Portrait of a Gentleman

Yesterday morning I stopped at a garage sale near my house.  I was enjoying seeing what all was there.  My eye was drawn first to a small yellow frame, then to the small portrait.  It looked very much like my work from several years ago.  Looking closer, I discovered my own signature on the painting!  What a find!

In the late sixties through the eighties I painted quite a few miniature portraits on commission.  Needless to say, I no longer remember who this gentleman is.  (Does anybody happen to recognize him?  If you do, I would appreciate your letting me know.)

When I went to purchase the painting (along with a few other items), the fellow in charge of the garage sale started “singing the praises” of this “actual painting” (as he put it).  When I told him I had painted it, he smiled and said, “Well, you can just have it!”

And now,  one little painting that left my hands twenty? thirty? years ago is  back with me.  It brings a smile to my face.

The size of the painting

A quarter helps to show the actual size of the miniature painting.

My son-in-law and I spent the afternoon in Branson marveling at the creativity shown by all the sculptures there.  Watching the artists at work was fascinating!  The weather was way too warm, though, and made their job much, much more difficult.  The bright sunshine was a major hazard; even an overcast day would have been better for them.    I, however, was thoroughly intrigued watching how they added pieces and reattached parts that fell off.

Of all the tools the artists used–chainsaws, chisels, drills, etc.–the most unexpected was the ye ole household iron!  The combination of applied heated board to one surface and dry ice to another seems to act as a glue when the two pieces are then put together.

This was the first time I have seen such an event.  It will not be the last!

Well, folks, it’s winter. Winter and I are not the best of friends. I don’t like the skeleton trees or the cold. I hate the short daylight hours and the insipid grey days. Sometimes it’s even difficult to think.

When it seems like there is not enough time for everything in the summer, I think that in the winter I can do more; especially since then there are no outdoor summer chores that need to be done. And then winter comes and I realize once again…

It’s published!

It’s a great children’s story.  If you can read Dutch, I encourage you to buy it for your children.

(Maybe one day it will be translated into English.)

I stepped off the plane at the Frankfurt airport full of eager anticipation.  Only two weeks to find out all I could in two cities.  Our exchange daughter, Anke, met me at the airport.  We dropped my backpack and suitcase at her apartment and she took me on a streetcar-train-walking tour of Frankfurt so I would have a basic idea of how to get where I needed to go.  I bought a week’s transportation pass which includes both the streetcar and train.

The next morning Anke went back to work, and armed with a city map and notebook, I set out to find the Römerberg.  It took me a couple of minutes to establish just where I was when I arrived streetside from the train (which runs under the city in that area).

The Römerberg.  I knew the three buildings comprising the Römer were the old city hall and designated places for official functions in the 1600’s, the time period  of my research.  Fanning out from the Römer was a large open space, which in earlier times was the main market place and where the twice yearly trade fairs were held.  This market area was the Römerberg, very much a misnomer.  I laughed when I realized that this slight uphill slant was called a mountain (berg).  But it did provide a natural ampitheater for viewing public events.

It was disappointing not to be able to see the exterior of the Römer.  The three buildings were covered with scaffolding and some kind of material as some kind of work was being done to them.  But there are plenty of pictures in books and on postcards that show the exterior.

Frankfurt is a very modern city.  Its skyline is often compared to that of New York City.  I knew that the only way I might get a sense of the 1600’s would mostly be in the various museums.