"When Lilacs...Bloomed" will be on exhibition ....

....in Maple and Main Gallery of Fine Art next week.  The current show comes down after the gallery closes on Sunday, and the new show will be up for visitors to enjoy on Wednesday when the gallery opens at its usual time of 11 o'clock.  The official opening for the new show is next Friday, a week from tonight, from 5 to 8 PM.  I hope to see you there.  Please come see me when you are there.  I look forward to visiting with you.

You may remember that I began this painting on the evening of the day in May that my sister died.  I wrote a series of blog posts about the process of creating this painting, as well as a second, larger painting on the same theme, which I have not yet completed.

"When Lilacs...Bloomed," 10x20" original acrylic on stretched canvas, copyright Joan Cole

Initially, the title of this piece was "In the Valley...."  However, in the four months that it has taken me to complete it, I have realized that--as important as that valley has been to my family for generations--my focus of this piece was less on the valley (which is the Connecticut River valley near Springfield, Massachusetts) than it is on the lilacs.  As Springfield natives, my sisters and I enjoyed the fruits (and vegetables) produced by the farms on the fertile lands bordering the river:  asparagus in the spring, apples and potatoes in the fall, and a cornucopia of other produce.  But my family treasured above all the flowers that thrived in that alluvial soil.  We are not particular  or fussy when it comes to blossoms; any will do, dandelions to daisies and on to delphiniums and beyond.  But who can resist the fragrance, colors, and textures of a bouquet of lilacs in the spring?

Spring came early in New England this year, so the lilacs began blooming in April, which is a month early for them.  My sister had been doing poorly all winter, so I took their early blossoms as a sign from my mom--who had died when the lilacs were in profusion in another May many years ago--that my sister would not be with me much longer.  This may sound lugubrious to you or attention-seeking on my part or whatever.  Actually, it is my way of processing my grief.  I am grateful that my sister is no longer suffering.  I know lilacs will bloom again.  I know that beauty will always be all around me in every season.  I do not think of this as a sad painting.  It is a memory painting, a remembrance, a tribute to my sister.

The mountain in the background is Mount Tom in Holyoke, Massachusetts, which is north of Springfield.  It is a landmark to  natives like me.  

I'd like to hear what you think of this piece, which is certainly different from my usual plein air paintings.  Whether or not you can come to Maple & Main's opening next Friday or not, I'd enjoying hearing from you.  I encourage you to leave a comment for me.

Many thanks.  ~Joan

"When Lilacs Last...

in the Dooryard Bloom'd," is Walt Whitman's elegy on the death of Lincoln.  This long poem from Leaves of Grass begins:

WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d,

And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,

I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;

Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,

And thought of him I love.

It ends with these lines:

For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands...and this for his dear sake;

Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul,

There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim.

This poem--and lilacs--always bring to mind my mother.  She died in May several years ago, and lilacs were a riot of color then.  Thus, the sight of lilacs always remind me of Mom.


As I'm sure you are aware, the weather in New England has been unseasonably warm this past winter and spring.  So, in April, I was shocked to see lilacs blooming a month early here in Connecticut.  At the same time, I was aware that my sister wouldn't be with me much longer.   The confluence of these thoughts prompted me to write the following poem.

 

Lilacs bloom early this year--

Your way of comforting me?

New England  in May is

time for lilacs—that riot

of color at your grave

years ago.

Will lilacs still bloom

when both my sisters are gone?

Will joy

still

lift

my heart?

Have you come to greet

your first

with fragrance

and peace?

Dress her in that gossamer

iridescence,

spun

by the spider

in your nap

time story.

Lift her gently

from pain.

                        ~Joan Cole

  April, 2012

                       

What does that have to do with the painting I posted yesterday?   I know that somehow, lilacs will appear somewhere in both of these paintings.

You saw this beginning underlayment of  horizontal 10"x20" painting in yesterday's post.

This photo was taken after further layers of pigment had been added.

 And this was as far as I had taken this painting as of 4 AM yesterday.  Despite the glare of the flash on the first two photos, I think you can see the additional layering in the the third.


Tomorrow, I hope to show you my progress on this painting and the other larger, vertical piece.  Please stay tuned.

I Have Begun Two New Paintings...

with my sister Phyllis in mind.  She died yesterday morning in Massachusetts, after suffering since last summer  from a debilitating illness.  If you have ever watched a loved one die by inches, you'll understand why I feel some relief at her passing.  


Anyway, I woke up at 12:30 or 1:00 this morning, unable to sleep, thinking of Phyl.  I decided to get up, put my painting duds on, and get to work.  I began two canvases with the idea of a landscape, probably including lilacs, somehow.  The last time I saw my sister alive was last Saturday.  Our daughter had flown home from Nevada to see her Auntie.  Calista and I took Phyl a bouquet of lilacs, which she LOVED!  One piece fell off the bouquet, and she enjoyed holding under her nose and sniff, sniff, sniffing it.

Untitled underlayment for a 10 x 20" acrylic on canvas,  copyright Joan Cole

Anyway, this is what the 10 x 20" looked like around 3:30 AM.  (Please forgive the glare.)  There are at least two layers of pigment on the whole canvas.  Having begun this and a 12 x 24" vertical piece, I went to bed about 4:00 AM.  It's 10:00 AM now, and  both canvases are calling me.  I will show you my progress on this project.  So, more later....