Weeping for an imagined future love

The Transformation of Syrinx into Reedsfrom Book 1 of "Metamorphoses", by Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso) goes as follows: A nymph of late there was Whose heav'nly form her fellows did surpass. The pride and joy of fair Arcadia's plains, Belov'd by deities, ador'd by swains: Syrinx her name, by Sylvans oft pursu'd, As oft she did the lustful Gods delude: The rural, and the woodland Pow'rs disdain'd; With Cynthia hunted, and her rites maintain'd: Like Phoebe clad, even Phoebe's self she seems, So tall, so streight, such well-proportion'd limbs: The nicest eye did no distinction know, But that the goddess bore a golden bow: Distinguish'd thus, the sight she cheated too. Descending from Lycaeus, Pan admires The matchless nymph, and burns with new desires. A crown of pine upon his head he wore; And thus began her pity to implore. But e'er he thus began, she took her flight So swift, she was already out of sight. Nor stay'd to hear the courtship of the God; But bent her course to Ladon's gentle flood: There by the river stopt, and tir'd before; Relief from water nymphs her pray'rs implore. Now while the lustful God, with speedy pace, Just thought to strain her in a strict embrace, He fill'd his arms with reeds, new rising on the place. And while he sighs, his ill success to find, The tender canes were shaken by the wind; And breath'd a mournful air, unheard before; That much surprizing Pan, yet pleas'd him more. Admiring this new musick, Thou, he said, Who canst not be the partner of my bed, At least shall be the confort of my mind: And often, often to my lips be joyn'd. He form'd the reeds, proportion'd as they are, Unequal in their length, and wax'd with care, They still retain the name of his ungrateful fair.

Michael Lynn Adams' painting of an ice blue pan porcelain with cool roses captures the other worldliness of myth as it plays out in our lives; weeping for a lost imagined future with an unavailable love. Universal and haunting the painting is at M Gallery of Fine Art in Sarasota and can be as a part of his new show opening March 5, 2010.

Evelyn Kruger

Beatrice Evelyn Kruger (my mother) passed peacefully at her home near Whalen, MN Friday February 11. She was 78. Evelyn, as she was know to those who enjoyed her life, was an avid gardener, feeder of countless wild birds, exquisite needle point artist, tireless community volunteer. She gave hours of service to the Whalen Stand Still parade, the Democratic Party, her church, the Lanesboro Blood Mobile, Planned Parenthood. She enjoyed travel with her family, and before retiring to the Lanesboro area had a long & satisfying career as an office manager, and owned and operated a small family business with her 3 sons and her husband in London, Minnesota. She is preceded in death by her husband Elmer, her mother & father, Godfred & Rose Godfredson, her sister Rosemary Smith. She is survived by her brother Peder Godfredson, her daughter Margaret, her sons, David, Howard & Paul and her grandchildren Jennifer, Rose, Alex, Eli, Zachary, Rebecca, Sarah, David, Molly, Tony, Ryan, & Julie. Services will be held next Wednesday (February 24) at 10 am at the Whalen Lutheran Church followed by a reception & luncheon.

Missing Ants!

When I was a child we lived on a farm in southern Minnesota. My grandmother, Rose, lived with us and had a magnificent perennial garden, despite the harsh Minnesota winters & the occasional escaping livestock stampede. She grew rows of peonies. Lovely nodding heavy headed ant covered peonies. I used to crawl under them and look back at the rest of the yard and my house through the back lit blossoms, some which were as big as luncheon plates. I was always fascinated by the teams of ants, gobbling up the nectar on the buds. Once the flowers opened, the ants as if by magic, disappeared. I would try and figure out where they went but never was able to solve the mystery. It was if they were summoned by some secret signal and then equally as mysteriously "returned to base". We lived a very"organic" life (not intentionally in those days) and I was always admonished very sternly to leave the ants to their work. If I was lucky I would be allowed to pick lush bouquets of the red, pink and white beauties filling vases for our dining room table. The ants would scramble off as best they could and invariably let lose in the house...marching straight out the door. When I look at this wonderful John Traynor I am transported back to sunny late spring in Minnesota, I can smell the garden and in my minds eye see the adorable little ants, going round & round the tight peony buds. Now that I live in Florida, the only peonies I see come from Peru and are in the grocery and of course, are ant free. Traynor's peonies are simply stunning and so faithfully rendered I find my self searching the gallery for ants! You can see the John Traynor Peonies at M Gallery 16 S Palm in Sarasota or by followinng the link below to www.mgalleryoffineart.com.

http://www.mgalleryoffineart.com/masterpiece/title.php?ititlenum=12681

It's a little after 3 am and unfortunately I am up and unable to sleep. One of our cats, Mr Pong has gone missing and our other cat Miss Ping (they are Siamese of course) is calling for him. Loudly. The only up side to all this is when I ventured out to join her and call for him (again) the early morning air is warm and delicious as only Florida can be this time of year. The moon is cloud chased and Deborah Paris' faithful renderings of Florida were summoned out of my sleepy brain. Many of her paintings, luminous wonders that they are, fall in the foot steps of Heade, Innes, Homer, Sargent. She understands the gift of this detached bit of the African continent and its unique ecosystem. When I look at her paintings I am delighted by the way she holds dear the nutrient rich air which nourishes so well plants here can exist with no soil. Florida contains large tracts of very wild land surrounded by bounced light and water. Luminosity abounds. Miss Paris, the queen of contemporary luminous painters, has captured it for all of us to enjoy. She arrives this week at M Gallery with around 20 works for a major show. Stop by and enjoy them with us. The opening is from 6 to 9 Friday February 5 at 16 S Palm in Sarasota FL. Crystal will also post the entire show on-line and on Facebook. Now, back to look for my cat. Oh Mr Pong....

Sadie Valeri's wax paper master works shimmer, shine, glow...their quiet exquisiteness reveals the beauty in the moment of the simplest of things: common household wrap. Her paintings are complete zen-like moments; each one reveals her mastery as a painter, communicates the wisdom of the ancient teachers guiding her hands and mind. It is so obvious her level of concentration pulls her into a space where no words or superfluous thoughts exist. She has such a direct line from her eye through her hand by-passing her conscious thought. Like Einstein she becomes the wax paper, she becomes the brush, she becomes the pigment, she becomes the light. And, like all great painters, once she becomes the light, her work becomes eternal & everlasting, images burned forever in her soul and our minds. A holy place out of Franciscan like simplicity. Ah, truth! Sadie Valeri's work can be seen at M Gallery of Fine Art in Sarasota FL or by clicking this link: http://www.mgalleryoffineart.com/masterpiece/title.php?titlenum=12371

Warning! Gypsies!

Oh man what a goofy world. I received an email from the Venice Golf & Country Club Master Association where I own a rental home warning me there were Gypsies in the neighborhood breaking into houses. I kid you not: they actually said "Gypsies". And when I asked them what they possibly meant since I was a bit incredulous that there were genuine Romas rummaging around the Venice Golf and Country Club (Although, admittedly Venice is where the 9/11 terrorists learned to fly & home to many a crystal meth dealer), the reply I received from the Master Association was less than cordial. Now, I don't know if any of you have ever been accosted in Europe by a band of true Roma Gypsies, but had you ever had that happen you would have a great deal of trouble imagining them sauntering past the guard gate at good old VG&CC. I mean it is hard to image them blending in with all that bad plaid and being mistaken for one of the ancient geezers careening around in his golf cart thoroughly inebriated by 6 pm after a rousing game of canasta at the club. Gypsies indeed. The best part was the Association said they were pretending to represent a church, knocking on doors, asking for donations, & when finding no one home, going round the back, breaking & entering and robbing the joint. Well, I would maybe believe Gypsies would lure some of the old ladies at bridge into a tarot reading in which their dearly departed came back and apologized for all the times they actually had the temerity to ask for affection or to be cooked a meal (these ladies not only don't kiss anybody, all they know how to make is reservations) but representing a church? No Roma I ever encountered would stoop that low. Whew. It is a good thing Clayton Beck painted this adorable painting so I can send it off to the guard house as a reference next time the Bible beating robbers swing by so they realize A. they are not Gypsies and B. to call the cops. I mean really. This is a crazy world. And, the week before Christmas....

Molly's Roses

When we lived in our previous house down in Venice the woman who lived behind us went a bit batty and one day snapped all the heads of my roses as she walked by as my recompense for talking out side during the day in my lanai on my cell phone. I think she must have had her hearing aid turned way too loud, for she lived quite a distance across a pond and I am not all that loud. Nonetheless it made her mad and in a fit of pique she shuffled over in her walker and beheaded my roses, just like the unhappy Queen in Alice in Wonderland. It apparently took the stuffing right out of her and not to long after she was packed off to a “residential treatment facility”, (what as kids we called the looney bin). One thing is clear is that the roses’ beauty was not to be tolerated in her increasingly ugly world, any more than my happy prattling to friends, family & co-workers. Molly Schmid’s roses, laid so casually with their ribbon are like my happy conversations on the lanai…without consciousness and seeming eternal, certainly fresh and happy. When the ugly demons possessed my neighbor’s brain, they would have none of either, snapping off any head daring to smile out of its fox hole. When I look at Molly’s roses I find them quite enchanting and the buds, as they unfold very charming. I think of my neighbor, wonder if she is still alive, hoping, if she is, that her tolerance for grace & beauty has returned. Molly’s Roses are on the wall at www.Mgalleryoffineart.com.