photograph by Jamie Bloomquist
painting by Jessica Ives
I’m working on an essay right now and it ties together thoughts about my current painting practice, quotations by Charles Hawthorn and Barry Lopez, my love of play, and a recent magical visit to Grafton Notch State Park’s Screw Auger Falls. This painting, a memory from that visit, contains all my thoughts expressed in pigment. It is a teaser for the words, which will publish next week. In the meantime, what exactly is a notch? In Home Ground, a dictionary for the American landscape compiled by Barry Lopez, the geographic term is defined:
A narrow passage between two elevations is called a notch. Also a depression or dent, an opening or defile, a cut in the surface of anything. In landscape, especially, a mountain pass. This is the location in a mountain range where a geological formation is lower than the surrounding peaks, thus allowing passage. Notch can simply indicate an opening through rough terrain.
Every Tuesday The Maine will post a new painting by Jessica Ives. These small works, all 4 x 4 inches on cradled birchwood panels, will be concurrently listed for auction on dailypaintworks.com, a fantastic platform designed by artists, for artists. View the auction for this painting here, or simply click on the image above.
Tuesday 207 paintings are exclusive to The Maine. They depict the land, the light and the people that make this state a state of wonder. Visit the growing gallery of Tuesday 207 paintings here.
Jessica is the editor of The Maine and writes occasionally as The Outsider.
A day of sparrows
in fields going to seed
leaves red and falling
Fall leaves prayer flags.
On the front porch Buddha
contemplates a pumpkin.
Walking through Camden’s Harbor Park and Amphitheatre this afternoon, the signs of coming cold were gathering with the fallen leaves.
schooners wrapped in plastic,
flocks of south-bound sparrows.
photo, text, and coffee by Dan Dishner
Good Morning. It’s chilly. Good day for the wood stove and Mack the Knife. Be safe out there, it’s Monday. – Dan
This is a blend dark roast beans from three countries and medium roast beans from three countries. It has a sharp bite at the front of the cup, fruity undertones and a strong dark chocolate finish. Macky’s back in town.
text by Jonathan Ives
Hiding behind a large red oak tree, I can feel the moisture of the soft moss soaking into my khaki dress pants. I hear the voices of my niece and nephew get louder as they run down the trail, calling out my name. My bright yellow shirt gives me away and they run up to my hiding spot and jump onto my back. By now my wife and two sisters have caught up to us and I take my turn walking with them while the two little ones run up ahead taking their turn to hide from the group. I smile as I watch their little feet beat down the trail, jumping over rocks and roots, gaining just enough distance to dart into the trees unseen. It was a game I had taught them the last time we went on a hike through the woods, and one that I have played for as long as I can remember.
When we were young, my family would explore the different islands along the Maine coast in a large Banks Dory that my father had built. We liked to pretend we were a family of Native Americans exploring each island in search of food and berries. My father was Sleeping Bear and my two sisters were Moon Glow and Princess Punky. I was Swift Arrow. I would run up ahead, find a good hiding spot right next to the trail, and wait for my family to walk past. Once they were down the trail far enough, I would run past them and hear their cries of surprise as I continued in search of the next great hiding spot.
I could hear my niece and nephew giggling as we walked past a fallen log on the side of the trail. “I hear something,” my older sister said, and the woods became quiet for a brief minute before the giggles turned into laughter. The excitement of hiding was too much for them and they jumped out from behind the log. “It’s your turn Uncle Jonny!” they said to me. I accepted their challenge and charged down the trail feeling like a child once again.
A status recently posted to the book of faces:
“On the way in to the Post Office to get my mail, I looked over my shoulder and up at the clock on the church spire across the street to see how late I was. The clock looked out of balance, sort of lumpy. As I turned to peer more carefully, I realized the lump was a majestic peregrine falcon perched up there and watching the human traffic pass by. Were we breakfast material? Just another reason I love living in Maine.”