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Rainbarrow Studio
Fine Art and Art Instruction by Frank Sullivan
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Twinkle In Your Eye (oil on canvas, 2017)
Painting is a solitary endeavor.
I enjoy being around people and I am extremely fortunate to have so many amazing, wonderful and unique people in my life – family members, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances who inspire and challenge me and enable me to see the world from a different perspective – but I spend the majority of my time alone. The gestation of art requires this. In addition to all of the actual work involved in the intensely focused process of making art, I spend a lot of time simply being alert for inspiration, which requires presence, awareness, and mental stillness, all of which I find nearly impossible to achieve when engaged with other people. I need the quiet and solitude, which is probably what draws me to other solitary activities such as long walks on backroads or wooded trails, long-distance running, cycling and swimming, and meditation. I believe that it is imperitive that anyone who is going to make art be comfortable with who they are because only through authenticity can originality be acheived. What better way to learn to like who you are than to spend time alone?
Yet the act of making art often (if not always) stems from a need to communicate and to share. Any attempt to manifest our ideas, thoughts, feelings, passions and stories as visual form originates from a desire to impart those ideas, thoughts, feelings, passions and stories to other people – friends and strangers alike. Otherwise, why make the effort? Why spend so much time and energy learning the craft and struggling to bring the work to fruition, often in the face of a plethora of failures and only to be met with indifference, if there isn't a deep-seated need to reach other people?
So, for those of us in the sometimes unenviable position of being artists, our need to connect with others paradoxically necessitates us spending a great deal of our time alone.
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Monday, October 23, 2017
Towering and Flowering (oil on canvas, 2017)
If you're making any kind of art, it is essential, no matter what stage you are at in your development, that you seek out feedback about your work. Not just the typical, "Wow, that's wonderful! You're really talented" that you get from your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/kids/parents/siblings, but honest, objective critical feedback from people that are not worried about hurting your feelings. (And as an aside, you should never take critical comments about your work personally. Even if a comment is meant as a personal attack, passive aggression disguised as constructive criticism always says more about the flaws in the character of the person making the comment than about any flaws in the work being discussed.) Feedback is indispensable as a means of helping you gauge the efficacy of your methods and it should always be considered carefully.
About nine years ago, I had a more experienced artist and teacher critique some of my work. She said that I was "trying to do too much" and that I should figure out what's important to me and just do that. At the time (as is so often the case) I wasn't sure exactly what this meant. I thought of Rembrandt, Cézanne and DeKooning, three artists whom I always felt tried to do too much and succeeded at it, so maybe trying to do too much wasn't such a bad thing. Still, I took her comments to heart, filed them in my subconscious and continued to work.
Looking back, I realize that as my work evolved over the ensuing years, my periodic dissatisfaction with it resulted in what was essentially a distillation process - the systematic removal of certain aspects of my work (e.g. the influence of other artists, description of specific subject matter, objective color, etc.) – and this process continues today, as I find myself trying to really hyper-focus on the things that are important to me and jettison those things that aren't essential. I once took a photo of a tiny section of one of my paintings and when I saw the image I realized that everything I was trying to say was contained in that microcosm, and that a lot of what was in the painting was extraneous.I had, indeed, been trying to do too much.
Years ago I was out running on some old railroad tracks near my home in Massachusetts. My shoe had come untied and when I stopped and crouched down to tie it I happened to notice a section of the steel track that had rusted so much I could easily break pieces of it off. Right next to it was a small plant that was beginning to bud. I was captivated by the contrast between the resilience of this little plant and the ultimate fragility of the steel. Decades from now, the plant might be a majestic tree, rising high above the dust that the tracks would have become and yet to look at the plant, one would see no visible signs of growth or activity.
I'm always fascinated when I look back at work that I did years ago and see not only how my methods have metamorphosed, but how the changes have, for the most part, occurred in microscopic increments and in a way that now seems inevitable. I find great comfort in the realization that although I often feel like I'm forging blindly into a vast and murky darkness, there's a force greater than me at work guiding me inexorably toward some destination. Not that I don't have to work hard, because I do, but it's important to remind myself that as long as I'm moving forward, it isn't imperative that I know where I'm going to end up. The essence of any journey lies in the step that you're taking right now.
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Wednesday, October 4, 2017
For The Tenderness Within (oil on canvas, 2017)
When my daughter was young, she and I spent a lot of time together, both in the car and on long walks. She would often say to me, "Daddy, tell me a story about when you were little." There were perhaps a dozen or so stories that I would choose from and eventually, she would ask me to repeat specific ones. Her favorite was the one about the time an enormous snake slithered across a fallen tree that I was walking on right in front of me. What struck me was that, thinking back to my first twelve to fourteen years, there weren't that many events that really stood out as clear, distinct memories – surely no more than a few dozen. A vast percentage of that time was just an amorphous haze, a smattering of disconnected moments only vaguely remembered. Even more fascinating, at least to me, was the fact that when I was experiencing those events that would become long-lasting memories, I had no idea of their eventual significance.
Memories are always subjective. We remember things the way we want to. Oftentimes, we remember the way things made us feel, rather than the details of what actually happened and we project those feelings onto the events and people that populate our stories. Two people remembering the same event will more likely than not recount two significantly different tales.
Memory plays an important part in my work. I used to do a lot of drawing and painting from direct observation outdoors, but lately, although I still go outside to draw regularly, the images that I create are conjured up in the studio from memories, not just of places I've seen and drawn, but from memories going all the back to my early childhood. I'm not so much interested in the memories of how things appeared as I am in the memories of how they made me feel and I like the idea of triggering memories in the viewer that are specific to them. When we make art, we try as much as we can to control the viewer's experience – to communicate our content as effectively and articulately as possible using visual language – but, ultimately, each person is going to experience the work in a unique way. Even when we come back to a work of art that we've seen before, we have a different experience because, depending on how much time has elapsed, we have changed and so have our expectations. You can only experience a work of art for the first time once. Every time that you come back to it is informed by each and every previous encounter. When we engage with a work of art repeatedly, we bring to each encounter our memories of previous engagements with the work.
Artists always have to consider the element of time with regard to their work, even if the work itself is static. Art can represent a person or event from the past or it can allude to something in the future. A work of art is a record of a time in the past during which the artist was actively engaged with both the subject and the materials. Art can demand that we spend a lot of time looking at it, slowly revealing itself to us over extensive and repeated viewings. Art can stay with us in our memory, long after we've disengaged from it. And art, like poetry, can trigger personal memories within us – images and feelings from our own story – temporarily transporting us back to a time long since past.
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Sunday, September 10, 2017
Not As Much As This (oil on canvas, 2017)
During the second semester of my senior year in college, I was enrolled in an advanced printmaking class. It was a small class, maybe seven or eight students, most of whom were art majors and all had had two semesters of intaglio printmaking already. The focus of the class was the development of an individualized approach to expression via the printmaking medium. Early in the semester the professor, Elizabeth Peak, announced that we would each have to choose an artist whose work had influenced us and write a thesis about the artist and their work and give a presentation to the class at the end of the semester. I was at the time (and I still am!) completely enamored by the work of Rembrandt and had already read extensively on his life and work and had made a couple of trips to the prints and drawing room at Museum of Fine Arts in Boston to view some of his etchings in person. I could have written my thesis and given a presentation right then and there if need be so I figured that the assignment was nothing that I had to worry about. When class was dismissed I walked over to my teacher, who pulled a book out of her bag and then pushed it into my stomach (knocking the wind out of me!) saying, "You're not doing Rembrandt. You're doing this guy."
Begrudgingly, I took the book, a catalog of an exhibition on the work of Giorgio Morandi, an artist I'd never heard of. "But you said we could choose the artist!", I protested.
"Not you.", she said.
The catalog was mostly comprised of pictures, with only a brief introductory biographical introduction. I checked the college library to find more books about the artist, but to no avail. So much for writing my Rembrandt paper that evening after dinner. At least I had the semester to figure it out. And a book of pictures.
Morandi's work seemed the antithesis of Rembrandt's – lacking the narratives, the chiaroscuro and dramatic lighting, and the draughtsmanship pyrotechnics of the master's work. The images were mostly still-lifes, composed of simple, ordinary objects and rendered in a minimalist, abstract style characterized by a quirky drawing style and almost crude cross-hatching. I was utterly baffled. But I studied those images every day, carrying the book around with me and delving into it at every available opportunity.
Eventually, the genius of Morandi slowly revealed itself to me and I saw how, through the use of visual form only, he had managed to imbue these mundane objects with the sublime. The compositions were flawless, the intervals between the different objects and the between the subject and the picture frame were meticulously thought out. He utilized myriad value schemes from extreme contrast to entire images made up of almost imperceivable variations of middle grey. And the quality of his line, although lacking the finesse and virtuosity of Rembrandt, contained a humanity that filled each image with the presence of the artist himself.
The experience had a profound impact on me. Indeed, I spent the next two years making drawings, monotypes and paintings of simple, nondescript objects, exploring subtle variations in composition and tone. Despite getting the wind knocked out me (literally and figuratively!), it was one of the best art lessons I ever had and I have always been grateful to that teacher (for that and many other important lessons).
My current work bears no resemblance to Morandi's, but his spirit still inhabits my studio. This painting is the latest in a series of variations on a theme that came out of a pencil drawing I did in the Spring. I have been experimenting with different color schemes, value relationships and compositional structure (vis a vis the shape of the rectangle and the subdivision of the pictorial space) and the ways in which these variations in form manifest as images, each with a distinct visual/emotional content. And there's no denying that my rough-hewn style of applying paint has its roots in my love of Morandi.
I've never been interested in using subject matter as a means of imparting my ideas. I believe the best paintings, like the best poetry, communicate through the means of artistic form rather than narrative or subject matter.
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Monday, July 31, 2017
Days Like These (oil on canvas, 2017)
One of the most difficult aspects of the art making process for me is the necessity of having to face one's true self and the stark contrast between the innate perfection and the inherent flaws that we will inevitably find therein. When we attempt to execute something that proves to be beyond our abilities, we are forced to confront our technical limitations. This confrontation could potentially cause us to either work harder to overcome those limitations, look away and ignore our technical deficiencies whilst continuing to work in the same manner, or capitulate and stop trying to make art altogether. I have never liked the word "talent" as it suggests a natural technical facility that one is born with. My experience has shown that ability comes, not from an inborn gift, but from long hours of study and practice in the face of continued defeat. If there's a natural gift, it's merely the tenacity that enables one to keep working despite repeated failures.
In addition to the technical deficiencies that every artist must confront, if we want to make work that is original and authentic, we have to find the strength to be ourselves and allow that to come through in the work. This sounds simple enough, but when one has spent years (or decades!) learning by emulating the masters in their chosen medium, resisting the temptation to hide behind someone else's ideas and personality can be be a formidable challenge. And when we make work that is truly authentic, we are essentially putting our inner selves on display before the public and risking both ridicule and (possibly worse) indifference, either of which can prove to be a significant blow to the artist's self-esteem, potentially hampering one's ability to continue working. We also risk excessive praise and adulation which can oftentimes be an even greater obstacle to our development and productivity as we struggle to live up to what we perceive as an unattainable expectation of greatness.
Sometimes, if we've worked hard and consistently, good work happens, but not without the inevitable failures – the bad drawings that litter the studio floor and line the trash cans, as well as the paintings that no one ever sees whilst they make their journey from our easel to the landfill – that cause us to not only doubt our choice of vocation, but even our personal value. Indeed, being truly authentic in our work is one of the greatest obstacles that an artist must face. It certainly is for me. When I took up art again after a hiatus almost twenty years ago, I went through periods where I was terrified to go into my studio for fear of facing the demons that were in there. I still feel that way sometimes and only through sheer will and dogged persistence do I keep working.
Someone asked me once, "How do you know if you're an artist?"
I replied, "Try as hard as you can not to be an artist and then you'll know."
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Friday, July 14, 2017
Waiting On Sunday (oil on canvas, 2017)
When I was eight years old, prompted by a short-lived interest in pirates, I borrowed a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island", illustrated by N. C. Wyeth, from my local public library. I was immediately enamored by the images that punctuated the story. My favorite was the one of the blind pirate, Old Pew, ambulating down a path in the moonlight with his probing cane extended out in front of him as he gropes in the darkness for his missing comrades and his tricorne, which sits in the foreground in the lower right corner. It's a brilliant painting, perfectly composed and executed with admirable skill, but what captivated me the most was the emotions that the image was able to elicit from me as I gazed at it.
Visual arts can communicate myriad messages, concepts and ideas. They can educate and inform, entertain, shock, inspire, move us to think differently or take action, preserve the past or predict the future. For me, though, (and this, admittedly, is my personal bias) the most important function that art serves is to manifest the complexities of one's feelings and emotions as something tangible, to be shared with others and to preserve those ephemeral and intangible abstractions indefinitely.
The arrangement of the forms, the color and value choices, the means by which the work is executed, the subject (or lack thereof), if executed with skill and sensitivity, can have the power of the greatest poetry and lead us to the sublime. (If you've ever stood in front of a painting and been moved to tears as I have, you may know exactly what I mean.) A lofty aspiration, to be sure, but that is what beckons me out to the studio each and every day.
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Friday, May 26, 2017
Truth In Front of My Eyes (oil on canvas, 2017)
When it comes to making art, technique has always been a struggle for me. Always. Drawing, painting, color theory and color mixing never came easily for me. I often felt like I had to put in a lot more time than most people in order to develop the skills that I have acquired and I continue to work at developing those skills on a daily basis.
Nevertheless, the most difficult and challenging part of making art for me has always been finding the courage to be completely honest and authentic in my work. Ever since I first felt the compulsion to make art, many decades ago, expressing my personal vision has always been of utmost importance to me and the driving force behind my willingness to put in as much time as was necessary in order to develop the skills that I needed. But being honest and authentic in one's work is often easier said than done. It requires that one really be comfortable with who they are because, let's face it, the more you love who you are, the more willing you are going to be to create work that is a manifestation of your true self. If you're working from a place of true authenticity, your work has to be original because each one of us is unique. But with honesty and authenticity comes the risk of facing indifference, or even ridicule, from our audience and thus arises the temptation to hide behind a mask and create work that looks like someone else's, which becomes all too easy if we've spent years learning technique by copying the established masters. This can happen on an unconscious level, so it's important, if we're making art, to ask ourselves "Am I really being authentic? Am I really being myself?" and to find a way to manifest our true selves into the work that we do.
To be truly authentic in one's work requires total acceptance of oneself, despite our seemingly numerous attributes and behaviors that we may see as shortcomings or failings. Like all things created in nature, we are perfect as we are and we should celebrate our uniqueness, not only in our work, but in every aspect of our lives. To live and work authentically is to truly live life to the fullest.
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Monday, May 15, 2017
It's a New Dawn, It's a New Day (oil on canvas 2017)
One of the properties that I love most about oil paint is that it stays wet and workable for several days. I generally like to work a painting whilst the paint is still wet, but sometimes, for various reasons (illness, other commitments, house guests, or a painting that just turns out to be very complicated and difficult), that isn't possible. Such was the case with this painting. I had a five day window of time in which to complete it, but I wasn't able to resolve the image before the paint started to dry. Much to my chagrin, I found myself out of my comfort zone and having to remix my colors and paint on top of a surface that was no longer workable. Interestingly, though, I found that my being forced to work this way ended up resulting in a surface that was very dense and textural and ultimately perfect for this particular image. (Click on the close-up below to get a better sense of what I mean.)
Once again I reminded of the importance (not just in art-making, but in all aspects of life) of knowing when to surrender – to relinquish control and allow things to unfold as they will. This is often one of the most daunting challenges for artists. We tend to want to have control over the finished product and can be afraid to trust our instincts. Ultimately, though, when faced with a choice between my intellect and my intuition, I have found that it is my intuition that always points to the truth.
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Friday, April 14, 2017
Hopes Left Behind (oil on canvas, 2017)
(Private Collection)
It's easy, when making visual images, to focus on capturing the appearance of our subject. One "sees" something, thinks that it would make a good subject for an image and then goes to work using their chosen medium to make an approximation of what they saw, thinking that if the finished work "looks" like the subject, it will be successful. But even the most skillfully and accurately rendered visual facsimile of a subject can fail to give rise to any deep feelings in the viewer.
The truth is that when we engage with a subject, our experience is the product of many senses, not just the visual. All of our primary senses (visual, auditory, taste, tactile and olfactory), as well as other senses such as memory, emotion, and thought, can, and usually do, influence our experience. The sounds that we hear, aromas that we smell, the feeling of the warm sun or cold rain on our skin, and any memories that rise up into our consciousness are all part of the experience that we have. For me, the challenge of the visual artist isn't to simply reproduce the outward appearance of a subject, but to find a way to turn the totality of an experience into some kind of visual form. If I'm painting a tree, I don't just want the viewer to know what the tree looked like. I want them to smell the tree and the air around it, hear the insects and birds and distant farm machinery, feel the breeze, taste the sunlight and have the memory of the old tree in the woods behind my neighbor's house and to share my longing for the grey-eyed girl that I almost kissed there when I was thirteen.
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Thursday, April 13, 2017
(oil on canvas, 2017)
In two-dimensional art, we deal with two different types of space. "Decorative" space is a flat, two-dimensional space, which involves the arrangement of two-dimensional shapes on the two-dimensional surface. "Plastic" space involves creating the illusion that the two-dimensional images is three-dimensional. Within the realm of plastic space, as in the universe in which we live, there exists a dichotomy between form and emptiness, neither of which can exist without the other. We couldn't be aware of solid forms if there were no space between and around them and, likewise, we could not conceive of empty space if there no forms in it.
When dealing with plastic space in drawing and painting, the artist is always trying to manipulate their materials to suggest that the flat, two-dimensional surface is either solid form or empty space. Cézanne criticized the Impressionist for not having enough form in their paintings – for being all atmosphere and light. One of the remarkable attributes of Cézanne's paintings is that if you see one in person, the illusion of form is so convincing, that some of the objects seem to project out in front of the canvas. If you stand in front of a Rothko and look at it long enough, the painted surface dissolves and becomes a void, filled with light, atmosphere and color.
I like to think about each image that I make as having it's own proportion of emptiness to form and oftentimes, each image will be a reaction to the one that preceded it. This image was based on a small section of a pastel drawing that I did a few years ago on a cold, damp October day. I love the dense, tangled, chaotic wildness of the woods. As complex and Labyrinthian as it appears, careful study and contemplation will reveal a masterful plan beneath the surface. I tried, but failed, to capture this image in paint a few times in the intervening years. I realized that the problem was that I was focusing too much on the empty space in my previous attempts – trying to create the illusion of depth and space around the forms. The solution was to to fill the canvas with form and let the space take care of itself.
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Monday, March 20, 2017
Where Once I Saw Beauty (oil on canvas, 2017)
There's an empty, derelict house about four miles from where I live, that has been the subject of numerous drawings and paintings over the past ten years. I've drawn the house from every possible angle, at various times of the day, and during all the seasons of the year. One day, two summers ago, I was riding by it on my bicycle and I happened to notice three small satellite dishes mounted to the corner of the front porch roof. Interestingly, I'd never seen them before, they weren't in any of my drawings and, yet, they had been there all along.
We're inundated every day with a plethora of sensory information, so much so that we usually filter that information in order to make sense of it. We see what we want to see, hear what we want to hear, and more often than not, the things we perceive are the things that conform to our own personal (and highly subjective) version of reality. In so doing, we tend to develop a sort of tunnel vision, which keeps us stuck in our own individual perception of the world. One of the many reasons that art is so important is that the skilled and sensitive artist is able to take their own unique way of seeing the world, seen through their own filters of perception, and turn that into visual form so that others can see the world the way the artist does and (hopefully) gain some enlightenment from the experience. When making art, the things that we leave out of the work are just as important (oftentimes MORE important) than the things we put in.
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Monday, February 27, 2017
The Perfect Moment
(oil on canvas, 2017)
"A work of art is the trace of a magnificent struggle." – Robert Henri
It took me years to realize this, but the art-making process is a continuum and, although the the serendipitous ways that images come to fruition still surprise me, I've come to accept them as the norm. I never think about simply "making an image" from start to finish. I just work all the time – drawing, painting, doodling, studying, thinking – and the images are the by-product of that process.
About five years ago, I went out for a walk with my set of Sennelier half stick pastels, a board with a piece of paper taped to it, and the best of intentions. I was in a very creative mood and I ended up making a drawing that was very loose and gestural, free, abstract and filled with vibrant, subjective color choices. It didn't quite work as a drawing on its own so I never framed or showed it but, for some reason (most likely the freedom of execution and the exuberance of the colors), I liked it. I taped it up on the wall of my studio where it has remained ever since. I've often looked at it, wondering if it contained within it the seeds of another work.
Last weekend I had finished a painting and was eager to begin something new. I didn't have a subject in mind, but I had faith that something would emerge eventually, and I just needed to remain alert enough to catch it. I went out to the studio before dinner Saturday to turn the heat on and as I headed back toward the door, I looked up, saw the aforementioned drawing hanging on the wall, and, in a flash of insight, immediately thought that if I removed the right half of it, it would become a very strong composition. I grabbed a piece of black paper and taped it up, covering the right half of the drawing and instantly saw the subject for my next painting. I had a couple of canvases(20x24 and 30x36) that were the correct proportions for the composition, but given the complexity of the color scheme, compounded by the ethereal quality of the drawing, both of which were going to make this a challenging image to execute, I thought it best to use the smaller canvas. However, on an impulse, really, I decided at the last minute to use the larger canvas instead.
My process involves mixing all of the colors (a slow, methodical and often tedious process) for the painting before I begin to actually paint, which can sometimes take days. This image had a complex color scheme so I spent three painting sessions just mixing the colors. I started actually putting paint on the canvas Tuesday, working late into the night and again over the next two days. By the time I went to bed Thursday night (the wee hours of Friday morning, actually!) I realized that I was in over my head and had undertaken an image whose complexity was beyond my skill. With trepidation (dread, really) and tenacity in equal measure, I headed out to the studio after dinner on Friday, determined to forge ahead, although without much optimism. (I told my daughter that I was probably going to have to abort this painting and pull the canvas off of the stretchers.) However, after about three hours of intense working, I could detect a faint glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel as the image began to coalesce and I went to bed (in the wee hours of Saturday morning!) with hope.
After several more hours of work on Saturday, I stepped back from the easel and saw this. I think it's one of the best things I've done.
My son asked me how long it took me to paint this. I said, "At least five years."
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Sunday, February 19, 2017
The Last Time I Saw You
(oil on canvas, 2017)
I've spent countless hours drawing and I still draw regularly. In the beginning, drawing was primarily a means of developing technique – grappling with how to translate whatever I was looking at into some kind of visual form – and, in the process, learning (mostly by trial and error!) the language of visual form. I've always tried to avoid becoming complacent with regards to technique and I still spend time doing myriad exercises in an effort to continue my technical development. These days, though, a lot of my drawing time is more geared toward searching for images. The process involves shutting down my conscious thinking and letting my subconscious and intuition direct my choices. Because the process involves a lot of risk taking and letting go of control of the final outcome, the drawings oftentimes are not successful. But that's just part of the process, and the payoff when I do hit on something unique and interesting is well worth it. Any drawings that I think have even a modicum of potential to someday become images for my art get saved. My studio is littered with them, some taped on the walls and others in piles on just about every available surface.
When I was in college, I did a series of ink wash drawings of still-life subjects for my drawing class. When my teacher saw them, she said my technique was okay but she handed them back to me and said, "Go make compositions with them." She was right, of course (as she always was!); I had done a nice job of rendering the objects but I hadn't thought about the relationship between the objects and the the frame of the drawing. So I took the drawings, laid them on a table, and using strips of paper to cover up the sides of the drawings, found interesting compositions and then cropped the drawings accordingly. This turned out to be a wonderful exercise and I still do it all the time. Occasionally, I'll take one of my drawings, which may have been lying around the studio for years, and, using strips of black paper, experiment with different framing/cropping options in hopes of finding an image. Sometimes all I need do is crop a small bit off one edge and the composition will work. Other times, I end up discovering an image in a very small section of the original drawing.
The composition for this painting came from a small cross-section of a drawing that had been hanging on the studio wall for about four years. What I find interesting is that the subject of the original drawing (a grain silo and a water tower) isn't even in this image.
I'm quite pleased with this. In any creative endeavor, it's important to learn to trust your intuition and instincts and to allow yourself opportunities to let go of control and just experiment and explore. You may spend a lot of time feeling like your pressing in vain against a brick wall, but if you just accept that as part of the process, eventually you'll bring something wonderful to the surface – something that you never could have come up with via conventional thinking.
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Sunday, February 12, 2017
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
(oil on canvas, 2017)
The British jazz guitarist John McLaughlin is one of my favorite musicians. I've seen him perform dozens of times, with a variety of different ensembles, over the past few decades. One of the remarkable aspects of his performances is that when he improvises, he seems to be not thinking at all. He points his face up toward the ceiling with his eyes closed and seems to be merely channeling the music from some unseen force rather than thinking about chord changes or scales or following the other musicians. And the music that comes out is invariably astounding! This is the epitome of creativity – bringing something new and unique into manifestation.
Being a creative artists requires absolute fluency in our chosen medium, which can only come from countless hours of discipled study and practice, most of which is fraught with seemingly unsurmountable challenges and demoralizing mistakes. But this isn't enough. To be truly creative, an artist must learn, once they've mastered their craft, to relinquish control in order to access the source of all creativity. This requires an enormous leap of faith because giving up control means accepting a certain degree of uncertainty about what the final outcome will be – a daunting task for the conscious mind that wants to feel safe in knowing what the finished work will be – and yet, if we know in advance what the work will look like, the work will inevitably be more derivative than creative.
Uncertainty is one of the inviolable principles of the universe. If we can learn to accept the uncertainty, with absolute trust, the creative power of the universe can work through us and then, and only then, can we produce work that is absolutely creative and original. To resist the uncertainty is to live and work in fear.
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Friday, February 3, 2017
A Chance to Start Again
(oil on canvas, 2017)
This is a true story:
In the summer of 2005 I had decided to leave my corporate graphic design career in the suburbs of Boston and move to northern Maine to dedicate myself to making art. That may seem like a a crazy or impetuous decision, but I was in a very good place spiritually and felt, although I had some doubts (mostly due to fear), I was convinced that I was following the path that the universe had laid before me.
One saturday morning, after picking my then four-year-old daughter up from an overnight stay at my parents' house, I stopped to see my dear friend Robert Pierce, whose two daughters were (and still are) close friends with mine. As the girls played in the back yard, Rob and I stood on the deck enjoying some excellent Pierce Bros. coffee and savoring the gorgeous summer morning weather. Rob looked up into the sky and pointed out a barely discernible eagle, circling high above us. He said that it had been hanging around the neighborhood in recent days. I couldn't help but marvel at the eagle and its ability to spot prey on the ground from such an altitude.
After we left Rob's house, I took my daughter to the Worcester Ecotarium, an indoor/outdoor science and nature museum that I hadn't visited since I was a child. I parked the car in the main lot, from which we had to walk uphill on a path through a wooded area that led to the main entrance of the building. At the base of the path, I was surprised to see a cage containing two eagles. I looked at the eagles in their cage and thought about how safe they were and how all of their needs were being met. They were sheltered from the weather, fed every day, and would be provided with medical care as soon as the need might arise. I couldn't help but ponder the contrast with the eagle that I had seen earlier that morning – who woke up every morning having no idea where its next meal might come from and yet, every day it managed to find food. In its natural state, soaring amongst the clouds, the universe provided for it and it lived without fear, even though there were no guarantees as to its safety.
I saw this experience as a sign that my decision to exchange the apparent safety provided by a good job, a nice home in a densely populated suburb, and the support systems offered by living in close proximity to numerous family members and friends for an old farmhouse in the sparsely populated, impoverished no-man's land of northern Maine, where I didn't know a soul was the right one. I was the eagle in the cage, but I belonged in the sky.
The reality is, no matter how safe we might think we are, safety is ultimately an illusion. Unforeseen circumstances could turn our lives upside down in an instant. Every morning that we awake to a new day is none short of a miracle. If we're going to live a truly fulfilling life, we have to be able to take risks and have the courage to live with uncertainty, especially if we want to bring anything creative into this world. As the Roman philosopher Tacitus observed, "The desire for safety stands against every great and noble enterprise."
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Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Remnants of Your Tears and Smiles
(oil on canvas, 2017)
Before moving to Maine, I lived in Massachusetts and worked in a corporate office as a graphic designer and illustrator. I would usually try to devote my lunch hour to my art. Initially, my office was in Boston and I would often go to museums or galleries to look at paintings. When my employer moved to Foxborough, I would go outside and draw at lunchtime if the weather was nice. During the winter or inclement weather, I would visit one of several libraries in the area and read art books.
The library in the town of Sharon had a decent collection, especially given the diminutive size of both the town and its library. As a bonus, there was also a Starbucks within walking distance so I could eat my lunch on the drive there, get a coffee and then sit in the library and look at and read about art. My favorite book there was a large, full colour catalog of a 1987 exhibition of Hudson River School painters at the Metropolitan Museum of Art called "American Paradise: the World of the Hudson River School". I read it cover to cover and would often return just to look at the illustrations. (When I eventually moved to Maine, I found a used copy of the book on the internet and frequently refer to it.) I was, of course, quite impressed with the work of Frederic Church, especially his "Niagara", which covered a two-page spread in the middle of the book and the wonderful "Twilight in the Wilderness", a view near Mount Katahdin, not far from where I live now.
But, for me, the best part of the book was a short section near the end devoted to George Inness, whose association with the Hudson River School had more to do with geographical proximity than stylistic similarity. His work was much more painterly and had an ethereal quality that I felt a strong affinity for. I tracked down a couple of monographs of him and his work and , over the ensuing months, saw several of his original paintings in various museums in New England. (The museum at Colby College here in Maine, arguably the best art museum in the state, has a brilliant George Inness painting called "The Spirit of Autumn".)
One of my George Inness books contains a lengthly and insightful interview with the artist. Although I don't agree with his assessment of JMW Turner's "Slave Ship" (one of my favorite paintings ever - see post from a couple of weeks ago) which he refers to as "the most infernal piece of clap-trap ever painted", I whole-heartedly agree with his views on art as being first and foremost a means of cultivating the artist's own spiritual nature and that the essence of any great work of art is not found in its fidelity to representation of the outward appearance of the subject but, rather, to its fidelity to that divine inspiration that comes from within the artist. Knowledge and skill are requisite for the making of any art, for we cannot truly express ourselves without being fluent in the visual language, but I believe that the artist should use their craft to bring forth that unique essence that is inside of them and them alone and, in the process, learn something about who they truly are as well as help others to see their own true nature.
All else is "clap-trap".
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Thursday, January 26, 2017
Nothing Lasts Forever
(oil on canvas, 2017)
Back in 2008, I was feeling ambitious and stretched a big canvas, the biggest I'd ever attempted to paint on. Inspired by something I'd observed whilst out running late in the day, I had made a little pastel sketch of a puddle in a muddy, recently-harvested potato field, with a sunset sky above the horizon and reflected in the puddle. I thought the sketch was brilliant and that it had potential for a great painting so I proceeded to paint it on my big canvas.
I worked on it for months. Every day, for hours, week after week after week, I piled paint onto that canvas (so much paint!) as I tried in vain to bring my vision to fruition. In the end, I capitulated. The surface of the canvas had become so built up with paint it was no longer workable and I'd lost all faith in myself. (Not to mention the stress over having wasted what was probably hundreds of dollars worth of paint!) I pulled the canvas off of the stretchers and threw it away.
With the help of my innate tenacity, I eventually recovered my confidence, stretched a new canvas and had at it again. "This one will be successful.", I thought. I'd learned from my mistakes. Alas, it was not to be. Months later, with my paint supply depleted and my self-esteem vanquished, I pulled the canvas off the stretchers and tossed it into the waste bin.
I stretched a new canvas on those stretcher bars but, realizing that I hadn't yet acquired the skills to be able to handle such a large image, I leaned the canvas up against the wall in the corner of the studio where it has remained these past eight years, with its back to me, defying me to attempt to paint on it again.
Then, this image came to me, initially as a tiny (seriously, it's no more than 2" square) pastel sketch which I found on the floor of the studio, having not even remembered making it. (I do a lot of little pastel color studies, especially late at night, and they end up scattered about the studio on tables and shelves, taped to the wall or, apparently, on the floor.) The large canvas happened to be the perfect dimensions for this image and I felt, having made well over a hundred paintings in the preceding eight years, that I was up for the challenge.
It came together fairly quickly – five or six painting sessions of about four hours each – and I'm quite pleased with it, not to mention the satisfaction of finally having that large canvas become a painting. Things happen in their own time. The universe has a plan. If we're patient enough, and attentive, we get to watch it unfold.
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Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Once Our Storm Has Passed, Bathed in Peace and Light
(oil on canvas, 2017)
I first saw JMW Turner's "The Slave Ship" at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston decades ago. It has always been one of my favorite paintings in that museum and I've spent countless hours standing in front of it – admiring it, studying it and just being awestruck by it. My favorite Turner paintings have always been the ones in which the forms dissolve into a dense cloud of atmosphere and light. In January 2004, I made a trip down to New Haven to see the Turner collection at the Yale Center for British Art. The Turners are on the fourth floor in the front corner. In order to get to them, one must first walk through the John Constable collection. I was only vaguely familiar with Constable's work. (Whilst in college, I was working on a landscape painting that had clouds in it and my painting teacher suggested that I look at Constable and Jacob Van Ruisdael, which I did, but only through reproductions in books.) As I walked through the Constable collection that morning in New Haven, I was struck by a large painting at the end of the gallery. I approached it and, as I began to take it in, I was completely overcome with emotion. My knees gave out and I dropped to the floor as tears rolled down my cheeks. (I later read that Delacroix had a similar experience upon first seeing Constable's "The Hay Wain" in the Louvre in 1824.)
The painting was Constable's "Hadleigh Castle, The Mouth of the Thames – Morning After a Storm". It was at that moment I saw my destiny and decided to commit myself to painting.
I bought two books about Constable's life and work that morning before leaving the museum (and a refrigerator magnet – I couldn't resist!) and several more in the months to come. "Hadleigh Castle" was painted in 1829, following the death of his beloved wife Maria, based on a sketch that he had made whilst on their honeymoon twelve years earlier. Constable's love for Maria was profound. They fell in love in 1809, but had to wait seven years before they could be together as their union was opposed my Maria's grandfather, who was also her family's benefactor. For seven years they kept their love a secret, seeing one another for only brief periods, oftentimes months apart, communicating via clandestine letters in between. I used to wonder how he was even able to paint whilst drowning in the depths of what must have been an unbearable grief. But perhaps it was the work that kept his head above water.
Although contemporaries (both born in 1776), Constable and Turner seemed to have antithetical approaches to painting the landscape. Both were keenly interested in capturing light and atmosphere, but whereas Constable's approach was to strive for a fidelity to the natural appearance of the objects in the landscape as a means of suggesting the light and atmosphere, Turner attempted (well, succeeded, really) to paint the light and atmosphere themselves, as if they were tangible forms. For years I've tried to reconcile this dichotomy, both in my mind and my work. This painting is as close as I've come.
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Saturday, January 21, 2017
It Won't Always Be Like This
(oil on canvas, 2017)
I've always been a fan of instrumental music, whether classical, jazz, rock, metal, or new age. In fact, I spent many years playing in an instrumental rock band when I was younger. People would often come up to me at shows and say something along the lines of: "You are guys are great, but why aren't there any words?"
I had a wonderful drawing teacher in college, the printmaker Elizabeth Peak. I had seen quite a bit of her work and most of it was landscape, or landscape with man-made structures in it, but no figures. I asked one day why there weren't any people in her pictures and she said, "As soon as you put a figure in the picture, it becomes a narrative." This made me think about music and how as soon as you add lyrics to it, it, too, becomes a narrative.
I love the way that pure music, devoid of words or narrative, can elicit a multitude of emotions through the use of sound, texture, rhythm, timbre, volume, harmony and tempo. Painting can do the same thing with color, shape, texture, value, rhythm, scale and line. But it's been difficult for me to free myself from the tether to representation without feeling self-consciously self-indulgent. Gradually, though, I've developed an increasing dissatisfaction with representation in my work and more and more have become enamoured of the ability of the paint to express my personality without describing objects. I think the development of a personal mode of expression (in any of the arts) shouldn't be forced, but should evolve naturally. As we become dissatisfied with the efficacy of the tried-and-true methods to convey our feelings and ideas, we are forced out of necessity to cut a new path through the forest.
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Friday, January 20, 2017
Beyond the Horizon
(oil on canvas, 2016)
As our lives play out, many of us have a tendency to fall into the habit of playing certain roles. Whether it's a child or a parent, an engineer or a chef, a football fan or a saxophone player, a vegetarian, an intellectual, a hunter, a Christian, an employee, a neighbor, etc.., we look outside ourselves for our identity. It's easy to do and I'm certainly guilty of it myself, but in so doing, we might lose touch with our true, inner identity – that thing that makes each of us uniquely ourselves.
We can see a similar phenomenon in painting, where many paintings get their identity by trying to be something else: a landscape, a bowl of fruit, a horse, a king, a sailboat, etc., and we can forget that a painting's true identity is ultimately just an arrangement of shapes, colors, lines and textures.
The original inspiration for this image came whilst looking at a very small section of an earlier painting. With the subject matter removed, the image became pure colour and form, without attempting to describe something that it was not, and yet I felt that it conveyed something very personal. So, I developed the idea into this painting, which took on a life of its own once I commenced working on it.
I admit, there is a certain resemblance to some kind of landscape. The top portion of the painting, being similar in value throughout, with no hard edges, suggests empty space and atmosphere, whilst the bottom portion, with it's antithetical attributes (strong value contrasts and hard edged shapes), suggest density and solidity. As a result, the border where they meet can easily be read as some sort of "horizon". (It would be a very different painting, indeed, if it were turned upside down!)
I look forward to continuing to exploring this method of working and hopefully, in the process, get closer to my own true identity.
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Monday, January 16, 2017
A Face On Which Time Makes But Little Impression
(oil on canvas, 2016)
This is an idea, inspired by one of my all-time favorite paragraphs in the English language (and from whence the title comes), that I have tried to paint (and failed miserably, I might add) at least three times over the past decade – that nebulous time when day and night, light and darkness, merge and the inevitable feeling of nostalgia elicited (at least in me) during that period.
I've begun to paint more freely and let go of topographical description so I recently decided to have another go at this image. I'm quite pleased with it and in looking at it once it was finished, I realized why all of my earlier attempts had failed. I had focused my attention on painting an unkempt, overgrown field, a sunset sky and trees – none of which the painting is actually about.
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As Memories Fade
(oil on canvas, 2016)
One of the important aspects of my artistic process is the concept of plastic (or three-dimensional) space in an image that is essentially flat. Like many artists, I am constantly trying to defy the flatness of the canvas or paper and create the illusion that the image is three-dimensional. Inherent in the struggle is the dichotomy between mass (solid form) and volume (empty space), i.e. the "form" and the "formless". The shapes, colors, values and textures within an image can suggest either solid matter or empty space, neither of which can exist without the other. This dichotomy exists in the universe, as well. All solid form is surround by emptiness. You can see this easily enough when looking into the night sky and observing the vast emptiness between stars, solar systems and galaxies, but this same emptiness exists even at the the smallest conceivable scale. The same vast emptiness that separates the stars also separates sub-atomic particles. Even the most solid forms are comprised mostly of empty space. And as time marches on all matter changes. The tiniest seed can become a towering tree and mountain can be reduced to dust. Stars die and galaxies are formed out of nothingness.
I've realized over the past year that some of the growing dissatisfaction I've felt with some of my older work is that the boundaries between areas that appear as solid forms and areas that appear as empty space were sometimes drawn too clearly; that oftentimes the solid forms were given the appearance of permanence and the emptiness a transient quality. People who see my work, especially locals, remark how, by painting certain recognizable structures (old houses, barns, etc.) I have immortalized them. I have often thought about how many of the structures that were subjects for my paintings over the past decade are no longer standing, but live on in my paintings.
But the universe is in a state of constant flux and nothing lasts forever. Not even memories.
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About Me
I am a full time artist, originally from Massachusetts, currently living in northern Maine. I work primarily in oils and pastel, and occasionally watercolor. I offer instruction in drawing and painting at my studio, which is in an old renovated potato barn. Please feel free to view samples of my work
(You can see a larger version of each picture if you click on it.)
and leave a comment if you are so inclined. Be sure to click the "Older Posts" button at the bottom to see more work. I don't always have time to respond to comments, but if you wish to correspond with me, you can e-mail me at email@example.com
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Places Where You Can See My Work
Rainbarrow Studio, Littleton, ME
Morningstar Art & Framing, Presque Isle, ME
Harlow Gallery, Hallowell, ME
Blog List
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Blog Archive
Twinkle In Your Eye (oil on canvas, 2017)
Towering and Flowering (oil on canvas, 2017)
For The Tenderness Within (oil on canvas, 2017)
Not As Much As This (oil on canvas, 2017)
Days Like These (oil on canvas, 2017)
Waiting On Sunday (oil on canvas, 2017)
Truth In Front of My Eyes (oil on canvas, 2017)
It's a New Dawn, It's a New Day (oil on canvas 201...
Hopes Left Behind (oil on canvas, 2017)
Becoming(oil on canvas, 2017)
Where Once I Saw Beauty (oil on canvas, 2017)
The Perfect Moment (oil on canvas, 2017)
The Last Time I Saw You(oil on canvas, 2017)
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder(oil on canvas,...
A Chance to Start Again(oil on canvas, 2017)
Remnants of Your Tears and Smiles(oil on canvas, 2...
Nothing Lasts Forever (oil on canvas, 2017)
Once Our Storm Has Passed, Bathed in Peace and Lig...
It Won't Always Be Like This(oil on canvas, 2017)
Beyond the Horizon (oil on canvas, 2016)
A Face On Which Time Makes But Little Impression(o...
As Memories Fade (oil on canvas, 2016)


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Gardening Articles and Videos
June 20, Garden update....
6/20/2011 | Sheryl McGlochlin
What can I say. Everyone who came today worked very hard! I don't log my hours in this garden group because I'm afraid to see how many hours would show up. It was an 11 hour day today for me. Started at 8 am and finished at 7 pm.
1st: We had a GREAT crew of 3 - we worked hard planting a LOT more tomatoes at West Jordan A Garden. We still need 61 more tomatoes planted there. I have 61 tomatoes at my home, ready to be planted there, so that's one job we need to finish real soon.
2nd: Jeff helped us get a missing part for the irrigation system when we arrived at his home, the West Jordan C garden. We finished installing the drip line together and planted 10 watermelons.
3rd: At the South Jordan A garden, we planted 3 long rows of summer squash and 3 long rows of bush beans. A few more people came to help us, namely Cindy's family, and helped us harvest peas and salad greens.
4th: We thought we were done and said goodbye to Cindy and her family but then Lori and I didn't want to take the rest of the watermelon plants back home so we drove down to South Jordan B Garden and got all the rest planted next to the corn.
5) Lori went home, then Elliot called and said he could come and work for a few hours in the afternoon. I went to the dump and picked up a truckload of rich mulch/compost and Carolyn came over and helped me start to put this in our front garden. Dave, my husband, came out and helped later on.
While we worked hard on the West side this morning, we had a crew of hard workers on my property working.
Thank you SO much for all your help!!!!!!

subset: commoncrawl


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The Round Economic system Applied To The Automotive Business
The Automotive Business Structural Adjustment Programme helps employees, businesses and regions affected by the closure of Australia's car manufacturing trade. The Aston Martin DB11 is the first step into the next era of Aston's design language, and it's a beautiful instance of automotive exotica. Not solely is it instantly recognizable as DB, however the engineers and designers additionally enhanced performance. A hidden intake at the forefront of the trunk lid diverts air up and behind the automotive to produce downforce — which implies no large rear spoiler to spoil the flowing body strains.
A teaser shot launched by Jaguar exhibits that the styling of the XE will borrow elements from the XF but in addition function some sharper strains. The ultimate design is alleged to be wide, low and really sporty. Don't be concerned about the frumpy rear part on this prototype as most of it is added material designed to idiot onlookers. The longitude members are the main stress member as they deal with the load and longitudinal forces which were attributable to acceleration and braking. The lateral and cross members provide resistance to lateral forces and additional improve torsional rigidity.
TOKYO – Honda Move Co. is humourous off the fat CR-Z cross, a slow-selling, sporty vehicle whose show struggled to smouldering as much as its hot-hatch seems. The looks of each the second and third row seats has been enhanced by the addition of double outer stitching in fashions equipped with Premium fabric and leather upholstery. Leather-based upholstery options contrast colour stitching for a more luxurious look.
Due to pressures on expenditure due to mounting debt service obligations, elevated protection allocations and inadequate revenue elevating efforts, there was a steep rise in domestic debt. The high interest funds on home debt resulted in partly 'crowding out' personal funding. In the Sixth Plan period, the government started borrowing not solely to cover its development budget, but also its present expenditures. This fiscal position couldn't be sustained for long.
The objective of the Green Transportation & Logistics World Summit is to carry together the important thing business consultants and choice makers to teach the industry and facilitate new partnerships and collaborative greening efforts between associates and opponents. The aim of the event is to form the participants right into a united group with the motion plans and knowledge they should go inexperienced the enterprise-efficient manner, and talk these efforts to their customers, partners, and the general public.


text: Contact If you have a question about Walkabout Tremont –or– you would like to participate (i.e. display your art, play your music on the sidewalk, become a sponsor, etc.), please send us a message. Your Name (required) Your Email (required) Subject Your Message Contact was last modified: April 22nd, 2016 by admin Share:


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Friday, December 30, 2011
Happy New Year Hop (2012)
16 comments:
- M.A.D. said...
Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights! ;D
- December 30, 2011 at 2:04 AM
I'd love to be kissed by Balthazar More from Evernight:)
- December 30, 2011 at 5:15 AM
- Joyce said...
If I could, I would kiss Gale Hawthorne from the Hunger Games. I'm a sucker for a rugged, take charge kind of guy.
- December 30, 2011 at 9:14 AM
- Ashley Prince said...
Blood Red Road sounds amazing! Thanks for the giveaway. I hope you have a great New Years.
- December 30, 2011 at 12:27 PM
- mamabunny13 said...
Oops! I forgot to leave my email.
mamabunny13 at gmail dot com
- December 30, 2011 at 5:24 PM
- Red said...
we can only pick one??! there are just too many yummy ones out there to choose.
- December 30, 2011 at 7:28 PM
- Kayla Graham said...
I would definitely have to say that I would kiss Jonas Wyatt from Lion's Heat!
- December 30, 2011 at 11:17 PM
- Kayla Graham said...
I would have to say Jonas Wyatt from Lion's Heat by Lora Leigh!
- December 30, 2011 at 11:18 PM
- Sophia Rose said...
Thanks for participating in the hop and for the giveaway opportunity.
Jamie Frazer from 'Outlander'
- December 31, 2011 at 5:15 PM
- Lolawid said...
I would kiss Mr. Bennett (Elizabeth Bennett's father in Pride and Prejudice) on the cheek. He makes me laugh every time I read the book. Thanks!
widsfam7 @ digis dot net
- January 1, 2012 at 8:12 PM
- latishajean said...
Thank you so much great giveaway! I would love to kiss Dimitri from Vampire Academy! Happy New Year!
- January 1, 2012 at 9:45 PM
- RivkaBelle said...
I'd kiss Gilbert Blythe and/or Edward Ferrars in a heartbeat. And if we open it up beyond literary, then give me McGarrett from Hawaii Five-0, LOL! ;o)
- January 1, 2012 at 10:30 PM
- Nicole@The More the Merrier said...
Thanks for the chance to win. Happy New Year!
- January 2, 2012 at 12:21 AM
- Mona said...
Thanks for the giveaway :)
Great titles -- torn btwn Sass & Sensibility and Sometimes It Happens.
Forgot to enter my Twitter handle in form(@Kulmona)
Happy New Year!
- January 2, 2012 at 9:22 AM
- I.S. said...
Probably Valek from Poison Study by Maria V. Snydar :P
- January 2, 2012 at 3:16 PM
- iLuvReadingTooMuch said...
The rafflecopter closed..although Jan 3rd isnt over yet :S thanks for the amazing giveaway though! Hope this comment counts as an entry...
GFC: iLuvReadingTooMuch
ANNND a literary hero to kiss at midnight?? too many to pick! UMM Ash from The Iron fey series. seriously yummy.
iliveforreading AT hotmail DOT com
- January 3, 2012 at 12:26 PM


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Japanese World War II-era fortifications and buildings, all with battle damage.
I recently discovered that at least one Japanese publisher has released a manga version of Sun Tzu's The Art of War:
During the chaos and confusion at the end of the Eastern Zhou Dynasty, Wu Zixu and Sun Zi leave their native land of Chu for the land of Wu after their parents are killed. They take an oath of allegiance to fight for King Helü of Wu. The story portrays the life of Sun Zi and the superior art of war that he develops during the two year conflict between Wu and Chu.
I also found a similar product [possibly the same one?] on Amazon.
I cannot read Japanese, and I do not know much about anime, manga, or Japanese popular culture in general, but these productions do not surprise me. Whenever popular culture regurgitates a strategic artifact, the subject almost invariably is Sun Tzu, and The Art of War retains wide appeal throughout Asia, for obvious reasons. No Western strategist – such as Jomini, Clausewitz, or Mahan – can claim nearly as much popular stardom, despite their arguably greater impact on history.
The beginning of everything was in a railway train …There had been a deficit in the Budget, which necessitated travelling, not Second-class, which is only half as dear as First-class, but by Intermediate, which is very awful indeed. There are no cushions in the Intermediate class, and the population are either Intermediate, which is Eurasian, or native, which for a long night journey is nasty; or Loafer, which is amusing though intoxicated. Intermediates do not patronize refreshment-rooms. They carry their food in bundles and pots, and buy sweets from the native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink the roadside water. That is why in the hot weather Intermediates are taken out of the carriages dead, and in all weathers are most properly looked down upon.
— Rudyard Kipling, The Man Who Would Be King.
The quality of train travel has improved somewhat since Kipling wrote that amusing paragraph. Over the Thanksgiving holiday, the fortunate circumstances of ample spare time and a convenient ultimate destination permitted me to travel aboard AMTRAK, America's taxpayer-subsidized passenger rail service, a first for me as it was for numerous other travelers, judging by the many people who asked the same question I did to the attendant at the embarking station: "How does this entire process work?"
A couple of items:
Lynn Rees over at Zenpundit has posted an impressive compendium of all material concerning RADM J.C. Wylie that is available online, including blog posts by myself, Mr. Rees, and Seydlitz89. Who is J.C. Wylie? Mr. Rees' post answers that question.
The 3rd Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 2nd Infantry Division is a blooded combat unit that has seen multiple deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, and traces a lineage back to the First World War. Recently, however, soldiers in the barracks were made aware of a new enemy on the horizon:
I took this photograph myself and I investigated the authenticity of the poster; it was a genuine project conducted my military and wildlife personnel. They have since been removed, and for good reason. Soldiers I spoke with were justifiably insulted and felt infantilized by such a bizarre and pathetic "warning."
Despite my best efforts, however, I never spotted the hyper-aggressive, man-eating variant of the Eastern Grey Squirrel.
Hunting is an activity that sharply divides rural and urban populations, the latter often associating it with the uncouth country folk that roam the vast hinterlands beyond the suburbs. This prejudice extends to the implements of hunting itself, including firearms and the wide array of commercial camouflage that has become available in recent years. Despite its technical effectiveness (much more so than the Army's UCP, which only works if you happen to be fighting in a granite quarry), hunting camouflage carries the stigma of rural backwardness, and is often wholeheartedly embraced by hunting enthusiasts as a form of defiance to the same stigmatization.
Urban disdain of rural sports is nothing new, but the truth is that hunting and the clothing associated with it are ingrained in American culture, owing to their unique role in the nation's founding. In March 1775, the second Virginia Convention established a committee consisting of Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, and George Washington to study the possibility of forming a militia to protect Virginia in the upcoming war with Great Britain. According to their plan, all infantry would be uniformed with a "hunting shirt," essentially a homemade, loose-fitting frock that hanged to the thighs. From Kevin Hayes' The Road to Monticello, an intellectual biography of Thomas Jefferson:
"This choice of weaponry and uniform was largely based on what was available locally. The preceding year the First Continental Congress had agreed to an association similar to the Virginia associations of earlier years. Like the others, this new association forbade colonists from importing most goods of British manufacture. Consequently, Virginia militiamen would be outfitted in a uniquely American fashion. The hunting shirt had long been an article of clothing identified with backwoodsmen, those unsavory and uncivilized characters who inhabited the fringes of colonial society, somewhere in that middle ground between the westernmost plantations and the wilderness. It now became the uniform of a patriot."
From the David Wootton translation:
No new ruler, let me point out, has ever disarmed his subjects; on the contrary, when he has found them disarmed, he has always armed them. For, when you arm them, their arms become yours, those who have been hostile to you become loyal, while those who have been loyal remain so, and progress from being your obedient subjects to being your active supporters … But if you take their arms away from those who have been armed, you begin to alienate them. You make it clear you do not trust them, either because you think they are poor soldiers or disloyal. Whichever view they attribute to you, they will begin to hate you.
The Prince, Chapter 20.
2011 was not the year to quit blogging. The world is on fire. But I have been unable to study the flames.
Because I'm now in them.
In other news, I've hit the big time: an article based on my work in graduate school was recently published by Small Wars Journal. The abstract is as follows:
According to the principle of destruction the best way to achieve victory in war is to disarm the enemy by destroying his forces in battle. However, irregular warfare is commonly assumed to operate through processes that make the principle of destruction irrelevant. An analysis of the writings and military experiences of T.E. Lawrence, Mao Tse-tung and Ernesto "Che" Guevara, three of the 20th century's most influential theorists of irregular war, supports the argument that the principle of destruction remains valid in irregular warfare. This conclusion admits of one major exception in conflicts where a sharp asymmetry of interests exists between the belligerent parties, when it is possible for irregulars to achieve victory by exhausting the enemy's political will, rather than by destroying his military forces.
I encourage all my readers to head on over to SWJ and take a look, though unfortunately, my present circumstances preclude me from active participation in the discussion.
Until next time: Happy New Year.


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National Lottery Guesstimation
Updated: Monday 20th July 2015
National Lottery: Guesstimation is a BBC One television game show that is broadcast every Saturday night. If you haven't seen the show before then we can tell you that it involves two families competing head-to-head over three rounds and that the victorious family wins a fantastic prize. We can also tell you that on Saturday 8 August digital TV lottery viewers will be able to participate in the show via the red button!
This interactive feature will allow viewers to play along with the television game show contestants, and it is one of a series of BBC 'red button' innovations that will take place across the BBC schedule in August. Whether the Guesstimation red button feature will be a genuine one-off or something that occurs again in the future isn't known, so it makes sense to participate whilst you can!
If you want to make the most of the Guesstimation red button opportunity, you could turn Saturday 8 August into your very own Lottery-fest by purchasing lottery tickets online for each of the draws that take place on Saturday night, namely Lotto, Thunderball and Dream Number.
Dream Number is a much overlooked lottery game, but the Guesstimation show on Saturday 8 August will reveal exactly how Dream Number is helping to raise funds for the 2012 London Olympics and Paralympics venues. If you buy a Dream Number ticket you could win a jackpot of £500,000, and whether you win or lose you'll be helping to support a very good cause, so it looks like a very good deal to us!
Those of you who do decide to make this Saturday a special occasion and buy tickets for all of the lottery games taking place might need some inspiration for your entries. If so, take a look at out Lottery Statistics page and you'll see which numbers come up most often, which numbers come up least often and which numbers are most overdue according to the last time they were drawn.
However you choose your numbers, be sure to tune into National Lottery: Guesstimation and press the red button on your digital TV remote control to enjoy the experience as an interactive viewer. It won't increase your odds of winning a jackpot, but it will certainly increase your enjoyment of the show!Published: Monday 3rd August 2009
Lottery News News Archive


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Happy World Whisky Day! This holiday really takes me back. All the way to Babylon and Mesopotamia in 2000 BC! Evidence of fermented, distilled grain (whisky!) exists from archaeological sites in the middle east dating all the way back to those ancient times. There's a rich history which follows, but let's fast forward three thousand years to about 1000 AD when Irish and Scottish monks began to ferment grain mash and introduced what we know today as "modern" whisky – and gave us the name we now use as well.
|Whisky Bottle by Akio Kamei
It's no wonder some experience "whisky" as a holy experience, considering the name is derived from the Gaelic (the Celtic language spoken in the Scottish Highlands) "uisge beatha" – the "water of life". Drink enough of that water and it'll kill you. Ironies aside, a thousand years ago getting drunk might have been as close to heaven on earth as you got. Early American pioneers brought the water with them and adopted the Irish spelling, with an "e": whiskey. In the mid nineteenth century, a corn whiskey using the Kentucky style of fermentation and distillation was first labeled "Bourbon whiskey". Some suggest this American term came from New Orleans, where Bourbon Street was the place to get your whiskey fix – but the street might well have been named for the spirit, like the chicken and the egg.
|Keeping its secrets bottled up
What better puzzle to celebrate World Whisky Day than Akio Kamei's Whisky Bottle. One of his earlier creations, the Whisky Bottle doesn't need much in the way of explanation. It's a wooden bottle, of course, and hides two secret compartments. The first should not be hard to find, but the second is trickier and requires some thinking outside the bottle. This is classic Kamei in the way he creates puzzles which challenge your basic assumptions. It's also a gloriously perfect Boxes and Booze puzzle box, and of course I love it. Let's have a whisky cocktail, shall we?
|The Old Fashioned c. 1800
For this old fashioned spirit we will have an Old Fashioned cocktail. I've discussed this one before a few times, but here's the original, in its purest original form, and how it got there. Cocktails in general evolved from the medicinal tonics created by old time pharmacists and known in general as "bitters". These were the miracle elixirs which would work wonders. You could stop by for a shot of these herbal, bitter concoctions, perhaps diluted with some water to make them more palatable. Add a little sugar, more palatable. It didn't take long for someone to throw in a bit of spirit too, and viola, the first cocktail was likely consumed in America sometime in the very early 1800s, as the precursor to the "Old Fashioned".
|Never handle another man's muddler (or go right ahead, whatever you prefer)
While the cocktail is arguably an American invention, its origins existed a century earlier in England. The concept of the cocktail was present in London in the early 1700's already, where bitter elixirs where being mixed with sweet wine or brandy. And the name, "cocktail" was likely derived from Britain as well. The cocktail historian David Wondrich, who has searched for the term's provenance for decades, explains this bit of wacky parlance, which was discovered in a satirical political cartoon from a 1798 London newspaper. Cocktail was slang for "ginger", which in turn referred to a stimulant added to a drink in order to lift ones spirit and energy. Ginger or hot pepper usually did the trick. The term "cocktail" came from the practice, by horse dealers of the day, to place a bit of ginger up the horse's rear, thus making it cock its tail and appear spirited, which made it appear more valuable. Drink recipes adapted the term, suggesting the addition of a pinch or two of "cock-tail", and that term replaced "ginger" over time. And there you have it, the too absurd to not be true story of why we call it a "cocktail." Cheers?
|These two are quite old fashioned
The Old Fashioned
2 oz of your favorite whisk(e)y
1 brown sugar cube
Angostura bitters
Place the sugar cube into a mixing glass and saturate with the bitters. Muddle together, then add the whiskey and ice. Stir to dilute and chill, then strain into a favorite glass. Garnish with a brandied cherry, an orange wedge, or just keep it plain and simple.
For prior Old Fashioned variations see:
For more about Akio Kamei see:


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The Open Internet & Innovation
Net Neutrality created the information age, and must be protected at all costs.
Obviously we need to come up with a detailed technical language in order for this law to be effective, but the fundamental point remains that neutrality is crucial to the betterment of our access to information. I work in telecommunication, and I know exactly what the big providers want to do with throttling. The doors that it opens up are purely insane to even think about, after having 15 years of free and open access ...more »


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Cleaning Tips To Help Save Time
You love a spotless house—but you don't want to spend the bulk of your time actually cleaning. With time always of the essence, we need to be able to find ways to clean-up more quickly. Luckily, there are shortcuts, tools and methods that will help you efficiently and effectively clean in a shorter amount of time.
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June 2017


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Old and poorly-written code is exposing companies to hackers, with the financial sector at greatest risk, new research reveals.
A review of hundreds of millions of lines of code in applications worldwide found 1.3 million weaknesses which could allow hackers to take advantage of business systems.
CAST, a leading software intelligence company, revealed the findings in its global benchmarking report on the state of software security.
The CRASH Report on Application Security uses a Common Weakness Enumeration (CWE) density score to identify the frequency of typical weaknesses in software architecture, design or code.
Dr. Bill Curtis, SVP and chief scientist at CAST Research Labs, said: "We found that, overall organisations are taking application security quite seriously.
"However, there are clear outliers to this broad finding that put companies and their customers at significant risk. Without a clear understanding of existing application security vulnerabilities, organisations are not addressing some of the biggest software risks that pose a threat to their business."
He revealed that financial services and telecommunications have the highest CWE densities compared to other industries and energy and utilities had the lowest risk profile.
Curtis warned that in some cases, frequent, poorly-designed updates were significantly increasing the risk of problems.
The report warned: "This is a particularly interesting finding, given the industry's broad shift toward agile development and continuous release schedules.
"While this kind of deployment cycle has been shown to improve user experience, it is putting the application at greater risk of security defects."


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My spouse tasted this when they were handing out samples at Wegmans and came home talking about how good it was. I was a bit skeptical, but I have to admit, he was right. It's fantastic.
Spaghetti Squash with Pomodoro Sauce
I'm seriously considering making everything with pomodoro sauce from now on.


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So the leaked line-up wasn't exactly mega accurate was it?
The official Glastonbury line-up has been announced, and it's looking like a bit of a belter.
We're possibly being harsh on the leaked version – they did get several big calls right, including Ed Sheeran being the third headliner alongside Radiohead and Foo Fighters (announced a few weeks ago), Bee Gee Barry Gibb taking the Sunday legends slot, Lorde making her Glastonbury debut (again, confirmed by her a few weeks back) and Wiley, Stormzy and Boy Better Know bringing grime to Worthy Farm. However, lots of the other predictions have not (yet) come to pass.
The other big news: pop queen Katy Perry is playing, while there will be a sturdy rock presence in the form of Biffy Clyro, The National and Royal Blood.
Elsewhere, little-known singer Emeli Sande will get some welcome exposure, Phoenix and Justice bring the French, Chic will bring the party, Shaggy will bring the reggae and Kris Kristofferson will bring the country. Of course, this isn't the full line-up, with hundreds more acts to be announced to fill out all of the stages.
The line-up is below, all told it looks like a pretty strong year with something for everyone. Get your wellies ready and we'll see you in the mud.
(Image: Rex)


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Villa Management
Lanz Luxury Villas are a total management company and offer a comprehensive range of services not only to maintain your villa to a high standard, but also keep your guests happy during their stay. We have literally thousands of customers who will bear testimony to this, who have been delighted with our levels of service over the years
Villa Management – Purchasing a property abroad is a big investment and we are here to help you locally when you are 2000 miles away. We offer a full management package which incorporates everything you need to run your villa. Our bookings team can take care of all of the enquiries and bookings for your villa, if you don't have the time.
Villa Cleaning - Your villa will be prepared for your guests arrival. This includes a full clean inside and out and all the beds made up and dressed.
Pool and Jacuzzi Cleaning - Your pool and Jacuzzi will be cleaned twice a week when you have guests and once a week when your property is vacant. All chemicals are supplied by us and are included in the price.
Maintenance – All aspects of maintenance work including plumbing, electrical, building, metalwork, painting and decorating can be organised on your behalf.
24 hour on call service – The Villa Managers who live locally are on call 24 hours a day / 365 days a year to help with any problems your guests encounter or to answer any questions they may have.
Key Holding - We look after your villa keys for you and ensure that the guests always have the correct ones.
Weekly Security and Maintenance checks - A weekly check around your villa can be undertaken to make sure that there are no maintenance issues which need resolving and to check on the security.
Advertising - We can advertise your villa on this website which is free of charge and also spend a considerable amount of money on advertising in other media.
Baby and Toddler Equipment – Cots and high chairs can be provided for your guests on request. Should there be anything else you need then just ask.
Gardening – Should you take our garden maintenance package then your garden will be maintained each month to ensure your watering system is operational, your garden is free of debris and any necessary weeding and cutting back is taken care of.
Lanz Luxury Villas are committed to providing consistently high levels of service for your Villa.


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princeton pro musica: Joy to the world
I had the pleasure of attending what may very well be the most beautiful Christmas concert I have ever experienced. Of course we are well used to world-class performances from Pro Musica but even with that established reputation, this concert was really something special on December 11 at Trenton's magnificent War Memorial auditorium.
Ryan James Brandau, Artistic Director, Princeton Pro Musica
Brilliantly directed by Dr. Ryan Brandau, the program first took us on a re-telling of the nativity story beginning with a slow and ethereal version of "O Come O Come Emanuel," the 15th Century French melody, with orchestra and chorus rising to full power on the final "rejoice, rejoice, Emanuel shall come to thee oh Israel." This blended seamlessly into "God Rest Ye merry Gentlemen," which in turn led into one of my personal favorites, "Lo How A Rose E'er Blooming," another musical legacy from the 15th Century. The facility with which orchestra and chorus could move from renditions that were exquisite and haunting to powerful music that filled the house —all with perfect discipline and precision was a demonstration of why Pro Musica is held in such high regard.
With this opening setting the standard, the concert went on to give us selections from Bach, Handle and others. Laura Kosar's crystal clear soprano voice gave a beautiful rendition of the recitative "There Were Shepards" from The Messiah. Baritone Scott Purcell did an excellent performance of "Mighty King" from Bach's Christmas Oratorio. The first act ended triumphantly with "Joy To The World" and "The Hallelujah Chorus."
Act two was a sampling of many different Christmas moods ranging from "Greensleeves," done with a very delicate intro by the strings, then moving to the wind instruments, through "Deck The Halls," "I Heard The Bells," "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" and more. The music was interspersed with dramatic reading by Trenton Mayor Eric Jackson and Dr. George Pruitt, both of whom have excellent speaking voices and showed real promise if they ever decide to take up a career on stage. The second act also gave us a genuine treat in the performance of the Trenton Children's Choir singing "Ose Shalom," a traditional Hebrew song that was perfectly performed.
Concluding with the most beautiful arrangement of "Auld Lang Syne" I've ever heard, and a magnificent grand finale, this was a memorable concert indeed. Anyone who is not keeping up with the performances of Princeton Pro Musica is missing one of New Jersey's leading treasures.
Princeton Pro Musica:
Carmina Burana
Reviewed by Tobias Grace for outinjersey.net
The May 21st performance of Carmina Burana by Princeton Pro Musica at Richardson Hall was more than a performance – it was a phenomenon. Enhanced by the brilliant dancing of the Roxey Ballet company, skillfully integrated with the music and by a clarity of sound created both by the chorus itself and by the outstanding acoustics and sound engineering of Richardson Hall, the production left me stunned and entranced.
Carmina Burana is perhaps the most popular secular cantata of all time and this, of course, creates a challenge for any company undertaking it. Composer Carl Orff intended this to be not only a musical but also a visual spectacular. The collection of 13th Century poems from which the lyrics are drawn celebrates the pleasures of the flesh and the lust of youth and gives a backhanded slap to the church hierarchy and conventional rectitude. Unfortunately, the cantata is rarely performed as Orff envisioned it. Perhaps the best depiction of Orff's vision is a film created for West German television in 1975 with the close co-operation of Orff in honor of his 80th birthday. The various stories of young lust and gluttony are quite literally brought to life. The film was banned there for decades because of this almost literal interpretation of the texts Orff had put music to. The mixture of Christian and pagan imagery is exactly what the lyrics describe in this mixture of sacred and profane songs, but the Miss Grundys of the time couldn't handle it. Some Copies of the film were destroyed, but a survivor can be seen on Youtube.
By including the ballet, Director Ryan James Brandau returned to Orff's true vision of how this work should be staged and the Roxey Ballet's sensual, wonderfully costumed and highly skilled performance gave life to the vision. Special mention should be made of those dancers who performed solo or in Pas de deux as they were a particular joy to behold. I have heard Carmina Burana performed by larger choruses with full orchestras and in larger halls, including the London Proms at Royal Albert and they were very good – very good indeed – but not as good as this Pro Musica production, lacking as they did this essential visual quality brought by the ballet.
The 96 voice chorus is a powerful instrument, perfectly rehearsed and performing with a precision and clarity that was absolutely meticulous. Every element of the music, whether it was a majestic chorus or the slightest tinkling of a bell or a castanet had the same perfect rendition. Laura Kosar, (soprano) Ryland Angel, (tenor) and Will Berman (baritone) were the soloists and all three enhanced the production greatly. Ryland Angel's acting was especially appropriate to his material. Will Berman was in excellent voice and Laura Kosar's clear and perfect soprano voice was yet another joy in this production.
Princeton Pro Musica's 2017- 2018 season has been announced and includes such outstanding selections as the Brahms Requiem and Benjamin Britten's War Requiem. See princetonpromusica.org for more information.
The Roxey Ballet is based in Lambertville, N.J. and information regarding its performances can be found at roxeyballet.org
AMOR ARTIS: an amor artis new year's eve
Reviewed by Daniel Spahr for See and Heard International
Despite countless choices for a New York City New Year's Eve, the packed pews at the elaborate St. Jean Baptiste Church on Lexington Avenue revealed Bach's timeless appeal. Amor Artis Chorus and Orchestra presented a celebratory evening, eloquently crafted, that elicited a sense of harmony and hopefulness for the coming year.
Director Ryan James Brandau gave a fresh format to familiar, beloved works, such as splitting the Mass in B minor in two—the first half at the beginning of the concert, and the second at the end. With current events on everyone's mind, in the Kyrie eleison, Brandau somehow reflected the challenges facing the world in 2015. But with Bach's exultant Dona nobis pace, the conductor sent us off with the musical equivalent of champagne toasts, and the hope for a better 2016.
Along with extra energy from the soloists, mezzo-soprano Sarah Nelson Craft gave a particularly mesmerizing reading of the Agnus Dei. Her voice flowed with a smooth, honeyed quality that seemed to trickle down the church's thick stone pillars. That she and the orchestra blended so well was further tribute to the chemistry with Brandau and his focused direction.
The choir gave distinct attention to vocal layering, built phrases that framed Bach's deific harmonies, and used dynamics to emphasize contrapuntal shifts. A particularly joyful Gloria movement was one of many memorable sequences. And Brandau satisfyingly and precisely measured the very last note—just the right length—which resonated throughout the church's pleasing acoustic.
In between the two halves of the Mass, the Amor Artis musicians showed their early music expertise in the Concerto for Two Violins in D minor and the Suite No. 3 in D major. The Suite, in particular, was distinctive with joyful tempos in the Gavotte, and playful accents from the brass—airy popping notes that seemed to lift a set of imaginary Baroque dancers. A noble, short Bourree led straight into a dandy Gigue, appropriately festive.
Amor Artis performs every New Year's Eve. For a delightful alternative to the Times Square throngs, consider an evening at St. Jean Baptiste Church on Manhattan's East Side, where there will be music of a different kind, to help you ring in the new year.
PRINCeton pro musica: Handel's israel in egypt
Reviewed by Nancy Plum for Town Topics
For those curious about how Dr. Brandau has developed Pro Musica's trademark choral sound, the "horse and his rider" choruses were worth the price of admission. Dr. Brandau took these two choruses like the wind, and the singers of Pro Musica did not miss a note in the choral coloratura, bringing the work to a typically Baroque glorious close. This oratorio may have been a handful for a choral singer, but the members of Pro Musica never let on that they were anything less than ready for more.
Princeton pro music: Mendelssohn's Elijah
Felix Mendelssohn did very little in the field of opera, however, his sacred oratorios are as theatrical as any 19th-century operatic work. In particular, the oratorio Elijah, premiered in 1846, musically depicts a dramatic Biblical story through arias, recitatives, and choruses, infused with the composer's gift for melodic writing. The more than 100-voice Princeton Pro Musica, conducted by Ryan James Brandau, presented a well-informed performance of this work to a very appreciative audience on Sunday afternoon in Richardson Auditorium, showing off the capabilities of the chorus as well as four seasoned vocal soloists.
Dr. Brandau used the full forces of Pro Musica, combined with a smaller orchestra than symphonic choruses usually use in performances of this piece. Although Mendelssohn originally scored Elijah to include a full complement of instruments as well as an ophicleide (part of the family of keyed bugles) and organ, the orchestra in Sunday afternoon's performance had chamber-sized stringed sections with pairs of winds and brass.
Keeping the orchestra on the small side kept the performance true to Mendelssohn's ties to the Baroque era, and removed pressure from the singers to work to be heard over the players, serving both chorus and soloists well.
Elijah is nothing without a compelling title character, and bass-baritone Dashon Burton easily fit the bill. Imposing from the first aria and able to find operatic characters in the music, Mr. Burton made it clear that when Elijah spoke, people needed to listen. One could especially hear the supplication in Mr. Burton's recitatives from the fourth scene of the oratorio. Mr. Burton's best operatic counterpart in the performance was soprano Laquita Mitchell, also a seasoned performer of 19th-century opera. Ms. Mitchell changed vocal style easily among the different moods and emotions of the music. In her keynote aria "Hear Ye, Israel," Ms. Mitchell's plaintive interpretation was perfectly matched by pairs of clarinets, oboes, and flutes.
The vocal quartet was rounded out by mezzo-soprano Sarah Nelson Craft and tenor Rexford Tester. Ms. Craft provided a solid vocal base to her opening duet with Ms. Mitchell, and came into her own in Part II as an "Angel" guiding Elijah. Mr. Tester was lyrical in his approach to conveying the text, not as operatic as the other three singers, but nevertheless effective.
Much of Mendelssohn's best melodic writing in this work belonged to the chorus, which Dr. Brandau had prepared to be precise and crisp in numerous a cappella sections. Pro Musica excelled in the homophonic and chordal choruses (such as the closing choruses to each half of the concert), and the men's sections were especially well blended throughout the concert. Dr. Brandau had spaced out the chorus on the stage in slightly mixed formation, enabling sections to hear one another. The women's sections were cleaner in the gentler choruses, but the ensemble as a whole maintained good control over the music throughout this long dramatic work.
Mendelssohn wrote a small solo part specifically for a child, often cast as a boy soprano. For this role, Dr. Brandau selected a member of the Princeton Girlchoir Cantores, the ensemble under the Girlchoir umbrella for high school girls. Accompanied by single flute in her solo lines, soprano Isabella Kopits was lovely, matching the flute perfectly, and showed an innocence which did not detract from her insistence that there was no response to Elijah's calls to God. Dr. Brandau also assigned an "angel's trio" to the Cantores — a perfect choice in vocal tone and weight. The Cantores sang with well-tuned chords and nicely tapered phrases.
Accompanying the chorus and soloists in this performance was a well-balanced orchestra which always maintained a subtle backdrop to the chorus and soloists. The trumpets and trombones were effective in introducing Elijah, and especially in the opening orchestral introduction, one could hear that something catastrophic was to come. Oboist Carl Oswald, clarinetist Pascal Archer, and flutist Mary Schmidt provided elegant solo lines, often echoes to a vocal soloist.
Elijah is a long oratorio, and Dr. Brandau evidently felt the necessity to cut a number of small numbers (including two of the most well-known choruses in the work), but it may not really have been necessary. Dr. Brandau kept a good flow to the performance, maintaining drama which held the audience's attention. With Pro Musica providing its customary solid work and Mr. Burton clearly a star in the making, Sunday afternoon's performance went by in a well-performed flash.