KAISER AND SADIE

This is a 3'x4' commissioned portrait of "Kaiser" and "Sadie" - big dogs, big brushstrokes, big fun.

PALE GOLD ENCHANTMENT

"It was one of those velvety summer evenings - brimming with the hallmarks of a fairy tale: crickets rosining their bows, moon flowers tuning their trumpets, and fireflies preparing to gild twilight in pale gold enchantment."

* an excerpt from my cancer memoir "CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER" and an illustration from a calendar I'm working on.

THE BACK OF BUS 3

"... so there I sat riding - at the back of BUS 3 - with my head full of questions and my boots full of pee."

*an excerpt from a calendar I'm working on

FLATTENING PENNIES

Here's an illustration for a calendar that I'm working on - images from childhood.

FALL LEAVES AND TRILLIUM

The following is a 12"x 72" sculpture I made entitled "Fall Leaves and Trillium." The leaves and trillium flowers were hand cut and sculpted from paper, then painted - the rocks were sculpted from a mixture of plaster and papier mache.

Those fall leaves are certainly falling! It was a perfect Halloween last night: 60 degrees, a big bright moon, and a spooky wind - swirling leaves, costumes and imaginations.

PAPILLON

My latest 24"x24" painting done for IDEXX Laboratories for the cover art of their in-house veterinary magazine called "DX."

CHICAGO! CHICAGO! WHAT A WONDERFUL TOWN...

Here's hoping the 2016 Summer Olympics are in Chicago!

*I painted this portrait of Michael Phelps from a photo I found online - just an exercise to keep the portrait painting eyes and fingers limber.

D-DAY (DAD DAY)

A DYING BREEZE

The time had come; it was 8:15 on the morning of August 14th, 1998 - thirteen days after my father’s 63rd birthday. We all took note of the fact that he was about to die at the same time, and on the same day as the Manheim Auto Auction he had attended without fail for as long as we could remember; it felt fitting.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir entitled CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

"WHIPPED CREAM AND OTHER DELIGHTS"

The old Hi-Fi had found its way to a corner of this room and was now living out its days in dusty silence. Dad had purchased it sometime in the early 70’s; in its heyday, it used to tenant the den. For a brief period of time, my mother listened to it while preparing dinner, but mostly it was only ever played on holidays - accompanied by hors douvres, stiff cocktails, and laughter. Other than a few Christmas records, the only five albums I ever remember being in my parent’s “collection” was one Barbra Streisand, one Judy Collins, one Henry Mancini, one Nina Simone, and one Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass: “Whipped Cream and Other Delights.”

These albums were still inside its oversized, blond, wooden frame; Herb Alpert was well worth another listen.

This album was mysterious to me as a child; its lime-green cover depicted a naked woman lathered in whipped cream. After close inspection, I discovered that a majority of the whipped cream had been faked in by using a draped cloth. There were no lyrics to this album - just instruments playing songs like “Butter Ball,” “Lollipops and Roses,” “Love Potion #9,” and “A Taste of Honey” - all the titles were edible. The biggest mystery to me was how this album was ever allowed in our house; we didn’t seem like that hip a family. I recall my father bringing home “Tropic of Cancer” and all hell breaking loose; this album seemed to fit into that same category - warranting underground viewing and listening from behind closed doors. But there it sat - in the den - audaciously and bodaciously for all to see.

As a kid, I was a worrier with irritable bowels and gassy stomach. At night I was a tooth grinder and sleepwalker. During the day I was painfully shy, and often mistaken for a boy. I turned inward, and upward to my bedroom where I would listen to my own collection of music, and draw. I didn’t understand half of what I listened to, but was intrigued and felt somehow these bottomless lyrics were written with me in mind. Joni Mitchell told me that “laughing and crying were the same release,” Neil Young “needed a maid,” James Taylor was “a walking man,” Cat Stevens “listened to the wind of his soul,” Rod Stewart felt “no mandolin wind couldn’t change a thing,” and Nina Simone just “wanted a little sugar in her bowl.” I eventually grew to understand these profound lyrics, discovered that drawing and music were one and the same, and that both calmed my nervous heart.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir entitled CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

DISPARATE PARTS

While on a shopping run to K mart to pick up paper towels, toilet paper, stool softeners, shaving cream, a “better pillow,” a pack of undershirts, and some more skin lotion, I came across the toy aisle and some jigsaw puzzles; I thought puzzles might be fun for all of us to do together.

The selection was limited, but I chose three: a covered bridge scene, a Pennsylvania Dutch motif, and a close-up of colorful hard candies.

The puzzles ended up being more of a hit with my mother and I, than my father. Occasionally Dad would pad into the living room, hover next to the card table - now referred to as the “puzzle table” - place a piece or two, feel satisfied with that, then shuffle back to the den.

We had permanently set the card table up in front of the green leather couch - behind the sliding glass doors, overlooking the pool. New puzzles were purchased weekly - now ranking in importance with prescriptions and groceries. We’d sit quietly for hours - with an occasional outburst of “Yeah baby!” after an arduously sought after piece snugged into place.

But for a sporadic “coming up for air” to watch something impressive or comical that Mother Nature was performing through the plate glass doors, our noses were glued to piles of puzzle pieces.

Putting puzzles together was the first thing to take my mind off all the turmoil that was going on; I’m guessing it was doing the same for my mother, because we’d both go for the “puzzle table” the same way one goes for a stiff drink - in the hope of it granting temporary sanity at the end of an awful day. Mom would sit with her glass of Chablis, and I with my pretzels and juice; as we put all the pieces together, I thought to myself, “Perhaps, someday I would.”

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir entitled CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

BROTHERLY LOVE

A recent 18"x24" portrait commission of a big brother's affection for his energetic little sister.

50 YEARS OLD

Today is a full moon, lunar eclipse, and my 50th birthday! There's much to reflect upon, and much to look forward to. I'm 50 years, or 600 months, or 2,609 weeks, or 18,263 days, or 438,317 hours, or 26,299,043 minutes, or 1,577,942,630... 631... 632... seconds old. And though I share the same birthday as Neil Armstrong, there's a slim chance I will ever walk on the moon, but the odds are good I will never stop reaching for it!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WILLIAM RAMAGE WOLF JR.!

Todays' Dad's birthday - William Ramage Wolf Jr. was born August 1st, 1936, and would be 74 today. He's only 24 years old in this picture... and me, only an infant. I'm coming up on 50 soon, making him 26 years YOUNGER than me in this photo! Happy Birthday my car dealer dad! I miss you.

GOOD GRIEF

Dad had just gone up the driveway in a maroon colored body-bag: thick plastic with a quiet nylon zipper - reminding me of an insulated pizza delivery bag used to keep orders warm upon arrival. I had watched him go up the driveway in shiny black cars my entire life - leaving too often, but never for always.

I sat with my mother at the front porch picnic table; we didn't say a word, but smiled at one another the way people do who just survived a disaster - happy to have pulled through, but fully aware of the loss. I was relieved I would no longer have to helplessly watch my father being tossed against the rocks, pulled under the white water, and sent over the falls, but I couldn't help thinking how my mother was next. This was one of those clearly marked moments in time that fits squarely between past and future. My five stages of grief had overlapped, and were all out of order.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir entitled CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

Halfway down the drive, I could see my parents standing on the front porch. I parked the car, turned off the engine, and watched them for a second through the bug covered windshield - like a dream or a silent movie I knew would soon fade to black. When I opened the door, a rush of fresh air woke my stuffy road trip with a slap; I automatically gathered the maps, crinkly fast-food bags, and loose change that surrounded me, while fumbling to find the equilibrium I had lost somewhere between the getting there and arriving.

I watched Dad slowly navigate the porch walk's uneven stones with a cane. I could see small cuts on his face from shaving; the chemotherapy had left his skin papery thin. His bald head exaggerated his features - which were now caricatures of the originals. His ears and nose appeared large and doughy in contrast to his downy and delicate skull. His teeth looked fake - like Chiklets in a forced smile. His hazel eyes seemed surprised to have lost their brows. Suddenly Dad looked very small, old, and vulnerable; he was uncomfortable with his new look, and in having me see him like this for the first time.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir entitled CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

THE INCREDIBLE MR. LIMPET

I remember, as a kid, being very impressed with the 1964 live-action, animated film called "The Incredible Mr. Limpet." The combination of cartoons and real life amazed me (as much as when the 'The Wizard of Oz" turned from black and white to color). I loved the lead character, Henry Limpet - played by Don Knotts; he seemed like a cartoon himself. 

The movie takes place in World War II - before the Pearl Harbor attack. After attempting to join the U.S. Navy, Henry (a shy bookkeeper with a passion for fish) is rejected, due to his poor eyesight. Thoroughly downtrodden, he takes a walk along the Coney Island pier and accidentally falls into the water - turning into a talking fish. As the story unfolds, Limpet is commissioned by the Navy (complete with advancing rank and salary) to defeat the Nazis in The Battle of the Atlantic - finding Nazi U-boats and disrupting their underwater measurements and weapons with an intense "thrum" noise he is able to emit, now that he is a fish. He falls in love with "Lady Fish" (the complete opposite of his overbearing, human wife Bessie... who now presumes he is dead); being a good guy, Henry continues to send money home to his old biddy of a wife. I'm sure that by today's standards, Henry Limpet would be considered a loser, and the film a total flop, but I loved everything about this movie as a child; I loved that Henry's passion for fish turned into his reality, that "reality" was in cartoon form, and that the meek one became the hero.  

* this is an 18"x24" piece I recently painted of "The Incredible Mr. Limpet"

   

VET VISIT

Here's a 24"x24" painting I did for IDEXX Laboratories - as the cover art for their in-house veterinary magazine called "DX."

TO LIFE!

Here's to life - with all its struggles and all its rewards!

Here's to my mom - who gave me life, who never gave up, and who knew that life was beautiful, but in no way easy. 

"The generosity of her love made me sad at times - knowing that I had always felt safe in my bed at night, and she hadn't, simply made me sad. There's a sadness in the beauty of a spirit managing to flourish despite barren ground. It was a gift I knew I could never repay, but believing that children continue their parent's unfinished work, she assured me that living the fullest, happiest life I possibly could was all the pay back she needed."

Here's to the man me and my dog found in Payson Park, on this same date last year. 

"Done with a difficult life, he had killed himself and lay dreamless and cold the same time the earth was coming alive, the same time Brook Trout were starting to run in nearby streams, and Trout Lilies were making their splendid appearance. 

I tried to imagine the gait of a man who feels he's all out of choices - who feels everything is wrong, and there's nowhere to go but on a walk that fades to black. Did he march toward intention with the goose-steps of a soldier boldly facing the unknown? Or did he hesitate - stepping blindly on tentative night-feet while clenching a shotgun close to hip so no one would see?"

* excerpts from two short stories I wrote entitled "NOTICE THE LITTLE THINGS" and "STOLON SPRING."

HOW TO MAKE A PAINTING

STEP #1: Think and feel a whole bunch of thoughts and feelings; stare at canvas until something comes to you.

STEP #2: Often, during step #1, nothing happens for quite a while... do not be alarmed, and do not give up... something will come to you. 

STEP #3:  If you are the type who is uncomfortable sitting with yourself for long periods of time, do something productive... something will come to you.

 

STEP #4: As I said... this could take a while... fix yourself a sandwich... alcohol often helps.

STEP #5: Ah... there it is; approach canvas and paint what just came to you.

Repeat steps #1 through #5 until painting is completed... as I said, it could take a while.

AUGUSTEN STUDY

I did this portrait of Augusten Burroughs from a photo he had posted on his website. During the lulls - when portrait commissions aren't coming in - I like to keep my painting skills honed by painting interesting faces I find online. This piece measures 18"x24".

 

CELEBRITY PORTRAITS

I cast this portrait of Ellen DeGeneres and Portia De Rossi out into the "Sea of Celebrity" - hoping I will reel in a big, fat painting commission on the end of my line.

*This piece measures 18"x24." I found the reference photo that I used for this painting online, and do not claim any part of it as my own.

HAIR OF THE DOG

Spring is the time pets across the land are blowing their coats - dropping hairs like Christmas tree needles in the middle of January. I scooped up a tumbleweed of my dog Jethro's coat, and had a good time pushing tiny hairs around until a likeness of him appeared; the end result smacks of religious apparition.

IDEXX KITTY

Here's a 24"x24" painting I did for IDEXX Laboratories - as cover art for their in-house veterinary magazine called "DX."   

SENATOR SUSAN COLLINS

Last week I had the opportunity to meet Senator Susan Collins; I presented her with a portrait that I recently painted of her. It was one of those little gem encounters: comprised of interest, appreciation, respect, and possibility - an absolutely delightful ten minutes.

*this piece measures 18"x24"

"WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE..."

My father would often remind us of how "spoiled we kids were," and of how "lucky we had it." We were told over and over how "he had to work when he was our age" - how "his job was shoveling chicken shit out of chicken coops" - how "by six years old, he smoked, drank, swore, and had been sent to a shrink." How could I compete with that?

This legendary story had been told many times over the years - his age getting younger with each recital. As I "lazily" floated - watching clouds do the same - I knew I should be doing something more constructive than observing puffs of condensed water vapor enter and exit my field of vision - something more productive than counting horseflies sipping droplets of chlorinated water from the rim of my inner tube. But, I also knew, had I started that very minute - working every day for the rest of my life - never could I eclipse my father's prison-movie childhood. So, instead, I "lazily" floated - imagining him as a six year old, a toddler, an infant shoveling chicken crap - cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth, and whiskey scented swearwords spilling from the other.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

STARDUST MEMORIES

I was trying to decide what to post next when I considered these portraits of Wayne Newton, Elvis, and Tom Jones. (I painted them a few years back from a collection of bargain-bin CDs that I own; I found the indistinguishably cheesy poses irresistible, and wanted to see them hanging on the wall as a series.) Interestingly enough, as I was looking up Wayne Newton online just now - searching for fact-based tidbits to add to this post - I saw where his birthday is April 3rd. That sealed the deal; fate has me featuring "Mr. Vegas" on this date! I'm not actually a fan of Wayne Newton's (I'm more oddly bemused than bewitched by his surreal persona) but, despite personally finding his STARDUST character and enormous popularity a tad disconcerting, I have to respect the man's work ethic... in 1994 he performed his 25,000th solo show in Vegas! I remember seeing him on The Jackie Gleason show back in 1964 when I was five; I was lying on my Nana Abend's naphthalene scented oriental rug in Germantown, Pennsylvania, sipping a Shirley Temple (along side her two Pekinese dogs Shecky and Chingy) when I first heard him sing "Danke Schoen." As a little girl, I was transfixed and confused by the girlish voice coming out of this man; I have such a strong association with that first experience of hearing his strange voice in my Nana's apartment that, to this day, I still smell mothballs whenever I hear him sing.

At 13 I purchased an Elvis three record set from a television ad; the first album featured his early Sun years (before "the fever" had set in), the second album contained his most popular hits (after "the fever" had taken hold), and the third featured his Vegas years (when " the fever" had started taking its toll).

 

In the seventies, my Nana Abend left Germantown for good, and moved in with our family until she passed away. She never missed a single "Tom Jones Show" episode; at 92 years old, she swooned at the gyration of his hips and was captivated by "how he could sweat." She was as hypnotized as the young ladies in the audience who tossed their unmentionables on stage; she was as in love with Tom Jones at 92 as I was confused by Wayne Newton at 5.

*these paintings each measure 18"x24"

CARRI-ON WITHOUT MERCY

It was one of those velvety summer evenings, brimming with the hallmarks of a fairy tale: crickets rosining their bows, moon flowers tuning their trumpets, and fireflies preparing to gild twilight in pale gold enchantment. The candied colors and perfumes of peach, pear, and plum topped off the half-light; these trees were a May Day gift from my mother to us kids, and were planted out in the field - up near the vegetable garden. The first several summers after placing them in the ground, I imagined my brothers and I as our respective trees. My older brother Todd was peach; every season, no matter the conditions, he seemed to effortlessly produce hundreds of sticky drupes, much to the delight of family members and thousands of honey bees. Peach pies, peach preserves, peaches in cream, peach stains on t-shirts and faces - when I think of summer, I think of fresh cut grass and peaches. My younger brother Tedd was pear; he was persistent, but not fecund. Despite being planted between a rock and a hard place, he was determined to produce something; his fruits were small and few, but sweet none the less. I was plum; I had been cursed with leggy limbs, borer, and blight. Concerned that my tree's inferior yield somehow reflected my worth, I kept a nervous eye on each passing harvest; I'd watch my tiny fruits mold and fall to the ground - hoping for better luck next year - trying my best not to take it personally.

 

We watched a buck, two doe, and a fawn nibble at what lay at the foot of the old peach tree (despite its thirty years, and spindly, blistered trunk, this tree was still quite an impressive fruit producer). Mom had just finished commenting on how lovely this all was, when we looked up to see three turkey buzzards circling overhead - wheeling low and curious, and paying no mind to eventide's curfew.

Mom casually said, "Look Bill - they're coming to get us." There was some laughter, then a long silence as we watched and thought about the obvious. Our fairy tale evening had suddenly turned Grimm; sugar, spice, and everything nice had been replaced by poisonous fruit, carrion stew, and a moral yet to be revealed.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

THE CANCER RIDE

I was the required height for the ride, my seat belt was on, and the wheels had engaged; ready or not (click, click, click...) I was committed.

*an excerpt from my cancer memoir CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER