August 31
Woke to a cloud covered sky. My last day here and no sun. Do I take that as a sign?
On my morning run I was on the beach looking at a sky that could have been painted by Turner. A thin white streak of white ran across the horizon line, separating ocean from sky. Above the white line was a thick grey cloud cover. Six shades of gray, gray sky, gray beach, gray ocean and a white line. The definition of beauty and I felt lucky to be given this picture on my last run of the summer.
And so, as the raindrops begin to fall, I will pack my things and, with a heavy heart, move myself into September and the next phase of life. On the online dating sites, people often describe themselves by telling of the riskiest things they’ve done in their lives. Usually they have moved spur of the moment to Senegal or Minsk. In thinking about my own life, I can’t really think of the riskiest thing. Maybe I haven’t risked it all yet. I’m not on a dating site these days, but if I were, it would be great to be able to write: Turned my car around at the Sagamore bridge, headed back to Wellfleet and rented a place for the year.
August 30
August 30, yep. Another few days. I looked at the headlines today, which I have been scanning so quickly these past few weeks. I am embarrassed to say that I don’t know whether Ukraine is winning or losing. Today I see they are losing. Trump is still national news beyond boring, covid numbers are down though another 450 Americans died yesterday from the virus. I see I made a mistake paying Leo’s college loan in full, a 14,000 dollar loss. And what else? There’s some new way to drink coffee in New York and Elon Musk has over 50 billion dollars to wave around and pretend he’s important.
I took an early morning canoe ride, just me and three ponds. Last night I heard a strange cooing sound outside my window. It didn’t sound like coyotes, turkeys or frogs, so I’m wondering who else is up in the middle of the night in the woods.
There is a reason people come up here from the city, sell their apartments, buy a little house near the ocean, and never leave.
August 29
Just a few days left of summer, I’m now doing very little. Picture of me in the hammock kind of says it all. Every morning I scan the headlines, read just about nothing about the state of the world, and sink into my escape here in Wellfleet. From the hammock I am happy doing next to nothing. My art supplies are safely stored away, I have no thoughts about being this month’s Rembrandt, Manet or even the next Basquiat. It’s quiet here, just the sound of the wind through the trees, and if the ocean is strong I can hear that too. I feel relatively safe here, visited frequently by a family of eight wild turkeys who seem to love my lawn. They peck away at the ground. I’m not sure what they are eating but they seem to enjoy it. A herd of coyotes also comes daily for a visit. They too poke around at the ground and make slow strides toward the woods. I think they are hunting the turkeys, but I’m not sure who is dumber. The turkeys are here all the time and you’d think the coyotes know that, but they only seem to come around when the turkeys have gone elsewhere.
I spent the last few days designing lessons for school. New art history curriculum that is fun to prepare but honestly, I’d rather be here in the hammock. Or almost anywhere else. This is the time of year when I always panic about the thought of starting another school year. I mean really, I’m 63 and still in school. From what I hear, schools all over the world are short teachers. Nobody wants to teach. Not enough money and even if the money is good, you can’t really teach anymore. Nearly every angle of every subject is now taboo, offensive to at least one or two of the diverse (there’s that word again!) students. Offending students is forbidden, punishable by firing and a nasty article about you in a number of publications.
I’m admittedly out of the loop, so I don’t even know what common words are now axed from our vocabularies. Can we still say fork, or does it sound too close to that four letter word that we can’t say? And are boys still he and girls she or are there now new gender terms that must be applied to us all? What’s the plural for they? I’d better read up on this before next week. And then again, if I uttered the wrong words and was told to pack it up, I could come back to the hammock and have a fine time.
August 27
There have been lots of reports about how since the pandemic the animals have come back to reclaim their turf. We don’t see much of this in New York, though I remember a few months ago when I saw what looked like the same rat crossing in front of me while taking a morning run four days in row. Same place, same time, same rat.
In Nova Scotia I was truly sharing my territory. There was one encounter with a very large bear, standing just inches from my front door. Porcupines and deer were everywhere. I lost count of snails on the rocks at about 2 or 3 hundred thousand. And that was just on one rock.
Here in Wellfleet, of course we have seals and sharks. The seals swim closer and closer to shore all the time. They poke their heads out of the water and give me a look, as if to say, “hi, I see you and you see me.”
On land the frogs are back. Lots of little ones hopping about. This past week I have been visited by a pack of coyotes. They seem to like my yard, usually visiting in late afternoon. They poke their noses into the groud, dig little holes and then creep around near the trees. Interestingly, there is a large family of wild turkeys that also like my yard. They usually come a little earlier, but, as friend Hilary noted, they aren’t the smartest creatures. Yesterday they came later in the day when the coyotes were here and I watched one coyote chasing a turkey. The turkey ran fast and escaped into the woods as the coyote chased after. I wondered why the turkey didn’t fly away. Dumb turkey, or maybe it thought the coyote could fly too.
Both the turkeys and the coyotes don’t seem the least bit afraid of me. The coyotes give me a “I’m here and I see you but who cares” look and the turkeys just look at me with a puzzled look. I’m not even sure if they register that they are looking at a strange creature that not only walks but also talks.
I like all the animals and I think they like me too. As much as I want to pet the coyotes, I know that’s not a very smart idea. So I won’t.
August 21
It’s all good here.
Last night: gorgeous sunset seen at Duck Harbor, sun sets behind clouds, clouds outlined in bright orange yellow. Drinking a glass of white wine, Cape Cod potato chips, watching the sky turn pink then gray blue, then gray pink then gray gray. Birds flying, a ship out at sea moving slowly across the horizon. Home for shrimps and asparagus on the grill and a little risotto. No phone, no email, no Google. It’s all good here.
August 19
And then he checks his school email. Bing. Reality. But it’s all good. From the hammock, sun moving behind a cloud, a few giant seagulls flying overhead, a soft breeze and an email from my principal, who actually is vacationing here in Wellfleet, just a mile away. A change in scheduling for the upcoming year. In addition to my teaching fine art to the freshman students, I will be teaching tenth graders art history. I’ve never taught art history before but I like the opportunity.
Just a few weeks til school starts, this gives me little time to prepare, but I’m pretty good at fast planning and pulling shit out of wherever I can find it. I know a lot about art but I’ve never taken a traditional art history class. But I’ve looked at Jansen and I know the routine. It starts with the cave paintings then the Venus of Willendorf and on and on. Lots of time spent with churches, a brief study of Giotto and Brueghel and then the Renaissance where the whole world changes, we learn about perspective and begin to look away from the church. The next few hundred years are kind of boring until the Impressionists leave their studios and bring their paints outdoors and paint what they feel not what they see. Wars destroy half the world, artists run from their homes and relocate in Paris and soon New York. Less becomes more, then less becomes even less, but a few people love American consumerism and decide that more is more and still more is even better. Soup cans become art, Marily Monroe, Liz Tayor and Mao become art, comics become art and oh yeah, a bathroom urinal and a snow shovel become art. And then women become artists and Black people become artists and paintings sell for one hundred and fifty million dollars and there are biennials and art fairs and on line art galleries and everybody and their cousin is an artist. Test on Tuesday.
I’d like to teach art history backwards. I’d like to start with today and have the students look at contemporary art pieces and ask them to find out what past art inspired the artists. We can keep going further back in time. William Kentridge was looking at Richter. Richter was looking at Munch. Munch was looking at Manet who was looking at Rembrandt who was looking at . . . This could be fun.
August 18
Yesterday was cloudy and cool, not a day for the beach. Peggy had never seen Provincetown, so we took a ride there and spent the morning walking up Commercial street and looking at the silliness. The streets were packed with people, many of whom were hard at work showing the world who they were. Boys are girls, girls are boys or I suppose many aren’t either, they just are. Provincetown is a sea of bright colors and naked skin, makeup and wigs, tight ball gowns and tight panties showing large bulges. The streets are noisy, carnival like and the blue-grey sea provides a gorgeous backdrop.
It feels a little strange being a hetero couple amidst all the gayness. But really, Provincetown in the summer is a show and many of the people there want to be looked at and seen and photographed by the tourists that come to look. Many of the people who come to Provincetown for the summer have come from places where they are still hiding from who they really are. In Provincetown they are allowed to be themselves, and so they are happy to show it fully and share it with the world.
August 17
Wellfleet. No place prettier. Wellfleet is not the million miles of forest and empty rocky coast of Nova Scotia, but the beauty here is undeniable. Our little house is nestled in the woods, surrounded by three “hidden ponds” and an ocean with a sandy shore going miles in every direction. Seals, sharks, coyotes, wild turkeys, bunny rabbits and foxes share the land. Night sounds are crickets and the ocean waves.
This is the place to be perfectly content doing nothing. I’ve left my art supplies in two boxes. I am happy here with a few books and a hammock to lie in. My most difficult task is to block out the thoughts of the upcoming school year, just a few weeks away. Every year, when the calendar hits mid-August, I am reminded that the clock is ticking and my summer will soon come to a close. School, job, bills, noise, google reminders — real life — yes I will have to live it soon. But for now there are still a few more weeks to enjoy peace, quiet, sun and sand. And I will.
August 9
Weather change here, rain falls. Suddenly everything is dark, real dark. Rain drips in through the roof, the mice have come inside to get out of the rain and be warm. I think we’re in for the kind of northeast storm that will last a few days at least. The thick, dark clouds thicken. By tomorrow we will wonder if the sun will ever shine again. We are left to enjoy the sound of rain on the roof and to trade cliché lines with our neighbors like “we sure do need the rain.”
Only a few days left here in Nova Scotia. We will pack up and leave Saturday morning taking with us some paintings, poems and good memories of beauty and peace.
August 7
Sunday and I’m back in church. We are a congregation of two today, me downstairs in the main chapel with my paints and brushes, Peggy upstairs in her little studio room, writing and dreaming. Where is god?
Painting is going well I think. I’m into a new direction that is fun because I get to paint without worrying about getting things exactly right. I haven’t painted people all summer, but I’m still attempting to paint TODAY. Buildings have replaced the people and I’m simplifying the buildings, showing basic shapes and leaving it at that. Without taking a class on abstraction, I think I’m becoming an abstract artist. Whatever that means.
In some of the paintings I’m leaving small areas of the page unpainted, something I’ve never done. I like it.
On Tuesday evening, Peggy and I are hosting an event here at the church. We expect a crowd of about 20, mostly artists and writers who are connected to Harvey and Judith. They are all Canadian. We will be sharing what we’ve been doing this summer here in the church and we want to focus on the creative process.
On Tuesday, rather than be performers with an audience, we will open up a conversation about the creative process, hoping that people will talk about how they approach their work. Every artist has a different way of working. Each has his or her own way of channeling their thoughts, ideas and understandings onto paint, paper or whatever medium they choose to create a piece of that ever important three letter word: ART.
We are imagining that some interesting things will arise. What idiosyncrasies will we hear about? Who prays before painting or writing? Who summons the muse? Who needs music or candy in order to create? Who can only create every third day? Who paints early in the morning and who wakes up at two AM to write down dreams? Who channels the voice of a long lost relative or creature from the distant past?
One of the important things to talk about is how we think while we are creating. Are we rigid, are we loose? And of course we might touch of the subject of why. Why are we doing what we do? But maybe that question should be for another session. For now it will be enough to find out about how 20 or so Canadians wake up and face the day as an artist.
August 8
Big breath in. Out. Another in. Out. Good.
Here’s how lucky I am: Living for six weeks in absolute stunning beauty. Everywhere I look is simply beautiful. Sea, forest, rocks, clouds all mixing with each other before my eyes. For me!
Loving a beautiful, intelligent, creative woman who loves the beauty as much as I do. We laugh and smile together, hold hands, make love, lie down and appreciate life together. I spend my time in a 5000 square foot studio that is cool, quiet and inviting. There is a church organ for me to play. There are gorgeous rocky beaches everywhere with miles of space and nobody but me and Peggy to enjoy. We read, we swim, we nap. And, of course, the golf. A gorgeous, well manicured, challenging golf course that is there for me alone every morning. It is mine.
Lucky me.
August 5
As I’ve mentioned I’ve been playing golf since I was a little kid. My grandmother put a club in my hand when I was five years old and I learned fast. Back in the sixties and early seventies, the golf courses were wide open. We were all still carrying our clubs around and we played by a certain etiquette that was kind. We waved golfers ahead if we were slower. We saved our deli sandwiches and drinks for after our round. Back in the day you needed a note from your doctor in order to use an electric golf cart. Today the most fit men drive their carts around the course, too lazy to walk or carry their clubs. On the back of their carts they carry six packs of beer, they smoke cigars and, of course, pull their cell phones out every few minutes to check in on the world.
I love the game of golf, but I love it best when I’m alone on the course. I call it my zen meditation. I am thoroughly challenged by the difficulty of the game — there is nothing more difficult in sports than to be able to hit a golf ball perfectily. Playing alone, in silence, allows me to find a certain peace that I don’t find anywhere else.
When I was a kid, I dreamed of one day having my own golf course. Maybe I’d open it up to the public for certain hours, but there would always be a time of day when it would be all mine, a few hundred acres of wide open space for me.
The Parrsboro Golf Club is my own course every morning. I arrive before 7 to a course that doesn’t officially open to the public until 8. I am welcome to start early and so I tee off a good hour and half before anybody else comes to play. It is all mine, quiet and inviting.
Golf is thought of as a game for millionaires who want their own kind of privacy and separation from the rest of the world. For many it is. But for me, for a mere 500 American dollars, I am a member of the Parrsboro Club and it is all mine every day for the six weeks I am here. I have found paradise.
It happened like this. When I woke this morning I grabbed my phone, which had been sitting on the table all night, plugged into the charger. When I glanced at the phone it showed that it was 97 percent charged. I thought it a bit odd that it showed 97 and not a fully charged 100 percent, but I didn’t think much about this, just that it didn’t make sense.
A few minutes later I took another look at my phone and it showed a charge of 92 percent. Strange because I hadn’t used it in the few minutes since it had shown 97 percent.
In the car, just a few minutes later the phone showed 88 percent. I dreaded an hour trip to the nearest phone store to figure out what was going on, or even worse, to have to buy yet another cell phone. I decided to plug the phone into the car charger, hoping all would be well.
As I was driving into town I noticed my car told me it was 57 degrees, but a few seconds later it was 56 and just a few more seconds later, it was 54 degrees. The temperature was dropping, my phone was losing charge, but everything around me looked just the same as it always did. So what was going on?
Now it was 53 degrees and my phone, though it was supposedly charging, had dropped to 83 percent. And that’s when it hit me. The end was coming. In a panic, I worried I would never see Leo again and I might not even have time to make it home to see Peggy. Everything was ending and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
With the end coming soon, I decided I might as well play a final round of golf. As much as I hoped there would be a nice golf course in heaven, I was pretty sure that my next stop would not be there.
Golf is the kind of game where you play well when you are in a good frame of mind, but when things are worrying you, your game can fall apart. I’ve experienced this many times. Pars, birdies and the rare eagle will come when I’m feeling light and happy, but when things aren’t so good, errant tee shots head for the trees and you hack a short wedge shot to the green, sending the ball skipping past and fifty yards away into the beyond. Today was such a round and I left the course frustrated. Thankfully, the world still hadn’t ended.
On the way home I noticed the temperature had risen six degrees and my cell phone was showing 87 percent and on the rise. Had there been some kind of celestial intervention. Did god act? Or was I simply reminded that it was time to get rid of my Samsung and buy an Iphone?
Today. Indeed, life is often strange but good. Here I am, a 63 year old Jewish artist from New York, spending my days in a church in Parrsborro, Nova Scotia. I’ve left behind 10 and half million people, many of them still masked and isolated. I’ve left behind subways, busses and Ubers, Walmart, Amazon same day delivery, 16 dollar glasses of wine and Black lives that matter. I’ve left behind honking cars and beeping trucks, blaring police and ambulance sirens, blasting music from a thousand places at the same time. I’ve left behind so much stress, you might wonder how I made it here still breathing.
I am here in one of the most beautiful places, lucky to know two people nice enough to have given me this incredible church and a cabin looking onto the sea for the summer, so that I can become myself again.
I came here with a big question to answer. Who am I? In New York, busy busy busy doing so many things, we often forget many of the essentials. We forget why we do what we do. We forget what is more important than what. We forget who matters. Sometimes we forget to eat lunch and sometimes we forget what we had just remembered. Easily, we forget who we are.
Being here has allowed me to relax, breath some fresh air, enjoy the sight of real trees, smell and taste the ocean and see deer, porcupine, foxes and even a bear living in the wild. I’ve counted thousands of snails, happy on a rock. I’ve done nothing for an hour or more. I’ve made love with a beautiful woman. Being here has helped me remember a few important things. That my days are numbered and I am going to treat each day, each hour, each minute like it matters. That kindness goes a long way. That nobody is better than anybody else. That my two ears are for listening, especially to the people closest to me. That I can give without having to receive.
I say that being here has allowed me to remember these important things. I only hope that when I return to New York, I will still be able to remember.
In closing, I want to give my deepest thanks to Judith Bauer and Harvey Lev, who have made my summer a reality. As we here all know, you are two people who know how to give. Giving without needing to receive: you both do this so profoundly. I feel so lucky to have been included in your lives. If I can one day give half of what you have given, I will consider myself okay.
August 1,
Peggy and I spent the day yesterday not speaking. We weren’t not speaking to each other because we’d had a fight and were avoiding each other, rather it was a day spent communicating in ways other than with words. Just to experience something a little different. In fact we spent most of the day together, eating breakfast, taking a drive to the studio and then after a few hours alone working in the studio, we went to a nearby beach with our books, then back home. A full day, much like the day before, only without words.
I wouldn’t quite say we had conversations, but we did manage to communicate quite clearly with one another. A few motions of wiping under the arms and pointing toward the bathroom let me know that Peggy wanted to take a bath before we left for the studio. Miming steering a car wheel indicated it was time to go. At breakfast Peggy wanted to tell me that she needed to wash her clothes and she asked me if I had a washing machine in Cape Cod, where we’d be going soon. I chuckled when I realized her hand gestures were asking me about doing the laundry.
It was actually pretty easy not talking for the day and afterwards we both agreed that we felt good all day and at peace. We were both more focused and productive in the studio and happily, we got along great all day.
Maybe this has taught us something about words. Peggy is a writer, so surely she hasn’t decided words aren’t important. But going forward, maybe we will be a little more aware of how we use our words.
July 31
Been a few days since I’ve checked in here. All good. We’ve been in the studio and spending some nice hours exploring. There are beautiful places everywhere. The bay of Fundy is dotted with lots of little rock islands that float just beyond reach. At high tide you’d need a boat to reach them. At low tide you can practically walk to them.
Happily, there are practically no other people on the beaches. Lots of skinny dipping mid-day, the water is cold but fresh and it’s a great way to wake up and smile.
The last two nights have included amazing sunsets. Two sunny days have ended with the sun setting as long lines of clouds form just inches from the horizon. A line of blue-white separates the clouds from the tree lines on the islands in the distance. Purple pink on top, it’s all quite magical. It would take the best watercolorist to do this picture justice.
In the studio things are changing. I am still working with pictures from Ukraine, but I’m learning a bit about abstraction and am enjoying the transition. I have been painting in the same style for many years now and am excited to be trying something new. These paintings are making me pay extra close attention to color and value.
And now it’s July 31 and I’ve been here a month. Seems like a week. Time flies when you’re having fun.
July 27
Giorgio Morandi was a master painter. His still lives of bottles, cups and saucers make a strong impression on anybody who knows how to look at art. Morandi sat in his studio and made these paintings, one after another, for over fifty years. You can look at two, one from 1912 and the other from 1962 and think that they were made on the same day. They are the same cups and saucers and he has placed them in the same position. But in truth, one was painted fifty years after the other, though he very likely sat in the same chair and worked with the same easel and brushes.
I have been working on a body of work for over five years. I don’t keep track of time, so maybe it has been seven or even eight years. During this time I have made over 2,000 paintings on neatly cut pieces of cardboard, each measuring 4 inches by six inches. Until recently, the paintings main focus was people in the middle east, specifically people living in war torn places like Aleppo, Homs or Gaza. The majority of these people wear robes, many are covered head to toe, showing only eyes and hands. Some of these people are soldiers, carrying guns or riding in tanks. Many of the pictures included dirty places and dust filled homes and broken things littered everywhere, the result of the destruction of war. Rather than paint the war, I choose to paint the people living during the war. Some carry cell phones, some wear polished fingernails and heavy makeup. Some lounge at home, others sit in plastic lawn chairs, inside their houses, pointing guns out the window. There are fires burning everywhere.
Now I am painting bombed out building in Ukraine. I go where the problems are. It’s what attracts me as a painter. And so the question, “why do I paint the same thing every day,” can be in part answered like this: I am trying to record what I see happening in the world I live in. In the past seven years, little has changed. In Ukraine, there are fewer robed and veiled people, but there is as much dust and dirt and fire.
I see the collection of 2000 paintings as one art piece. It is appropriately titled TODAY. I capitalize the word today because I want to scream it as loud as I can. Look what we have done!
I have been taught that an artist should strive to make things look beautiful. Of course that word “beautiful” can be interpreted in many ways. And of course, art is about more than just beauty. But I am a bit old school and so I try to find beauty in what I am painting.
I want to do many other things as an artist. I’d like to make abstractions, I’d like to make an installation, I’d like to make a sound piece, I’d like to be a minimalist. But I don’t want to walk away from my study of TODAY. And so I continue, and 2000 will soon be 3000 and who knows when it will end.
July 26,
When I started writing this blog I mentioned that I would use some of my time here this summer to reflect and look at myself. To be exact, I said this: “I’ve also come with a project that involves thinking and writing and reflecting on who I am.”
Well, I’ve been here nearly a month and I’ve yet to begin work on this project. Actually, I looked at a page or two I’d written a long time ago and I suppose you can say I reflected, but in truth not much came out of it.
The project is one I’ve been thinking about and doing very little about for nearly five years. I’ve got a great idea and I’ve made some pretty good preliminary sketches. The finished product is an animated film with the working title “Salaam Shalom,”using paintings I’ve made as backdrops and overlaying cartoon figures (see today’s picture). The animated lead character is the super hero Fritz, a 6’11” tall emu who has magic healing powers. Fritz leaves New York and travels to Palestine where he works his magic on the troubled souls that have suffered there, turning Jewish and Palestinian enemies into friends.
While thinking about the project recently I thought that I might make the story more personal. How do I, as a Jew who has thought about the Palestinian occupation for so long, fit into all of this. Hence the bit about using the time for reflection.
Odd that this reflection I am supposed to be doing about my Jewishness is happening in a church. And in Nova Scotia, where besides my friend Harvey, there are no other Jews within a hundred or so miles.
Summer vacations are supposed to be about beaches, naps and ice cream cones. I’m not really a napper and I’m cutting out ice cream due to a recent doctor’s report that I’m pre-diabetic. For now I’m taking beach over reflection.
July 23
Visited the Joggins Fossil Center yesterday. Joggins is a site recognized by Unesco. Huge cliffs descend into the sea. What look in the distance like a beautiful sea scape are layers upon layers of earth dating back to the beginning of time, from which millions of fossils spew. As you walk on a bed of a billion stones you realize that you are walking on real fossils, petrified trees, billion year old leaves, dinosaurs and every other creature that has existed.
Peggy and I were in awe as we contemplated time. The dinosaurs existed for 160 billion years. What does that even mean? We looked at trees, now stone, that stood tall millions of years before the first human took a breath of air. Peggy found a stone that she was certain had once been a turtle. When was it a turtle? A million, twenty million, fifty million years ago?
A few hours walking amongst the fossils we found ourselves thinking about ourselves. We are humans who will live maybe a century. Our ancestors date back a few thousand years and we are well aware that our time as humans here on earth is running out. And so human time will become a mere spec on the universal clock. We will live less than a second compared to the dinosaurs.
Galileo, Shakespeare, Descartes, Marx, Rembrandt, Sartre, Mozart, Freud and Michael Jackson. All that genius can be packed into a minuscule clump and stuffed into a hole. It ultimately will amount to nothing. And yet, while we are here, living and breathing, thinking and feeling, these acts of genius are everything. They make us happy, they make us sad, they make us wonder, they make us feel, they help us fall asleep and wake up to see another day.
As we contemplate how small we are, we can be thankful that at least we are.
July 21
It’s a bright sunny day here in Parrsboro, Nova Scotia. The bay of Fundy is ice cold, but with my newly purchased wetsuit I can plunk in the water and take a swim. Temperatures here are warm but there is no dangerous heat like there is in other parts of the world. I’ve heard radio reports of devastating heat waves. London has reported the highest temperatures ever. It’s hard for me to find out more news because my internet connection is too slow and won’t allow me to download articles, just see the headlines. Did Ivana Trump die?
Well, not much to report here. It’s a lazy summer day. I played a good round of golf today — three over par!-and spent a few hours painting — see above photo. Still lots of time left in the day. Beach,read,nap — vacation is nice.
July 20
While the world falls apart what are we doing? Posting pictures of beautiful meals eaten, beautiful gardens in full bloom, beautiful children growing up and winning prizes and awards, beautiful places we are travelling to all around the world, beautiful artwork we’ve made, beautiful pets and beautiful friends smiling. Many of these beautiful pictures are prefaced with words like, “while the world is crumbling, look at what I’m doing.
Here In America we have so much, so many beautiful things to enjoy and yet we know full well we are responsible for the crumbling world. We pollute it, we create tensions everywhere that result in war, we allow our citizens to stockpile weapons and use them.
I am as guilty as anybody and I will live with the guilt until I do something about it.
July 19
I don’t write about love very often, but it is a really big topic in my life. I’ve been in love many times, I’ve given and tried to give my love, I’ve received love, I’ve said “I love you” at least a million times. Admittedly, some of the times I’ve said it, I didn’t mean it.
I like being loved. Being loved helps me feel better about myself. When I love someone, I try to show my love because I want to make the person I love feel good. It sounds pretty simple.
I think the tricky part about loving and being loved is navigating. Two people have two different wants and needs, two different ways of showing love, two different ways of accepting love from the other and two different ways of defining what it even means. There are times when these two ideas of love meet and together form a powerful and beautiful feeling that is shared equally by both. But then there are the other times when they are not shared equally, when the interpretation is misunderstood.
Learning how to share love is difficult and takes time. It requires a lot of patience and understanding. It is important to remember how to accept how the other person is different. It is important to always remember that being in love is never a competition and should never be about power or manipulation. As soon as power enters, the love is lost. It becomes something else, something ugly.
I am in love with a very beautiful, intelligent and creative person who has a gigantic heart and an open soul. She is also extremely sensitive and challenging and there are moments when our love comes into question. I am learning how to open myself up to conversation and reflection. It isn’t easy. During these conversations, it is important to remember that the desired outcome is to further solidify the love we have together. It is not about winning. It is not about proving that my way is right.
“Love means never having to say you are sorry.” That quote from the 70s classic romance Love Story couldn’t be stupider. There’s plenty to be sorry about. Sorry for saying some words that weren’t appreciated. Sorry for not responding properly to an email. Sorry for talking too much about an old girlfriend. Sorry for forgetting your birthday. Sorry for saying no when you wanted to hear yes. Sorry for being a jerk.
John Keats said it much better: “Never give your whole heart.” You might think, well of course I want to give my whole heart. I want to show real love. But if you give too much of your heart then you have lost yourself, and you don’t want love to erase you. You want it to make you better, stronger, more complete. So you need to give just the right amount of your heart and open yourself up to receiving the amount from your partner that will make you full.
And now I’ve written a few words about love.
July 18
I’m two weeks out of my New York life and adjusting to things. We are really settling in here. Though I haven’t measured, slowing down has surely lowered my blood pressure.
We notice Parrsboro on slow everywhere. The same man sits on the same bench every day, the only difference from the day before is that he’s a day older. We pass by people who stop to wave and say hello and tell us it’s a beautiful day. We smile back and agree. There are no traffic lights in town, but really, there is practically no traffic. Finding a parking space is easy. Let’s face it, it ain’t New York.
Peggy made some more circle water colors and I worked on a few more paintings. I think I’m slowing down in the studio too. I’m simplifying my studies of Ukrainian buildings. Today I worked on four small paintings, blocking in each with just a few shades of gray, yellow-gray, blue-gray and brown-gray. I liked them, maybe even as finished paintings. Peggy looked and said “Mondrian,” which I think was a compliment.
Adding to the slow is what we hear, or really, what we don’t hear. At our cabin, surrounded by woods and trees, looking out at the ocean, we hear the quiet that defines the place. A gentle breeze and little more. The sound of silence is quite beautiful. As I sit and enjoy the peacefulness, I remember New York. Slamming doors, horns and sirens, beeping trucks backing up, a car alarm blaring for what seems like an eternity. The kid in his souped up car pulling up to a stop light, blaring his ghetto blaster loud enough for half of New York to hear. In the restaurant, the music is so loud you can’t hear the person you are dining with.
We finished early in the studio today. After a quick email check we asked each other what comes next and we both shrugged. No plans for the rest of the day. We could go home and sit and listen to nothing. Surely, there was no rush in figuring it out.
July 16
Over the past few days I’ve seen a number of trucks carrying trees on the dirt road leading to my cabin in the woods. Each truck is stacked with a few hundred trees, each cut perfectly in fifteen or twenty foot, neatly bundled pieces. Where I see them, I am surrounded by beautiful forest, filled with millions of trees. It has the look of wild nature, untouched by human hands. But as it turns out, on the other side of hill from my cabin, they are chopping the trees down by the truckload. It is only a matter of time, a few short weeks or months, before the forest will be no more. The company will profit doubly. The lumber will be sent to the mill, soon to become houses and paper. The land will become a corporate farm that will grow millions of blueberries.
I heard a radio report about the closing of a national park in nearby Cape Breton due to an abundance of bears, who have moved onto the parkland. We’ve heard about wild animals descending from their homes in the woods, finding new places in our neighborhoods and our backyards. In the north, the Polar Bears are coming to town. Here the bears are being driven from their homes.
Meanwhile, Senator Joe Manchin has scuttled plans to pass a climate initiative. The West Virgina senator has sided with republicans who want to help further destroy our planet.
We are witnessing the end. It is coming faster than we ever believed possible. We weather the storms, pay for the damage and wait for the next storm. We demand change from the companies that are complicit in the destruction, while we continue to pump millions of gallons of gas in our cars, turn our air conditioners on and make plane reservations for vacations around the globe. Seems like we do everything but blame ourselves
July 15
More on the process. It’s not linear. It doesn’t go from one to two to three to four, or from left to center to right, or from down to up or from beginning to middle to end. And it doesn’t start, get better, then better, then better, then great, then perfect.
The process is jagged. Sometimes good moments follow bad ones, other times the bad moments follow the good. Still, way too often there are moments that are flat, when the clock is ticking but nothing is happening. There are so many times in the studio when absolutely nothing happens.
How often am I sitting in front of my artwork wishing I could be anywhere else? Playing golf, watching a baseball game, eating ice cream, taking a walk, having sex, sleeping. But I stay seated and wait through the empty seconds, which are often minutes and even hours.
It seems silly thinking there is actually something called a muse. What is a muse? A he, a she, an it? You certainly can’t see it, but every so often something seems to float in and sprinkles some magic fairy dust on me and suddenly things happen. Greens become more vibrant, blues and grays become more than just blue and gray. Time stops. There is no time. I’m not thinking. I can’t even feel myself. And, after a while, I look at what I’ve done and realize I’ve just made art.
July 14
It’s a process. You get your supplies, you open some paint tubes, you squirt some paint on a plate, you fill up a glass with water, you grab your brushes, you decide what you are going to paint, you sit down, you take a few breaths, you put some music on (or you don’t), you decide to begin, and you begin. You mix some brown with some white with a tiny bit of red, with some ocher and you paint a section. Then you mix a little blue with some white and a tiny speck of black and you paint another section. You paint a bunch of sections with various paint combinations until something that you’re trying to do begins to appear. You take a break, drink some water, walk around the room, take a peek outside where you notice a woman who is eating ice cream is walking a large brown dog. She is wearing a striped shirt and green short pants. A few cars pass by. You go back and sit down and take a look at what you’ve done. There is a blue area that needs to be lightened and grayed out just a bit, so you mix some black into the already mixed light blue and then you add a tiny speck of burnt umber. It looks right so you paint that over the blue section. You are listening to Vladmir Horowitz playing a Scarlatti sonata in A major, live from Carnegie Hall. It is a piece you’ve learned and play pretty well, but hearing Horowitz play it is almost otherworldly. His hands move magically, softly and perfectly. Listening makes you paint with more focus. The sonata ends and Youtube plays another Horowitz piece and you get lost in what you are doing. You push paint around for another half an hour, enjoying the music, building your painting. It’s a process.
July 13
Painting is really hard. Sure, it’s fun to mix some colors and push some paint around, but making a real piece of art is (need a good adjective here) difficult.
I’m working on a series of paintings of buildings in Ukraine. They have been destroyed by Russian weapons. Windows are shattered, large chunks of the buildings are split in pieces, some of which dangle, other sections have fallen and now lay on the ground in a heap of rubble. The sky shines through holes in the façade. There is no sign of life or hope.
Why do I find these things beautiful? They are not beautiful like a sea scape suggesting a powerful ocean or a rural landscape depicting rolling hills of green disappearing into the horizon. I think the beauty is in the power that they speak. Here, in each of these bombed out shells, is a picture of reality. Our world can be seen here. They are Russian bombs and Ukrainian buildings, but we are all complicit.
It’s hard to imagine somebody choosing to hang these pictures on their wall at home. Even if they find one whose color scheme goes with the living room décor, I don’t think they will put these pictures up. Maybe one day I will find something to paint that will go with the couch.
July 12
Today: golf in the morning; good long game, horrible short game. Missed seven putts shorter than five feet. Nine holes, plus nine, my worst score in years. Painting: worked on two paintings of bombed out buildings in Ukraine. Lots of grays and browns, so many grays and browns, I’m trying. Peggy found a Moose antler in the church. It is gigantic and weighs a ton. Hard to imagine a Moose having two of these. I imagine it is a great strain on his neck. Maybe that’s why he is always groaning.
Spent the afternoon on a beach not far from town. It was a hot day and as I lay down I felt warm enough to jump in the ice cold bay of Fundy. A real wake up moment. When you are at the ocean and jump in, you actually feel like you are there. Now I’m here.
July 11
Here I am on summer vacation. Yesterday, Peggy arrived from Rotterdam, bringing many books, a few manuscripts and her tennis racket. So nice to have her here with me to enjoy the summer. Together we will go slow.
Spent the afternoon walking on the beach, looking at stones and reading and relaxing at home. We lay down together and fell asleep. The art can wait. I was reading while Peggy listened to the radio. I heard a soft voice announce three new killings and thirty injured in Ukraine. How did I get so damn lucky?
July 10
It’s Sunday and what do you know, I’m in church! We begin with a little organ music, but from there we veer in another direction. Here today we are a congregation of one, a Jewish boy from New England who has no plans of converting. Still, I feel the holiness here.
Spirit is what you make it. For some the spirit creates physical shudders. It brings some to their knees and others are rendered speechless, sometimes for a week at a time. On a hopeful note, spirit can lead to acts of kindness and good deeds. Does it matter whether we name our spirit Jesus or Ha Shem or Allah or Buddha? Spirit connects us to the beyond, to an imaginary, invisible place inhabited by who knows who.
It’s easy to knock religion. But we should recognize how important it is for so many people we live with. People need to know why they are here and they want to know where they are going from here. For many people, they can’t be comfortable not knowing. Religion provides an easy answer and it also promises that your future doesn’t involve you ultimately becoming a clump of earth.
There are those of us who aren’t comfortable with those answers, so we make up our own story. My story includes many question marks and I’ve become comfortable leaving them unanswered. I’m here now, I’ll most likely be here tomorrow and after that, we’ll see.
July 9
Another gorgeous day here. Beautiful sky, beautiful sunshine, quiet and easy. Mission for the summer is to learn to be slow. You’ve heard it before. The kid with the New York rush rush gotta do it all now way of life comes to a quiet and peaceful place where walking down the street licking an ice cream cone or sitting on a bench and watching a few cars go by is as busy as it gets.
I’ve been here a week and I am slowing down. Yesterday I waited behind an older woman in front of a bank machine. What should have been a one minute operation took this woman fifteen. She punched and re-punched buttons, stared at the screen for endless minutes while I stood with nothing to do but wait and wonder. As I waited I thought about how if this were happening in New York, I would be grumbling and making lots of noise. I kept reminding myself that waiting a few minutes wouldn’t make a bit of difference to anybody. Where did I really need to be anyway? I was on vacation for the next 60 days, so who really cared if the next ten minutes was a blank.
Finally, she pressed a button signaling she was done, but then she realized she’d forgotten something and she put her bank card back in the slot and did some more banking. Another six minutes, more button punching.
On the beach the other day I sat and watched a few ants racing about their business. Watching them was fascinating. They didn’t move in straight lines, often making circles and turns backward before continuing ahead. Some ants passed by one another without stopping to chat. I think I watched them for nearly twenty minutes.
I need to push lots of buttons to make my internet work here. When I get a connection it is slow. WWW=While We Wait. I’m getting comfortable waiting.
I hope I can take some of what I’m learning back with me when I return to New York.
Oh, the picture here is of a bear who has climbed a tree after seeing me walking up the path by my house. Yep, a real bear. I froze in terror as I spotted him, not more than ten feet from me. He/she/it/they saw me, gave me a little look and we both stepped back. The bear took a few steps into the woods and climbed the tree. I ran, stopped, looked, and, like any other modern citizen, took a picture. Yikes! Then, I backpedaled and went to Judith’s house and she offered me a whiskey. Quite a day.
July 8
How is everybody doing? I haven’t logged on to Facebook or Instagram since I’ve been here in Canada, so I don’t know who is doing what. I hope everybody is having a good time, despite the reality of our moment in time.
Shocking news of the killing of Shinzo Abe, Japan’s former prime minister. I had recently read an article reporting that Japan had the lowest percentage of gun owners in the world. Apparently, this killing was done with a home made gun. Yes, guns are everywhere.
It’s only a matter of time before someone I know, or I, will be shot and killed by an anonymous person. Will I become another person who has a microphone shoved in his face by a reporter asking me how I felt hiding in a dark room while a shooter unleashed his rage around the corner from me? Will I bring flowers and candles to a vigil? Will I celebrate the conviction of a 21 year old boy who was not reprimanded previously for his postings of violent videos and racist blabberings?
On that note, it is sunny and warm here in Nova Scotia today. Families line up on main street to buy ice cream cones. I played a not so good round of golf this morning, spent a few hours painting and ate fish and chips for lunch. Feeling pretty safe here.
Highlight of the day. There is a beautiful organ in the church that I was having trouble figuring out how to turn on. Harvey told me to get in touch with Kerwin Davison, a man who knew a lot about the church. I gave a call and Kerwin was happy to offer his help. He came right over and showed me how to make the organ work. He showed me the lever that turned on the pump that gave life to the organ. Kerwin is an 89 year old who seems more like he’s 45. He’s strong as an ox and moves like a deer. He has many fond memories of the church, where he sang in the choir for thirty years. He showed me the exact spot where he stood while singing. He also told me that he did a lot of the work on the church. We walked around and he pointed out all the things he’d done, including installing boilers, hanging lights and many other things. He also showed me a room that is locked that is a time capsule, created in 1989 to be opened in 2089. I asked him what was in there and he told me he didn’t know and then commented that he wouldn’t be around in 2089 to find out. I didn’t ask Kerwin what his secret to life was, but I’m guessing he has a few.
July 7
Spent the day yesterday with Judith and Harvey at Soley Cove, a piece of mountainy forest that winds down to a precious beach sporting gigantic red clay mounds. Three hundred of these acres of natural beauty belong to Harvey and Judith, who purchased the land before the pandemic.
We took a long walk through the forest, enjoying peace and quiet. Hari and Chaos, Judith and Havey’s dogs came along. They raced ahead.
Imagine owning three hundred acres of land. Wow! To date, they haven’t built. I think Judith and Harvey are happy to be in control of this precious land. I know they will not do anything to harm even a stick. A house might find it’s way here one day. I haven’t discussed it with them, but I was thinking that geodesic domes are the way to go. I envision four connecting domes — a living space, a bedroom, a studio and a guest room. Simple, clean, filled with light.
July 6
Above photos represent the first day and half of my attempt at being an artist. Honestly, it’s more than I thought I could achieve. The block is solid and I’m struggling to find my muse.
It’s a bit strange being here in what was once a church. How many times was the word god uttered here? Jesus? How many hail Marys, how many sips of holy water were consumed? You would think there is still spirit here, but I guess it’s up to me to bring that here.
Sadly, the church was recently vandalized. A few months ago, with nothing better to do, a few ten year old local boys broke in and threw rocks through a stained glass window, hammered a few holes in a wall and poured white paint on the red carpeting in the main space. Canadian law makes it impossible to prosecute or even discuss the incident with the kids who did the damage, as they are under 12 years old and protected by law. The parents didn’t come to the police and the police are not allowed even to give the names of the children to Harvey, the church owner. In the end, Havey didn’t receive even a letter of apology and of course no financial compensation from the families of the boys.
And so it is up to me to bring a little bit of holiness back to the building. I think I’ll do it on my own, without the help of the father, the son, or the holy ghost.
July 5
Creative people are odd. Many have strange habits and idiosyncrasies. While driving here I listened to a story about Eric Satie, who woke at the exact same time each day and did other things at exact times. And he had a servant who woke him many times a night to give him a glass of water.
I suppose I have my quirks too. I’m a counter. Often, while doing other things, I am counting time in my head. I can count a minute or ten and come within a second or two. I count pebbles too. On the beach I can scoop up a handful of stones and look at them for a few seconds and know how many I have. But I’m not Rainman. And if I did have a servant, I’d give him the night off while I was asleep. I’d much rather have him make me a nice breakfast than get me water.
I’m not sure what any of this has to do with making art .
I’m sitting in my church studio now. There is a sound coming from somewhere up above. It is the sound of fluttering paper. On first hearing it, I thought I had visitors. Maybe a few mice or a gopher? Or a ghost? Okay, time to get to work.
July 4
Driving here through Maine and New Brunswick, I tried finding good radio listening, but outside of NPR, which I can only stomach for very short periods, I found mostly Christian stations. On these stations there are many human interest stories involving young men who have overcome lives of abuse and addiction and, through Jesus, have found meaning, purpose and a road ahead. On these same stations are people like Sean Hannity, a good Christian I’m sure. I drove up as we readied for our Indendence Day celebration. Radio listeners were asked to call Sean and tell the listening audience why they were proud to be American. This provided an opportunity for people to remind the world that only in America are people free to worship as they choose and also that America is filled with horrible leftists who want to destroy our way of life.
All of this reminded me of YMCA summer camp where we sang a song called “I am lucky to be an American.” Summer camp was over 50 years ago. I’m still trying to wash some of the brain washing out of me. I can still sing the song, note for note. In truth, I still feel lucky.
The photo attached to this blog, once a Lutheran church, is now my summer studio. Last week I was a New York City art teacher with a one bedroom apartment looking out on the Williamsburg Bridge. Today I am in a five thousand square foot room with a few beautiful stained glass windows and a church organ that I am excited to play. Lucky?
NOVA: 2022
For the past bunch of years, I’ve written a summer blog. Each summer I’m somewhere beautiful, often alone, with nothing but time and space before me. It’s a good time to reflect on things. In past summers I’ve been in super rural Nebraska, suburban Saint Louis, land of blueberries and senior citizens Nova Scotia, Palestine and Iceland. Each summer I bring with me a lot of art supplies, this computer, a case or two of wine and my golf clubs. The golf clubs are part of my secret life, which is less secret because it always gets a mention in this blog, so the handful (half a handful?) of people who read this, know that golf is my morning Zen meditation.
This summer I am back in Nova Scotia, lucky enough to be living in a quaint little cottage, looking out on the sea. Today the fog is so thick that I see just a blanket of white, but I can smell the fresh sea air and I’m surrounded by green. I have happily left behind subways and busses. There are no Wall Street zillionaires living beside welfare recipients and homeless people. There are no Starbucks, no Ubers, no Amazon delivery people, no alternate side of the street parking.
So, here I am. Did I mention that I will be using an old church as my studio? Friends Harvey and Judith have given me the cottage and their church (that’s right, “their” church) to use for the summer. It gets better all the time.
And so, the big question — what does a Jewish artist from New York do in a church? Well, we’ll see. I have lots to do. I’ve brought with me tons of beautiful paper, lots of paint, charcoal and pastels. I haven’t painted in a while, but I think I remember how. But I’ve also come with a project that involves thinking and writing and reflecting on who I am. If I can handle it, this project will force me to look deeply into myself, which I suppose is what an artist is supposed to do.
And then there’s part two of my summer. Girlfriend, lover, sweet beautiful Peggy will be coming soon to spend the summer with me. Peggy comes from Rotterdam next week. We are hoping for a summer of beauty, peace, art, literature, love and adventure.
Yes, I’m fully aware that this wonderful summer I have planned comes during a time when the world around me is crumbling. I’m not the kind of guy who doesn’t read the newspaper to avoid reality, but I’m going to allow myself an escape into peace and quiet while the crumbling continues. And so it goes.