Water Hemlock

 

 

D. O. B.

The hugging saint Amma (she's hugged uncountable millions of people) once gave me a piece of chocolate on my birthday - she threw it in my mouth after I told her what day it was (someone encouraged me to do so). "Happy Birthday!" she said throwing confetti and rose petals at me, grinning!  Chocolate pervaded  every sense and pore of my body for a couple of hours as I wandered around Manhattan Center on 34th Street in NYC taking in the radiant atmosphere - the Indian Ragas, air thick with incense,  a long line of people waiting for a hug from Amma.  It was as though I was turned into a walking candy bar. To get a hug from Amma is to fall into a deep, loving abyss. It feels like hours, it lasts about a minute. Another time, a couple years later, I saw her once again on my birthday and she gave me a rose, its fragrance bright and all encompassing like a hug. Its stem still resides on my altar. If you ever have the opportunity to get a hug from Amma you should. It is a rare, sacred and special occurrence - like your precious human birth!

***

 

 State House - Concord, NH. Independence Day 250

 

 

July 4th! Happy 250 America!

One Nation, Under God!

 

 

Lake Winnipesaukee, NH

 

 

 

 

 

Jerry Moriarty - Artist - (Jan. 15, 1938 - March 20, 2026)

Three details from drawings done in Jerry Moriarty's Draw Anything class at SVA in 1981/2.

Word has just gotten to me of Jerry's passing. Though he left his body in March it seems word didn't start circulating amongst SVA alumni until two weeks ago. An ugly, biased NY newspaper gave him an official obit on June 25. I mourn his passing.

Jerry was a huge influence on me at a time when I desperately needed someone to help blow away all the Sophomore year bullshit at SVA in Fall 1981. I was a media major, studying illustration. There was less pretentiousness among Media students than there was in any other SVA department - forget Fine Arts and Photography, those spoiled brats expected you to worship the ground they walked on and the Commercial Design students were all headed for greatness in their daddy's advertising firms.  Media gave you space - classes in model drawing, tricks of the trade,  faculty who were working as book and magazine illustrators - some stiflingly realistic, others horseshit wild and original- Jerry was of the latter.

Jerry taught two classes at SVA. Draw Anything From Your Own Head and Paint Anything From Your Own Head, there may have been others as time went on. I took both classes and did two independent studies with Jerry.  His classes had a diverse student population - fine artists, illustrators, cartoonists or, like myself, the just plain lost. Jerry had definite methods of working. Each class began with a 15 minute Drawing Game that centered around a word, thought,  or phrase after which we all put our work on the floor and got involved in discussions, not critiques, of each other's work.  It opened us up to the day, to each other, to the task at hand. We got to know each other,we got to know Jerry, we got to know ourselves. There were assignments (that) I can't remember, with strict parameters on medium for the work. I do remember that assignments centered around the use of specific media with a related size of paper such as - NO. 2 pencil,  black ballpoint pen on a piece of 18" X 22" vellum or India Ink and white acrylic paint on the same surface n' dimension. Cartoonist tricks really. You could work on them in class and at home. You were responsible for X amount of drawings per semester.  There were also suggested experiments  ( my personal favorite was sitting in front of a TV for eight hours drawing in a sketch book or pad in black ball point pen and then choosing a drawing to do as your class project). Rule of thumb - everything was from your head with no reference, no models, no still life. Absolutely no working from photos. Eventually  you'd come up with your own visual vocabulary or, at least, learn to recognize what you were visually attracted to or stimulated by. Jerry taught you what a creative slump was, how to recognize it, how to remedy it ( by not working). There was no tearing up of paper if it wasn't going well. Nope, you had to work your way through it.

Jerry was well versed and interested in a great variety of subjects - The Beats, jazz, poetry, sci-fi, TV, rock n' Roll, of course, art. As you worked Jerry made his rounds engaging each student in conversation about  everything from the deeply personal to the mundane.  At the time I had just gotten involved with the Poetry Project at St Mark's Church in the Bowery,  going to poetry readings all over NYC almost nightly. We had long, intense conversations about modern poetry, Jack Kerouac and The Beats, especially since On The Road's main character is Dean Moriarty (harhar!). Before long our conversations included Joanne Kyger, Bernadette Mayer and Ted Berrigan. We took note that notorious Beat personality Herbert Huncke could often be seen on East 23rd Street by SVA for his methadone clinic was only two blocks North on East 25th Street. You could also catch him at Cosmos Diner on East 22nd and 2nd Avenue. Jerry was as thrilled as I was when I had a prose piece selected for SVA's award winning Words publication  in 1982 and was equally happy when I had work published in Maureen Owen's magazine Telephone in fall of 1983. We'd talk about what was being shown in Soho or on West 57th Street. Jerry's classes were intensely personal experiences that you either loved or hated. You stayed or got the hell out there right away. No middle ground. And that's what I was looking for.

I could go on endlessly about Jerry Moriarty. He was an amazing Artist,  a synthesis of cartoonist and painter who did a sort of comic called Jack Survives based on his working class upbringing in Upstate New York. It is what he is most known for. He inhabited his own personal universe while inspiring you to do the same. It carried over to the very clothes he wore. He was wildly methodical, dedicated to creativity, self possessed. His vision was his own, so much so that there was absolutely no evidence of influence...it was that singular. Once, discussing visual vocabulary,  Jerry mentioned that his trees resembled broccoli and therefore he would not need to learn to draw broccoli since he already had broccoli in him. Brilliant. Isn't that true about everything? We carry everything within us,  there's nowhere to go, the true and final frontier is inside not outside, we know it all already. It's already happened, it's just waiting for us to meet up with it. Ultimately 88 turns out to be a good run.

 

 

 

 

Strawberry Season

Of course nothing signals the start of Summer (be it short n' sweet here in NH) like picking your own strawberries. It's great making a cobbler as soon as you get to the kitchen with the literal fruits of your labor. A yearly tradition... Great in whole grain and whole wheat pancakes & homemade ice cream.

 

Summer Solstice (4:34 A.M. EST) And Father's Day

Me on Dad's shoulders, June 1962 - Pearl River, NY.

(A month before my second birthday)

 

 

Flashback Friday - My Summers with Sally Avery

I worked for Sally (Avery) during four consecutive Summers 1987 through 1990, initially hired since Sally no longer wished to drive. I’d usually arrive a day or two before the Summer Solstice in late June when the days were at their longest. Sally, March and Philip would already be there getting the house ready for the new season. The Avery house sat a slight incline about a quarter of a mile up a dirt road nestled tightly alongside a mountain. Just before you got up to the house, on the right, was a small garage/horse stall where I’d set up shop - white washing the walls, installing utility lights and converting an old picnic table into a work station. To be honest, when I first got to Bearsville in June 1987 I had no real idea on how I’d proceed or what my days would be like and it was Sally who nudged me to Houst’s Hardware Store in Woodstock for white paint & rollers and everything all else I’d need to create my studio so I could commence a full time work schedule as an Artist - a luxury I had never had before. Of course I’d brought ample art supplies from home since I worked as a Supervisor at Pearl Paint in Paramus, NJ. I was well stocked with paints, brushes, canvas, pens, pencils, pastels many of which were obtained at great discounts, some gifted from Reps and others I had, in my youthful transgression,"liberated." I once gave Sally a $250.00 sable watercolour brush that she used constantly throughout our Summer’s together and most likely beyond.

The Bearsville house was modest, airy and light. I had the upstairs to myself. One of the most extraordinary features was a long stone, high ceilinged, beamed addition that contained a dining area and fireplace. It served as a family room with white easy chairs and a large comfortable leather sofa. There was a glass sliding door that led out to a stone, terraced patio that featured a beautiful view of Overlook Mountain and the most amazing table I’d ever seen - a large, oblong piece of blue stone resting on two enormous tree trunks. It was here we took most of our meals and entertained. The table sat six comfortably. It was at this table I sat one afternoon chatting with Sean and Cocoa after lunch. Sally sat sketching, off to the side. And it was here she would gain inspiration for her iconic painting “Bill and Friends.” As history has shown us - Sally, March and Milton were remarkable at rendering domesticity - with every detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant, serving as raw material worthy of the studio, often translating them into watercolour or a large canvas.

Our days proceeded in a well ordered fashion. We were both early risers. We’d prepare breakfast together and take it out to the main house’s terrace which caught the first sun rays of the day. After which, I’d clean off the table, then Sally would go prepare herself for the day while I got her studio ready (Sally worked out of the garage with her easel both inside and outside). I'd set up canvas panels or watercolour blocks, tidy up a bit or, if she was working on oil paintings, I would stretch three or four 40” X 50 “ canvases. I’d always enjoyed stretching canvas and it was more than happy to start our days by doing so. It was, after all, a contributing factor in my being hired for the job. Stretching canvas gives you a feel for the picture you're about to enter, in many ways this act would prime me for my own work day ahead. Sally told me that it was always good practice to take a work, such as a sketch, and work on it in a few different mediums- watercolor, mono print, oil panel or large canvas. It was indeed how she worked and, I have no doubt, it was also how Milton worked. By eight o'clock we’d both be working in our consecutive studios.

 At noon Sally would walk down the driveway/private road to retrieve the mail, coming back up to the house, she’d stop in my studio to see what I was working on and give me a critique, offer advice, making suggestions for a direction to take a work, or offering insight on things I did not know about myself - such as my being very adept at technique. Her views on watercolor intimidated me greatly - that one had to make a thousand in order to produce a good one, which, I believe, was a Japanese sentiment. To this day I have never ventured into watercolour, too intimidating for me. I was grateful for her time, her eye and generosity. Together we’d venture up to the house for lunch. Early on, during our very first days together, she asked me if I had a problem being alone. “No!” I said (I've always appreciated solitude and still do). And it was she who told me that as an artist you spend a lot of time alone - as the creator, the clean up person and the one who pays all the bills. It is perhaps one of the greatest lessons to learn as an artist and one that is never taught.

Our Summers together were seemingly idyllic. Devoted to our work, with long drives around the Catskills sketching & figure drawing at the Woodstock Artists Association every week. There were occasional visitors for lunch and friends or business associates of Sally's who would take us out to dinner to La Medusa in West Saugerties, Rudy's Big Indian (our favorite) or La Duchesse Anne in Mount Tremper. We’d attend productions at Byrdcliffe or at The Bearsville Theater. At least two or three times a week we took in movies at The Tinker Street Cinema in Woodstock or Upstate Films in Rhinebeck where we’d often run into locals such as Artists Mary Frank or Richard Segalman. 

Both of our Birthdays fell in July - mine at the beginning, her’s at the end. For my birthday Sally would take me to The Elephant (a large, barn-like, sporting goods store on Rock City Road in Woodstock) for a shirt of my choosing. After dinner we’d have a special dessert and Sally would sing to me. Sally’s birthday was at the end of July and brought with it endless deliveries from Jarita’s florist. It was amazing, the entire house burst with the fragrance of fresh flowers for days. I’d rearrange them, at her request, placing the vases in the studio for her to work from.

Once, after dinner, near the end of August, Sally said "Ain't the Summer Flew?” Many years before, she had been on a crosstown bus in Manhattan, sitting behind two young girls, when she heard one of them utter that line of pure poetry to the other. It certainly summed up our summer(s) together, they did indeed fly by. Looking back, I can honestly say that not a moment was taken for granted or ever wasted. Every day counted for something even if only, perhaps, abstractly. And what I learned from those summers I retain to this day. As a result I will always remain eternally grateful to the Avery family and their legacy.

*The Photo of me with a large figure drawing  was taken by March Avery in front of my Bearsville, NY studio in September 1988.

***

Born On This Day...

Gail DeNoyelles, My mom. June 19, 1938 - May 15, 1999.

***

 

 

 

 

Flag Day 2026

Mural - Concord, NH

*

And a Very Happy Birthday to President Trump! God Bless America!

 

 

Multiflora Rose/ Rosa Multiflora

 

America's Stonehenge, N. Salem, NH

 

 

 

 

 

 Cypripedium Acaule aka Pink Lady's Slipper