Fifty Springs Are Not Enough colored pencil on bristol 2016
I made a drawing for my mother of a plum tree in bloom during the spring rain of flowers. I've never lived anywhere where there are so many blossoming trees, all blooming at once. It made me think of the line by Ezra Pound: 'petals on a wet black bough,' and also of A.E. Housman's elegiac poem from from A Shropshire Lad:
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom,
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Three Candles graphite on paper 2016
My husband looked at this most recent still life drawing and said that it reminded him of Zurburan's still lifes, each candle sitting in a row in its own space much in the same way he sets up his spare compositions. I think giving each object its own space brings attention to the humble dignity of each thing; the way they live in time along with people and used by people, and over time develop a spiritual aspect, a kind of life of their own.