tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90943293021132026612024-03-13T15:56:28.211-04:00NavigatingBlog begun in the aftermath of Tropical Storm Irene August 2011Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.comBlogger151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-324274754902668562015-09-28T16:47:00.000-04:002015-09-28T16:59:55.288-04:00Eclipsed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zubI9QPhxJ8/VgmqDygXVjI/AAAAAAAABN0/bSny70TLJpg/s1600/Wright_Moon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zubI9QPhxJ8/VgmqDygXVjI/AAAAAAAABN0/bSny70TLJpg/s320/Wright_Moon.jpeg" width="277" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">I surprised myself and pulled up a chair against and under the umbrella of the big tree in the field last night. Rosie sitting at my feet, the full moon lunar eclipse beamed straight into my chest. Slow, sublime and graceful, the eclipse was so much more than words I can say.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">One group of neighbors, partying on their porch, trailer trucks on the night run, jake brakes and bumbling rumbles, another neighbor couple ‘who is that sitting in the field in the dark’, and it was cold.</span></div>
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Me, I was in a celestial event. <span class="s1"></span></div>
Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-83992167502577395252015-09-19T21:15:00.000-04:002015-09-20T11:00:03.410-04:00On the Trail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W9K_fvLjt1k/Vf4IG7DlFQI/AAAAAAAABNE/l_WOeoJk80Q/s1600/%2BRosie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W9K_fvLjt1k/Vf4IG7DlFQI/AAAAAAAABNE/l_WOeoJk80Q/s320/%2BRosie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">This morning on the trail, we ran into a Burmese Mountain Dog puppy. The puppy: exuberant, friendly, confident and kind, my thoughts turned to rescue puppy Rosie. At fourteen weeks, after who knows what and a transport from Tennessee to Connecticut, the puppy I picked up was as serious and reserved as an old lady. She didn’t smile, wag, play or scamper. And she behaved. Seeming to learn instantly, she walked on a leash, understood what I meant by ‘business’ and laid quietly and watchfully in her kennel. Not a bit of mischief in Rose, nor a bit of play, nor a peep.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I set about to woo her. I smiled at her like crazy, sang her name, played by myself with dog toys and I am sure to my neighbors’ amusement, I ran around in the backyard, throwing and retrieving my own stick while Rosie watched. A friend checked Rosie’s teeth, thinking for real, this is no puppy, this is a little old dog. Nope, little teeny wiggly puppy teeth…..hmmm.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My father had died from head trauma the week before, my 12 year old dog Maple had died two weeks before my father, after her mysterious month long illness and my mother had died 8 weeks before Maple, after her few years of the mystery of dementia illness. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">To say that Rosie was exactly what I needed is an understatement of magnitude. Neither of us seemed to have the energy to complain or cry. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">About two weeks into Rosie and I living together, ‘against my what to do with a new rescue puppy knowledge’, I took her up to the woods behind the house, realizing I was going to let her off leash. What if she ran? Would I ever find her? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I unclipped her, she took a few steps, looked up at me, and I said go ahead. Off she scampered nose to the ground, then head up, then tail up, then nose to the ground, no this way over that mound and then the other one and over the next one she disappeared. Would she ever stop, would she get nervous and hide in a hole, would she starve to death in the woods after running till she dropped?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">It was a risk. I called her, I jumped up and down in the happiest yell I could find, ‘this is what it is Rose, this is what life can be, trees, dirt, smells, air, breeze, warmth, beauty, Rose? Isn’t this something to be happy about?’ </span></div>
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And she came running back in a bee line, a bundle of smiling bounding joy came back. I still don’t know how we found each other.<span class="s1"></span></div>
Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-46485862118227701532015-09-10T11:00:00.001-04:002015-09-20T11:01:11.537-04:00Lumbering Rock<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-21gYzXrKU-M/VfGYlnQaOrI/AAAAAAAABMU/cxCYetyu5wA/s1600/IMG_3255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-21gYzXrKU-M/VfGYlnQaOrI/AAAAAAAABMU/cxCYetyu5wA/s320/IMG_3255.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
This slumbering lumbering rock stopped me in my tracks this morning. Battleship grey, laying about growing moss and practically making topsoil on it's tummy. I just loved it. Like it had been there for the ages. I thought of Jane Culp's interview in Painting Perceptions. A western United States en plein aire painter, Jane loves the dynamic energy of those newly minted Rockies. She talks about New England rocks as old things, almost used up, covered up things. And I have say this morning marveling at that big slab of rock laying there, I laughed out loud. Jane's interview is a good read, it's here: <a href="http://paintingperceptions.com/featured-interviews/conversation-with-jane-culp" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">http://paintingperceptions.</span></span><wbr></wbr><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">com/featured-interviews/</span></span><wbr></wbr><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">conversation-with-jane-</span></span><span class="il" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">culp</span></a><br />
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And some of Jane's marvelous landscapes are here in the gallery, check 'em out!<br />
<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-78922569274365330112015-09-08T11:43:00.002-04:002015-09-20T11:01:57.141-04:00Foretelling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cnEkIA7fTWc/Ve8B_TsI38I/AAAAAAAABK4/xdMtk_Bl23E/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cnEkIA7fTWc/Ve8B_TsI38I/AAAAAAAABK4/xdMtk_Bl23E/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="311" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">I had a dream a year before I was diagnosed of being in a deeper basement than I knew I had in my house. In the center of this basement I was surprised to find a 4 foot wide column of walled off space. One of the walls had a large hole that I immediately wanted to repair. Inside the hole, I could see this creature, big and wormy with undulating parts. The creature was very pale, like it had never seen the light of day. It ‘floated’ back and forth peering at me with a benign quizzical eye. It seemed happy and curious. Screaming, I threw everything I could grab at it. The creature, calm, unaffected, continued going back and forth looking at me like I was an interesting lunatic. I woke up, embarrassed at my response. I wasn’t the least bit calm or curious to meet the thing. And the thing looked at me almost as if to say, ‘why so upset?’ So I drew the thing, I made prints of it, I thought of it like a mythological snake. I wasn’t wild about how the images turned out. I couldn't get the flow of it right and the drawings and prints went into the 'later' pile. I moved on, and as happens with me and my work, I forgot all about the prints and the dream.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Months later, I was diagnosed. I knew nothing about untreated Lyme, the bacteria, how systemic the infection gets, how it likes to take up residence in the central nervous system, or how the microscopic bacteria look like undulating worms, but I had a gut response that I didn’t want to rant and rail and fight. I felt I had to get to know these things, be respectful, understand something, while somehow getting them out of my body.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">More than a month into treatment I came across the forgotten monster prints. I remembered the dream. I had to go lay down. Shocked to learn the thing in the dream was clearly a lyme bacteria biofilm. A year before I was diagnosed my subconscious, my body was talking to me about what was going on, what was coming, what was going to be a part of my every waking day. That explains my gut response, and I am glad I listened to that much. This whole thing is really intense, the protocol is intense and my body is intensely challenged, calm was definitely a good way to begin.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And now three months later, there is this:</span> GET OUT. </div>
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<span class="s1">If only I dreamt endings, right?</span></div>
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Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-54820150503007241022015-09-07T12:08:00.000-04:002015-09-07T13:43:45.407-04:00Labor Day 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vpVF3DFlp5A/Ve21tid_oOI/AAAAAAAABKc/47fbZoD43DU/s1600/P1090378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vpVF3DFlp5A/Ve21tid_oOI/AAAAAAAABKc/47fbZoD43DU/s320/P1090378.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">At work today only 6 minutes late after swimming and garden picking and visiting friends. Grateful to walk in the door, steep as the steps felt to my knees. Lyme disease has become as much work to me as making art and running the gallery. I’d like to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. In the night I wake in a tumult of voices and feelings in my head and body. The feelings, both physical and mental, profoundly dark, take my breath away. Who is speaking? How can these microscopic bacteria affect so many aspects of my life, even my thoughts? Some nights, I am curious, some nights scared and some nights just plain annoyed. And still this sunny Labor Day grateful to be alive, to swim, soak up a little sun and come to work, to paint, to talk to people, to write, to look at beautiful things and as much as I rightly bemoan it, to work and learn through Lyme. </span></div>
Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-46676421588943000762015-01-28T21:08:00.000-05:002015-09-20T11:03:33.046-04:00Simple Beauty<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JUQ0NWhLu-k/VMmVIzsdm0I/AAAAAAAABDk/wpMevxCVdWQ/s1600/Simple%2BBeauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JUQ0NWhLu-k/VMmVIzsdm0I/AAAAAAAABDk/wpMevxCVdWQ/s1600/Simple%2BBeauty.jpg" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pleasure this morning in this perfectly proportioned post</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-34414205473429730292014-08-31T13:10:00.001-04:002015-09-20T11:05:43.256-04:00How do dogs know everything?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monoprint, 'Oh Hercules'</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This morning Rosie sat at the edge of the field and would not walk with me to the garden. I teased her a little, she barked at me, one quick, 'gosh you are not listening bark'. I ignored her warning and picked what I needed, walked up to the far gardens, fooled around and headed back to the house. When I turned around the biggest fox I had ever seen was sitting in the middle of the field. Rosie looked me as if to say 'I tried to tell you'. </span>Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-26694016869274758772013-09-16T11:09:00.001-04:002015-09-20T11:06:52.235-04:00Mysterious<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">messages on the trail last few days.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-46422262377709007462013-09-11T08:57:00.000-04:002015-09-20T11:07:42.117-04:00Ridiculous<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and her stick.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-28043936686968958342013-08-28T19:03:00.003-04:002013-08-28T19:03:48.511-04:00Just might have been<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-27JpISK7Oy8/Uh6BPCqa8VI/AAAAAAAAA3c/-b7_e5mtjqU/s1600/hand+of+god.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-27JpISK7Oy8/Uh6BPCqa8VI/AAAAAAAAA3c/-b7_e5mtjqU/s320/hand+of+god.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the hand of God as I swam under those clouds this evening.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-74947451402495710202013-08-25T13:18:00.003-04:002013-08-25T13:18:48.661-04:00Apples on the Valley Trail<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TNGfDeVm4BA/UhlGYK47cCI/AAAAAAAAA28/DH9rXtZx1yU/s1600/apple+from+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TNGfDeVm4BA/UhlGYK47cCI/AAAAAAAAA28/DH9rXtZx1yU/s320/apple+from+tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosie is not comfortable being photographed. In this photo I was trying to coax her into turning around but she sat steadfast with her back to me. As I gave up, taking this image, an apple from the tree on my left thudded the ground, having fallen, seemingly straight down. We both startled and then I got the apple's joke.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-57496590461730207552013-08-22T17:24:00.001-04:002015-01-28T20:50:13.378-05:00Throwing me a bone<br />
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The lake threw me a bone today. A very old bone right at my feet. I have been working in the prints on thoughts of flesh and bones, bags of bones, skin and bones, you get the idea. Yesterday one drawing reminded me of Joan of Arc's armor and I thought 'ha Joan didn't get old'. This morning the lake's retort: "but her bones still did".Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-6376183133875774222013-08-20T12:18:00.000-04:002013-08-20T12:18:25.335-04:00These two<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yqj2Uiy7NRo/UhOWcdAFQHI/AAAAAAAAA2M/JhGNr7RCq-8/s1600/blog+hanging+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yqj2Uiy7NRo/UhOWcdAFQHI/AAAAAAAAA2M/JhGNr7RCq-8/s320/blog+hanging+out.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">have been living this dangerous life just like that all summer.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-50183639336787427042013-08-17T14:03:00.000-04:002013-08-17T14:03:22.955-04:00This old building<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iwUMsrHuyk8/Ug-5ykUhoqI/AAAAAAAAA10/KQJxH0W8BIk/s1600/cube+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iwUMsrHuyk8/Ug-5ykUhoqI/AAAAAAAAA10/KQJxH0W8BIk/s320/cube+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">such a cube.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-20176391634111664512013-08-16T15:24:00.002-04:002013-08-16T15:24:54.723-04:00Pretty Morning<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milkweed</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-15909718679485086282013-08-09T13:25:00.002-04:002013-08-09T13:25:50.547-04:00Eagle at the Lake<b id="docs-internal-guid-7b551607-6416-f79c-c878-f0d6a936b57b"></b><br />
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-7b551607-6416-f79c-c878-f0d6a936b57b"><b id="docs-internal-guid-7b551607-6416-f79c-c878-f0d6a936b57b"><b id="docs-internal-guid-7b551607-6416-f79c-c878-f0d6a936b57b"><b id="docs-internal-guid-7b551607-6416-f79c-c878-f0d6a936b57b"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eagle at the lake yesterday. A bald eagle here is a treat. This one’s tail and head are impeccably white and the bird is of good size but not monstrous. The bird is exactly what I picture when I think of our iconic eagles. Very different from the bald eagles I saw in Wrangell, Alaska. There the bald eagles gathered at the dump. Like seagulls, like vultures, like the scavenger/opportunists that big birds of prey, in fact, are. </span></b></b></b></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The locals spoke of them the way I grew up thinking about pigeons swarming after peanuts in Boston Common. Later in that same life, I walked the Common with a Midwesterner who had never seen a pigeon. ‘Oh my god what are those gorgeous birds, oh my god look at that one and on and on’.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Happens all the time.</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span>Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-16694240521278072072013-08-07T11:03:00.004-04:002013-08-07T11:04:32.229-04:00Rosie's job<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S2_SN9rW3dA/UgJfzQP7qfI/AAAAAAAAA0w/mehvk-vbKRo/s1600/margaret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S2_SN9rW3dA/UgJfzQP7qfI/AAAAAAAAA0w/mehvk-vbKRo/s320/margaret.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what my dog is teaching me: Home is good, bed is very good, staying in bed late is best. I got up at 8:00 today, close to three hours later than normal. For a few days I have been wrestling with the past and the future, it's tiring. Mostly because there is nothing I can do about either. So Rosie says to me "Sit, Stay, here in the day at hand" That's the trick she's teaching me and the treat.<br />
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Image: "Life Drawing", from last week.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-12127211270850107572013-08-04T11:56:00.001-04:002013-08-04T11:56:15.782-04:00My reach exceeds my graspin printmaking with this new process.<br />
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Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-16330488656283019672013-08-02T14:50:00.000-04:002013-08-02T14:52:50.878-04:00Bag of Bones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Oh I believe I'll be a bag of bones soon enough. soon. sooner than we imagine, sooner than I care to admit and yet I could be graceful about this. I could take my cue from the old maples and old ravens and old dogs and old cats. I could borrow their tricks and their attitudes and be cheerful, grateful for time well spent, misspent (oops) and time unspent.<br />
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Here I go now past the middle of my path and nearing the last curves, heading on into the late, late, late light.Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-34799721160193732992013-07-28T16:43:00.001-04:002013-07-28T16:45:28.523-04:00Neither too little nor too late<b id="docs-internal-guid-301fb74e-26ff-2c3a-bc33-65e04d498245"></b><br />
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-301fb74e-26ff-2c3a-bc33-65e04d498245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Neither too little, nor too late, I pick up my pen, my brush, my heart and my hearth and wander back, walk back, ride back and swim back, </span></b><b id="docs-internal-guid-301fb74e-26ff-2c3a-bc33-65e04d498245"><b id="docs-internal-guid-301fb74e-26ff-2c3a-bc33-65e04d498245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">back to myself, to the inside of the tree, to the bottom of the cave, to the heart of the flower, to the center of the universe, to the nucleus of the cell and breathe, breathe, breathe the sustenance, the life force, the nurturance, the body and the blood, the holy ghost, before the day begins, before I fully awake, I run back for one more dip in the pool, one more breath of life.</span></b></b></div>
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Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-13223152904918285012013-07-27T10:26:00.000-04:002013-07-27T10:26:53.307-04:00This once foggy summer morning<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">might be a perfect day.</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-60422454460261664542013-07-25T11:47:00.001-04:002013-07-25T11:47:41.740-04:00The Void<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Already fill the void? I've barely let out my breath, I've barely let myself go. I've barely said goodbye to all that I have known, to all who I have known. How many times must I do this, breathe in, breathe out, breathing in all that is, breathing out all that is no longer needed. and again.Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-52234724593804689162013-07-22T15:20:00.000-04:002013-07-22T15:20:46.036-04:00Fire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Fire" screamed the new fangled smoke detector in the middle of the night. "Fire". Out of bed in a flash, I circled the entire house and then around it, in a run, "Is there a fire?" No, not tonight, not at this house. I got back into bed, the pillow was reassuring, luxurious even. Ah, my world is in a good place this moment. This moment. Then my eyes blinked wide open, fear, as I remembered how swiftly comfortable can change. We aren't always safe and it isn't always comfortable but that moment when there wasn't a fire and the pillow was soft and just right, maybe now sweeter for it's known tenuousness. Gratitude and all those lofty concepts people have said before me, true.Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-62802927695040161352013-01-01T16:18:00.002-05:002013-01-01T16:18:51.485-05:00Happy New Year<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F6s-toBbiHY/UONSafKwcHI/AAAAAAAAAwI/TWGfA4y8fzc/s1600/+Snow+Mountain+Lass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F6s-toBbiHY/UONSafKwcHI/AAAAAAAAAwI/TWGfA4y8fzc/s320/+Snow+Mountain+Lass.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">says Rose, Queen of Snow Mountain</td></tr>
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<br />Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9094329302113202661.post-84300766965349941672012-12-26T13:21:00.001-05:002012-12-26T13:21:10.784-05:00A Tree Barking<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tree Bark</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KFzIZnSZ0PY/UNs_YuZUSFI/AAAAAAAAAvo/evM8ERXa-yw/s1600/Wilmington+End.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KFzIZnSZ0PY/UNs_YuZUSFI/AAAAAAAAAvo/evM8ERXa-yw/s320/Wilmington+End.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">at the Wilmington end of the Trail on this beautiful blue morning.</td></tr>
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Gallery Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13300685357047563850noreply@blogger.com0