"Where flowers bloom, so does hope."

- Lady Bird Johnson

Celadon Forest

Celadon Forest

I admit that my affinity for tree trunks was elevated by the discovery of painter, Wolf Kahn, in the mid 1980s. I met him while he was artist in residence at Dartmouth College and I was a frame designer at Bean’s Art Store. I was instantly charmed by him and his work. He has produced many wonderful views of the Upper Connecticut River Valley and of forests of trees and their trunks in vivid vibrance. I think that meeting someone of his caliber in the art world and realizing what a kind and humble person he is, was a testament to someone following their dream and their passion in life. It was one of the top ten chapters of my life, especially in that it inspired a direction for me.

A number of my tree studies have been done on my back deck at home, at different times of the day, in different light. If you have ever questioned whether we dream in color, I can assure you that some of my paintings have come from my dreams, and colorful they are.

Dream

Claude's Cove

Top: Tom and Baby Claude, Matthew Claude
Bottom: Claude Michael, James Thomas & Baby Thomas

I thought it would be appropriate to start my first post in tribute to all of the Claude’s that I have known. I have named our cove at the lake, Claude’s cove in honor of my grandfather…in namesake follows my brother, Claude Michael, nephew, Matthew Claude, and only in spirit I am calling our soon to be born grand-nephew, “Baby Claude”. We recently learned that ‘it’s a boy’ and it is a joyous time all around.

Now begins the task of wondering what to bestow him with from the tips of my fingers and the ideas in my head, a quilt? A piece of painted furniture? Something to wear? I’m not a knitter, so the baby bootz are out. Something will come to mind in investigation of his pending surroundings.

I also live in the house that Claude built. He bought the farm in the early 1940s and built a simple 900 square foot house and several outbuildings for farming purposes. He grew many crops, milked cows, raised chickens and had an ornery old mule that he worked in the field. I can still remember the smell of fresh butter coming from grandma Clara Bell’s churn. Yes, I do believe in ghosts, and they are with us every day comforting us along our way. Thank goodness and Thank God, we have a new generation on the way to play in the dirt, romp in the woods and listen to our stories of the good old days.