Friday 13, 2010 Response to Magpie Tales and Johnnie Winona Ross

Today is Friday, and this morning I opened to the Magpie site, to see the writing prompt. To tell the truth I was stumped, I started a couple of ideas and no luck. When I looked carefully at the picture, I began thinking about the surface of the pipes pictured and was struck by the contrast of the paintings I saw yesterday by a wonderful artist, Johnnie Winona Ross. And surface is so important to his work. While the pipes in Magpie's picture were rusty, and oxidized, rough to the touch, Johnnie's painting are smooth as a polished stone.



I found on Elins Eagles-Smith Gallery site his biography: Johnnie Winona Ross creates elegantly abstracted paintings that evoke both the austere landscape of Northern New Mexico's high plain and the burnished surfaces of ancient Pueblo pottery.

These are two things I love. I have seen Johnnie's work since he moved to Taos in 1999, where he first showed at the Parks Gallery. But one thing that was so wonderful about his show at the Museum in Santa Fe, was to see his work in the context of many of his other works. And of course to get to meet him was a very special privilege.

The Elins Eagles-Smith Gallery describes his process this way, beneath their satin, burnished surfaces are revealed subtle drips of colored pigment that appear in banded stripes. In a rhythmic flow that is reminiscent of falling rain, the dripping is sparse at the top and becomes more intense as it nears the bottom. These works are composed of more than one hundred layers of glazed pigments. Each of these is shaved with a straight razor until a chronology of the painting's history is revealed to the viewer. Finally, utilizing the traditional burnishing stone of native Pueblo potters, Ross buffs the surface of the painting until he achieves a soft warm gloss.

Johnnie Winona Ross resigned his post as chair of the art department at the Maine College of Art in Portland and moved to Taos New Mexico in 1999, to devote himself full time to painting. He exhibits his work in New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Dallas, and throughout Northern New Mexico.

Johnnie Winona Ross
August 13, 2010 --January 9, 2011
New Mexico Museum of Art 107 West Palace Avenue, on the Plaza in Santa Fe
NMArtMuseum.org

And for more information go to Kate Beck: Art Notes http://katebeckstudio.blogspot.com
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
On and of the Mesa: Johnnie Winona Ross, Carole Sue Ross

Thursday August 10, 2010 The Pink House by the Bay

http://themethursday.blogspot.com/2010/08/thursday-august-12-2010-palm-link.html

I am reminded of the Pink House by the bay,
Cary and Kathleen, gentleman and anything but a gentlelady,
Summer breezes blow,
Onie and Jo, soul of the whole shebang,
Lash your trusty companion,
And Hondo without the sense to get out of the road.
Fig trees blossom in spring,
...Palm trees rustle in gentle breezes.


Places to wonder, places to hide.
Billiards upstairs, trunks and wardrobes.
Colorful flowers bloom across the green,
Manicured lawn,
Racing to the water's edge,
The long pier, just right for fishing.
A summer home for the family,
...Palm trees rustle in gentle breezes.


They used to walk the cow down to the bay,
Thirty miles or more,
So there would be fresh milk for the children,
Later a full-time home.
All of the old folks were gone,
And now we are gone, too.
...The palm trees rustle in gentle breezes.

We returned from the honey moon,
I was sitting in the car,
You returned a boy,
Left me with my luggage to enter the family home, alone.
...The palm trees rustle in gentle breezes.

Over the years, each day passed,
Each night,
Things slowly changed.
We wrapped each other in love,
Giving all that we had,
In the best way we knew how.
Now it is only a memory,
...The palm trees still rustle in gentle breezes,

And I wonder do they ever think of us?

August 10, 2010 By the Seashore

I play by the shore
Arrange my shells, driftwood and seaweed,
I build sand castles,
I shade my eyes and scan the beach,

It is empty as far as I can see,
You know the place I play,
I am there regularly,
Yes, I remain,

I wait for you,
We splash into the sea,
It is only my imagination,
It is quiet around me,

Except for the sound of the surf,
That I hear when I raise the shell to my ear,
And I hear it, no matter where I am,
Perhaps I only imagine the surf, too,

The gulls cry and dive for bits of nourishment,
And like the gull,
I fly aimlessly and watch for you,
There are no longer games to play,

Each minute of time ticks on endlessly,
This is "it", the real thing,
Just a brief space
Without, definition.

microfiction#43
Susan,at http://www.stonyriver.ie/
hosts a weekly writing prompt
using the below photo
write using only 140 character or less



The old postcard
Slid out from between the pages,
Telling the tale from long ago.
They sailed from New York.
Taking the World Tour in stages.

Saturday August 7, 2010 A Heart Tied with a Knot

The heart that's bound,
Tied in knots
Hold it together,
Try not to let it fall apart,
Use different knots,

The Love Knot, Strangle Knot, Witches Knot
All the different hitches,
From Half to Slip,
The unusual Hairy Devil,
To the plain bow knot, etc.,

Old knots unrecorded,
New Knots to discover,
Knots made up on the spot,
What's the use of this long list of knots,
Holding the heart that is falling apart,

Torn wide open...
Because you loved too much,
...or not enough,
Silver threads or a bit of old string,
There is nothing new in this activity.