Tuesday, May 30, 2017

#SOL17: Wonder

A foggy morning in Leonia, NJ. I was on my way to Manhattan and just had to stop. I was two miles from the GWB entrance.

If you are an artist, it is work that fulfills and makes you come into wholeness, and that goes on through a lifetime. Whatever the wounds that have to heal, the moment of creation assures that all is well, that one is still in tune with the universe, that the inner chaos can be proved and distilled into order and beauty. —May Sarton 


For as long as I can recall, I have been fascinated with and attentive to light. Lambent light of dusk, the almost watery Maine light Hopper captured, the variations of light Monet's haystacks allows us to see, and the light that disperses fog that I have learned to see through the lens of my camera--all of these and more have taught me to look and look again. I can recall one afternoon telling Rob that some days I made it into work in Morristown, NJ and did not recall driving there as much as I could narrate what was happening with the light of day as I moved along in stop and go traffic on a highway.

Learning to look is different than seeing.


I measure time with light. Dawn, near dawn, mid-day, dusk, twilights, midnight are more about the presence and absence of light than they are representations of time on a clock. Such representations are so often wrong and certainly one could well argue that the invention and our uses of mechanical clocks has harmed more than helped.

Interval measurement assumes that time is relative and we know that time is not.


I am healing myself by making art--making forms of captured light. Grief is no easy matter, nor is finding myself a single parent of an 18-year-old.  Some days I feel like I am failing at everything. Other days, not so much.

Last night found me awake at 3 a.m. mixing paints to create tints and shades for a painting I am making. I felt compelled to make something. I'm not sure how long I was painting as I consulted no clock, but what I do know was that true night was gone.

The shape of trees in my neighbor's yard were distinguishable from the darkness.


  1. Learning to look is different than seeing. Yes.

    true night was gone...a lot of meaning in those four words

  2. Your creations this month have taken my breath away! I was up late last night too but not with creative work. instead I was obsessed wth this HGTV show Tiny House Nation. I can so appreciate the creative genius of others.

  3. MaryAnn, You are an artist with words as well as paint and photography. I agree that art can serve to help the healing process; it has worked for me, and is still doing so. Fortunately, there are people (artists) like yourself who see things the rest of us do not see and are able to portray this vision through your work. I hope you are collecting the work you've been doing in this period of extreme grief. Perhaps if you are willing to share it in book form, or some other form, it would be helpful to others in your position.

  4. This line made me smile, Mary Ann: "I am healing myself by making art." Your art is wonderful. I just went through a couple of your collections. If you have a photo or image poem that you would like to offer for my spring gallery, please send it on. Have a great week.


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