Ring Out, Wild Bells

Wishing everyone a joyous, loving, and peaceful season. And, in that spirit, here is a poem by Tennyson for Christmas Day.

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Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, Ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, Ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of Rich and poor,
Ring in Redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, Ring out my mournful Rhymes,
But Ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and Right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkenss of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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Ann

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Stephanie

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Noah

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Tony

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Nevin

Set of Two Calendars

Below is a link for a set of two calendars, made for those who asked about obtaining one of each, the “grown-up” still-life calendar, and the “children’s” Little Pudding calendar. However, several actual grown-ups have expressed a desire to live in Little Pudding. It’s probably a post-election wish for an environment of diverse creatures who live in relative harmony without eating each other.

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Set of two calendars, $38




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Gina

A Year in Little Pudding 2017

This year I’ve created a second, entirely different calendar in addition to the more “grown-up” still-life calendar. It features the inhabitants of the village of Little Pudding, about whom I’ve been inventing stories since my daughter was in kindergarten.

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Unless you prefer to be surprised, you can scroll down to see the twelve scenes of village life featured within. (Click twice to see the image larger.) The calendar is 8-1/2” x 11” and printed on sturdy satin stock, substantial enough so the images can be saved as prints.

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A single calendar is $20; a set of two is $36. Shipping is 3-day Priority Mail, domestic US.

If you are in my area, you can obtain a calendar from me directly without shipping—just let me know.

Single calendar:




Set of two calendars:




A Still-Life Calendar for 2017

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Here is one of two new calendars for 2017 (the second, quite different, calendar to be posted soon). In this one each month features one of my seasonal still-lifes.

The calendar is 8-1/2” x 11” and printed on sturdy satin stock, substantial enough so the images can be saved as prints.

A single calendar is $23; a set of two is $42. Shipping is 3-day Priority Mail, domestic US.

If you are in my area, you can obtain a calendar from me directly without shipping—just let me know.

Unless you prefer to be surprised, you can look at tomorrow’s post to see the twelve still-lifes featured within.

Single calendar:




Set of 2 calendars:




Those Pesky Immigrants

Columbus Day is an opportunity to ponder immigration, an especially rich subject during the current election season. The image below, created for this holiday, is part of the all-media Op-Ed exhibit at the Art League Gallery at the Torpedo Factory in Alexandria, Virginia. Come to the opening reception October 13th for a look at a range of opinionated work.

(click twice to enlarge)

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To A Butterfly

Summer officially came to an end at 10:21 Eastern Daylight Time this morning. Welcome Autumn with a poem by William Wordsworth.

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I’ve watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!—not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again !

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister’s flowers;
Here rest your wing when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We’ll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

—William Wordsworth