Three Vases Sans Flowers


A dear art teacher to whom I sent an image of this week’s collage, floated the idea that I might have found my artistic voice. “Who would have imagined, the writer is also a paper artist!” I couldn’t help but chuckle as I read her note.  I have always loved pretty papers be it wallpaper, gift wrap, art papers, even gorgeous party napkins.

My initial idea for the collage at the left was to create arrangements of white flowers in colorful vases. But these three papers called out to me and by the time I’d fashioned them into my vases, I realized there’d be no room for flowers and greenery.  The greenery moved up from a supporting role to leading role.  I made it up as I went along, painting the stems and a few leaves and then painting watercolor paper in various greens and then snipping them into leaves and a few odd seed pods and closed blossoms. I am pleased with the outcome. I could pick the collage apart and tell you what doesn’t please me.  Instead, I look at those “misses” as lessons for the next time.

Perhaps my teacher is right, the writer is drawn once again to creating with paper. Collage adheres my sensory loves: beautiful papers, painting, scissors and glue. I don’t know what’s next, and that’s part of the fun, too.






Technically, this photo misses the mark: the netting needs to be erased; the birds’ wings are barely distinguishable from their bodies; their eyes aren’t visible.

Nevertheless, I love the photo because it symbolizes to me decades-strong love. We all have some background years we might want to erase or at least blur a bit. Our bodies have lost definition: curves uncurving; muscles relenting. We’ve learned to turn a blind eye when necessary. These two lovebirds affirm  what matters most — sitting quietly on a branch with my beloved, nestling wing to wing, leaning in for a tender kiss.  Avian or human, that’s what it’s all about.

photo courtesy of Debra Darvick





What would New York City be without its windows? Come across the Brooklyn Bridge at dusk and the entire city is lit, as if by lanterns stacked one upon the other, block after block after block. City windows whisper of countless anonymous stories whose first line hides in plain sight. Here the story of a bored therapist. There the story of a new mother rocking her infant to sleep just as the garbage trtucks come rumbling up the street. Above her, perhaps the fractioius couple is at it again or maybe they’ve decided to part ways. Or might try once more.

I took this photo at the old Whitney on Madison Avenue a few years back. This cluster of  windows, captured within their much larger cousin, reminded me of unread tales in a wide open book.

Snow Robin

Three years ago we were in Sedona when they experienced their own Snowmageddon. Eighteen inches of snow fell over night.  The town shut down. It was gorgeous, messy, and magical. Martin snapped this little robin balancing on an enormous snow-sphere (formerly known as a shrub.)


photo courtesy of Martin Darvick

Fade to Black

Martin is not sure how the black background happened but we’re glad for the serendipity just the same. The inky blackness framing the light-filled grasses turns this image into a visual mantra: I look at it for long moments, feeling peace rise within me.

What about you?


photo courtesy of Martin Darvick

Red All Over

If I hadn’t forgotten my container of red peppers to snack on while I ran errands, my husband might never have snapped this shot. Right before I left, he received the week’s challenge from his camera club: Photograph something red.

Isn’t this red-on-red totally rad? Not to mention the circle of pinkish highlights atop the pepper. I was hungry when I came home but Martin’s view of the world never fails to feed  me.

photo courtesy of Martin Darvick