Bits and pieces

Four things I'm loving right now:

This book and this book. "The One and Only Ivan" is written for children, but if you were to ask me for a very short list of favorite books, this would be on it. Meanwhile, "The Goldfinch" is keeping me up much too late at night.

This is not a painting (or, rather, a print of a painting) of my children, but it could be, and it makes me think of them every time I look at it. I bought it from this Etsy shop.

This spoon, made in a 6th grade woodworking class. Like Ivan, it's a one and only.

Portrait

When Kate, who is now 14, was about two, I sent a picture of her to my cousin, an artist. I hadn't asked him to draw a picture of her from that photograph, but that's what he did, such nice cousin that he is.

I love that portrait of little Kate, but in terms of framing and hanging, I waited long enough that there was then the issue of Holt and Livvy. It didn't feel right to have Kate up on the wall and not her siblings. So for now, the drawing remains in a box, and I take it out about once a year to admire it and think about whether there's something I could ever do for my cousin in return for drawings of the other two.

In the meantime, I went into a Land of Nod pop-up store after the holidays. It was full of good toys at greatly reduced prices, and I bought a mosaic art kit, thinking it was something Livvy might like. It included paper boards, sheets of stickers, and instructions on how to make - of all things - people portraits.

Livvy started by making a portrait of a boy, who just happened to look an awful lot like her brother. So of course we decided there should be a Kate and Livvy - finally a complete set! - and I'm hoping I'll be more on top of the framing and hanging this time around. I'll always love the first Kate portrait and won't give up the dream of someday having two more, but these will tide us over nicely for now.

Landscape into art

I sometimes play a game with myself when I'm scrolling through Pinterest. I look only at the images - not where they came from or who posted them - and wait for something to jump out at me. I try not to "repin" or even "like" anything unless it almost startles me - its beauty, its familiarity, something. So much of what's pinned starts to look the same, and I love the feeling of seeing something different that moves me.

I felt that way when I came across a series of paintings (not on Pinterest!) by Katherine Downey Miller, an artist who grew up in the town next to mine and still lives and works nearby. Our local magazine profiled Miller and talked about her connection to nature and the land.

Her paintings are so beautiful and remind me why I live here, despite another snowstorm yesterday and gray and white everywhere. Miller turns this landscape into art, into something to celebrate. And I couldn't resist adding the painting at the bottom, which for me makes a different kind of connection.

All images by Katherine Downey Miller

Dorcas

I read an article the other day in The New York Times Style Section about the Mexican town of Merida, where artists, architects, and other creative types have been busy buying up haciendas and renovating them. Some have moved there full-time; others visit for several weeks each year. It used to be towns like San Miguel de Allende that drew these artists, but over time, those towns became too popular.

My great-aunt Dorcas was a painter who lived for years in San Miguel, before it filled with what the Times piece calls "American snowbirds." I visited her there once, with my mother and sister, when she was quite elderly. Toward the end of our trip, we went to a party given in her honor that included a sale of some of her paintings. My sister and I each picked out a painting, and mine is now in my dining room. It was my first piece of "real" art.

Several years later, my sister and I were going through boxes in my mother's basement, and we came across a sketchbook that belonged to my aunt. The sketches - all flowers - look like they were done in thin black marker, and the paper has faded to yellow. I'm not sure anyone would ever buy them, but to me they're beautiful.

I hung six of these sketches in our family room, next to a crayon drawing of a fish (care of my daughter) and a painting of a small orange house (done by either my sister or me - we're not sure who - when were were little) to add color. I think Dorcas, who loved color above all else, might approve.

But one last story: Dorcas once offered to do a painting for my father. She asked him what he'd like, and he said he'd like something that reminded him of the sea, with lots of blues and grays and greens. The photo below is that painting. Not what my dad was expecting, perhaps, but done in her own way and possibly my favorite of all.