Fine Art Paintings by Blair and Laurie Fox Pessemier: September 2009

Monday, September 28, 2009

First Frost Orchard Laurie Fox PESSEMIER Acrylic on canvas 54 x 20 inches SOLD

Artnotes: Swings

"Swings!" Immediately after eating sandwiches and chips, our two-and-a-half-year-old twin friends went for a ride on the swings at Parker Park, the beach in Branford. My own lunch lurched ominously in my stomach as they hung their heads all the way back, watching the trees and sky careen above. "Higher!"

There are things one can do at the age of two and a half that will never be the same again. Their mom, our friend, H, asserts, "they'll only be two and a half once". Chasing pigeons; wading into the water in blue jeans, up over your knees; squealing with delight… I really enjoy that refreshing attitude, and try to incorporate into my own life. But there is something about knowing, understanding, and planning that can put the kybosh on spontaneity.

We are a bit more spontaneous this week, our coffers jingling ever so slightly again. I won't say it was the letter to God, but it could have been. I also tossed a penny into the Chinese Super Buffet fountain: the result came just an hour afterward. This was the same fountain, into which my mother, a rabid Yankees fan, pitched a penny, years earlier, willing them to win the world series, but, through an unfortunate slip of the tongue, exclaimed, "I hope the Red Sox (the other half of the family’s team) win the world series!" The Red Sox won. Ever since then, our family goes to then fountain whenever in need of a miracle. (This week’s wellspoke penny seems to have clinched the race for the Yankees).

On Thursday, the famous Branford library book sale opened its tents. It's a huge affair, with thousands of books. We paid the extra ten dollars to be "friends of the library" and gain entry a day before the general public.

Blair got in line at a quarter to four, behind others already waiting for the five o'clock whistle. These, it turned out were dealers, some from as far away as Brooklyn. When I got there at 4:45, nobody would let me join him, and I was relegated to the end of the line.

A man chatted up the crowd with his African Grey parrot, Rudy. Rudy's tail was such a brilliant red it hurt your eyes to look at it. Rudy, 4 years old, could play dead on command, to the delight of everyone in line. He wouldn't talk to us, but Blair says he spoke to those at the front of the line, no doubt recognizing them as book sale winners.

We'd already scoped out the books we wanted: Klimt's landscapes, Steichens photos; American Impressionists, an Indian cookbook... we immediately bought those and a few others. The Julia Child I'd seen was gone -- her first book, done with Simone. I suspect the book was hidden by someone for a later pickup. On Sunday, we went back for “donation day”, filling a box with all sorts of books (Turtles, Nicholas and Alexandra, New England furniture…) for a $10.00 donation.

I made a fish cooked in salt, a recipe from one cookbook: the whole fish, scales and all, is covered one inch deep with coarse salt and cooked at high temperature. It was a dramatic presentation, with Blair cracking it open with a hammer. It was not salty at all and the only really good recipe in that cookbook, which is why I have a five dollar maximum cost rule for cookbooks. I already made one of the Indian recipes, justifying its one dollar price tag.

We had a raspberry clafoutis from a Julia Child recipe online, with the twins, and sent them on their way with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When we see them again, I am sure they'll be completely different and new and wonder just who we are.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Swallows at Hammonasset Laurie Fox PESSEMIER Acrylic on canvas 20 x 10 inches

Straight knot study M. Blair PESSEMIER Oil on canvas 24 x 24 inches

Orchestra Laurie Fox PESSEMIER Acrylic on Canvas 36 x 12 inches SOLD

Mardi Gras M. Blair PESSEMIER Oil on canvas 24 x 36 inches

Man with pigeons Laurie Fox PESSEMIER Acrylic on canvas 12 x 12 inches

ARTNOTES: BACK AGAIN

I wrote a letter to God this week, asking for money. I told him that I would do only good with it, not be selfish, and it would mentally free me up to write artnotes once again. So far, no response, but I thought I’d go ahead and write to you anyway. It’s hard to find the balance between doing what I know to do (art and writing) and finding the money with which to live.

It has suddenly become cold crunchy fall here in New England. We had less than a month of summer weather, and now the first brush strokes of gold and red are painting the trees. Yesterday, we drove to Williamstown, Massachusetts to see the Prendergast show at Williams College. Several students were wearing their winter coats.

We picked up our friend, B, who lives in Winsted, and proceeded up the old route 8. About fifteen miles out, I saw a large black form crossing the road. “A bear!” Blair exclaimed. Just then, two small heads popped out of the foliage “and her cubs!” B took out his camera at the moment Harika went into orbit. A dog that has fear of chair legs decided to do her best to ward off these wild animals. No cub pictures, but a rather nice picture of the mother bear returning across the street to retrieve them. I could smell her. We drove on, by old New England barns, a covered bridge, and summer hotels. We also saw a fox.

Prendergast is a painter I have much enjoyed – he almost always includes people in his pictures, often lots of them. These paintings were mainly from Venice and northern Italy. Watercolors and monoprints, it was a collection that merited close up study. The galleries were not crowded and we got a good look at all of them.

I go to museums because I love to look at pictures, all kinds. The Robert Motherwell (in the permanent collection) has an impact equal to the Dutch portraiture and the Edward Hopper. In fact, seeing the Declaration of Independence was thrilling, and the British reply to the Declaration.

Our friend concentrated on the rest of the museum, which I had never seen. “Come over here,” he beckoned, showing us a Grant Wood which seemed quite modern, painted on masonite. Blair and I like to go places with other people for this very reason: they see things we overlook, adding a whole other dimension to our experience. B pointed out Steichen’s photos, some taken as advertising in the 1930s. A picture of matchsticks was destined to be a pattern for a Swiss Silk textile; same with an abstract of eyeglasses. The art museum is a great common ground, for friends and others, to start conversation.

We three were all shaken up by a photo seen at the end of the exhibits, before the gift shop. It was of a man in native dress with a pet hyena, standing under a graffiti-ed concrete bridge in Nigeria. Oddly, it is the piece that has stayed in my mind the longest, but the name of the artist escapes me (as I hope the hyena eventually did [escape him]).

The museum was free, perhaps a sign God heard my prayer. Good, but I still await more substantial income.

I don’t write artnotes when I am too stressed out, or have nothing positive to say, but then I reach a point where the dam breaks. I want to tell you dear readers (who are so supportive) that I didn’t get accepted to graduate school in Istanbul. The university thought their curriculum wouldn’t sufficiently satisfy my interest in art history. This was better than simply “no”, I guess… I might just have to write about art on my own.