through New England blizzard blackouts before, but we usually got power back within 24 hours. Which did not happen this time. 63 hours, without heat, lights, WiFi or a working stove ended with me curled up under a blanket on the sofa in my down coat, a wool hat, a puffy vest over several sweaters, two pairs of leggings and Uggs. When the power came on Wednesday evening, I was desperate for a hot shower but waited until the morning because it was still freezing in my apartment. That shower, and washing my hair, was heaven. And it was only later that day that I learned the full extent of the storm’s impact on Provincetown. Numerous utilities poles had snapped in half or fell over. Live power lines were on the ground, broken tree limbs were everywhere. Repair companies came from others states to help. The team I watched repair the pole across the street were from New Hampshire.

In the meantime, while I was trapped in the house, I did the piece at the top of this post. It’s the biggest bird yet and I titled him Zhivago because of the weather. Right before the storm, I did the landscape above. Paul has convinced me I can combine the landscapes with the birds by hanging them next to each other instead of integrating them into one piece. In fact, while considering how to hang the charcoals for my solo show at the Commons this spring, I saw context and narrative in several groupings. Speaking of context and narrative, here are photographs from the windows project. The side wall on Freeman Street, has the feeling of stained glass church windows. The birds could be saints, although I think of them as guardians. The front facade is more intimate, as the birds address the viewer to welcome them to town or into the building.

I’m happy to report that the Provincetown Office of Tourism sees this as a permanent installation, so if you’re ever on Cape Cod or in town, you will have the chance to take a look for yourself. It’s at 330 Commercial Street, and if you travel from east to west, you can’t miss it. Onward.

Very late with this post, things kept getting in the way, although I do have three new charcoals for you. First is #33, the 22x22” kite above, and whose head is noticeably bigger than my own. Then there are the landscapes inspired by my last UK trip to the ruined Priory in Tynemouth and the mysterious caves further up the coast along the beach cliffs of the bay at Cullercoats. I’m not sure how many landscapes I intend on doing, but I have a vague idea of adding context through narrative to the background of future birds, and perhaps landscapes will work. There’ll be at least two more, and I’ll be breaking out of the square format I’ve been working with for years by using full sheets of large rectangular paper. I will, however, continue using charcoal because I really love the medium. And so far, I don’t miss color or the brush in spite of those reworked paintings from a few weeks ago.

Speaking of those paintings, I sold Jasper, the little hawk from that particular group, at a craft fair I worked at this weekend. The man who bought it was the owner of the gallery here in Provincetown who gave me my first show with the birds. He had been asking for a little crow every time I’d seen him lately, but when he saw the hawk, he didn’t hesitate in saying he’d take it. I believe he held it to his chest for a moment before I wrapped it up. It felt full circle, and I was glad to know Jasper was going to a good home. In the meantime, there’s some news on the window scrim project. The curator did the tweaks I suggested and I schlepped out into the heaps of snow we’ve gotten lately to take pictures. They are still being Photoshopped to fix glare and crooked angles, etc, but I will post them next time, I promise. I may also include a shot from a group show at the Castle Hill Gallery in Truro of me standing next to the bluejay portrait I did last summer. Or maybe not. Either way, onward.

I’m done reworking pieces, although I may at some point go back over the Kite from last week as he is much too tidy now. Paul says he sees this process as my continuing to resolve pieces that weren’t finished instead of reworking them. Semantics. He also says that #15 above, #23 below and #14 at the bottom, are all crackers. He means they really good by the way, and I agree. It would be hard to choose my favorite, I like them each for different reasons. They also signal that I am ready to take what I have learned these last few weeks of combining charcoal with color and move on to the next level. Meaning bigger and on the new, heavier, paper.

In the meantime, I haven’t gone to photograph the building with all my bird scrims in the windows because we, along with everybody else, got buried in snow that hasn’t melted yet. So it’s difficult to go anywhere on foot, which is how I get around. I did get a ride to the Castle Hill Gallery in Truro yesterday to drop off a piece for a group show that opens tomorrow. I have a ride for that as well, it will be nice to get out of the house and wear something fancy on top with my utilitarian snow boots and jeans. But first, taxes. And address the pile of paperwork I have been ignoring. I should give the apartment, especially the studio, a thorough cleaning. I have a powerful urge to throw things away, but later for that. Taxes first - Onward.

I’m a little late this week but I’ve reworked six more pieces. Here are four of them in reverse chronological order. Above is #21, the macaw with a bronzy brown background. Next is #34, below, a kite that was one of the earliest charcoal studies that I painted over and has the same bronzy background as the macaw. Further down is #18, the raven which is one of three with gilded backgrounds. And finally, at the bottom is Jasper, a small wood panel piece from four years ago that belongs with last week’s group. All of the reworked pieces involved a return to the brush, which was inevitable. I’m not giving up charcoal though, but every time I rework something, I want to rework another one.

Why so many? Because the news has been so mind-bogglingly bad and my reaction has been to disappear into the studio to paint. It gives me the illusion of being in control when, out there in the real world, it’s mayhem and chaos. May I just say that the videos and subsequent lies from the powers that be about the content of what I can see with my own eyes has brought me to tears on several occasions. Granted, there’s been the teensiest shift out of DC but not for the right reasons. It’s only more ass-covering and gaslighting. And please don’t get me started on blizzards and Davos.

Whatever. I do have some exciting good news though. You may recall that last year a historical building in Provincetown hung scrims of two of my birds in their front windows. The manager of the building came by my booth at the craft fair last month and then contacted The Commons, who had arranged the original project, to commission ten more. I’m not involved in the hanging of the work but they went with my suggested images. There’s still some tweaking to be done but the installation is impressive. I only have casual snapshots so far, but once they’re finished, I will go by and take better photographs. So, Yay. And onward.

Three new reworks this week, all wood panel paintings. One, Lune above, got a revised title. It was a commission piece, which the client got a hand-embellished giclee of, and which meant it was a gig instead of being done for the joy of it. Joy is not a word I would attribute to it now, but for me it really sings. So does Professor, the middle piece, although he is the first of the birds that I see as sad. He was part of a series of white birds with vivid undertones I did in 2021 and I purposely left him in his undertone state to separate him from the rest of the group. He remained an interesting oddball until I gave him his white coat and inky background two days ago. Now he is my sad little beauty.

One might ask about this palette change. Both Professor and ABE, the eagle below, have taken on a distinct Rembrandt moody density of black against delicate whites - working exclusively with charcoal for the last six months has something to do with this. But honestly, looking back, all the vibrant, defiant color my work was known for had gotten a bit too predictable and easy. Hence the charcoal, which, as I rework the wood panel pieces, are about to be taken to a new level. But the new palette. It’s no secret the bird series started with Trump’s first inauguration and continued through Biden’s term because Trump, lurking and threatening, never went away. I kept painting happy colors as I traipsed back and forth to the UK to visit dear Paul. I even did charcoal pieces while I was there last fall. Then I started reworking some of the charcoals while sliding into the craft fair vortex. Now, as I’m settling back into my studio routine, the world as we know it has plunged into insanity.

Seriously, do you feel safe? Really? That said, with Lune, I’ve crossed out of Rembrandt mode into a full-blown Goya during the Napoleonic War phase. I think about him daubing those sepia and black nightmares directly onto the walls of his house - that terror and rage. I’m not there yet but I feel it coming. However, I have dates for my solo show at The Commons this spring and the aroma of fresh coffee to cheer me up, so, you know, onward.

Now that the craft fair is over and I’ve recuperated physically and regrouped mentally, I’ve been adding a bit of metallic color with the charcoal pieces I’m reworking. #11, above is the first one I finished and I am much happier with it now. In the meantime, I am also reworking paintings from last summer’s solo show by using what I’ve learned about negative space and black while doing the charcoal pieces. Oskar, below, used to have a vivid purple background but now has one that is a mix of dark blues and browns that passes for black but isn’t. This is all part of the necessary growth and exploration of making art, each phase leads to and informs the next. Yes, they are still birds, my spirit animals, my talismans, but there is a definite advancement even though the earliest ones were quite, dare I say it, brilliant too. Brilliant is a word Paul, my fiancé, uses. Our relationship is based on our appreciation of each other’s artwork. We’ve been Facebook friends for at least fifteen years but it developed into a romance in 2023. At the time I was intimidated by him and his career even though I was more prolific and visible on social media. Almost a mentor, he guided me as I built both my website and craft fair business as well as a solid body of original paintings. He has brought a gravity and stature to my work, and he’s patient with me if he feels I’m headed in a wrong direction. He tells me, of course, but patiently, especially when I disagree with him. Although once I catch up with what he has been suggesting, I see it too. You’d have to ask him how I’ve influenced his work, but to my eye there’s a bounce and joy that wasn’t there before. It’s a win-win situation, he has given me confidence and I have brought light into the gloom and despair of what is currently our world. How will the Venezuela nightmare impact our plans? Will the UK have me with my American passport? Will whatever I ship there arrive or get blown out of the water? What about flying? I know I’m not getting on a plane or going through an airport again until things calm down. But will they calm down? I keep thinking about people who were separated during WWII and could only connect with letters that took months to arrive. At least we have Zoom and WhatsApp, for now. Onward.

There are two reworked charcoal pieces since my last post, the black cockatoo above and the vulterine below. Both are now denser, darker, perhaps gloomier reflections of the wary mood that is so common in America these days, including my own. Yes, yes I have a very nice, safe place to live and I’m out of the financial hole I was in before the craft fair began. And yes, I have a studio with plenty of art supplies, and I’ll soon have the time to create. I’m also healthy and have a fiancé who loves me unconditionally. There are a couple more craft fairs coming up plus a few group shows I plan to be in, and I’m waiting for dates of my solo exhibition this spring at The Commons. I’ve also noticed an uptick in my social media numbers and there are some new subscribers and followers here on Substack. I’m happily out of greeting cards plus most of the small giclees, and although none of the originals have sold yet, I know they will at the upcoming indoor fairs. There is plenty to do to continue my momentum but I intend to spend today on my sofa recuperating from being in a shack on the beach in the brutal ocean cold of a Cape Cod winter by doing a bit of online shopping. I need new snow boots, but one can never have too many black sweaters. I suppose I could always dive into writing grant proposals or research potential galleries, but I feel a new cashmere turtleneck is calling me. So short and sweet this week, and Happy New Year - Onward.