It's National Scrapple Day!

oil on paper, 13" x 22".
brush, pen and ink, 7" x 5"

"Leo 'Pops' Spirodopolous, proprietor and short order cook of the Possum Poke Diner, prides himself on shaping his scrapple into reconstituted animal shapes, which are rendered nearly unrecognizable once cooked. This, however, no one ever mentions to him."

For those of you too far west to have enjoyed this mid-Atlantic treat, scrapple is a yummy gray loaf of finely ground, boiled pork scraps mixed with cornmeal, salt, and pepper. It is best served sliced and fried, and tastes like, well, scrapple. Not sausage, not bacon, not even chicken, but its own unique oeuvre of olfactory stimulation, an achievement not often attained by offal-based processed breakfast side orders. While not quite a delicacy, this oft-maligned regional artery stopper is lauded fervently by its many flanneled defenders, and its mention in even passing conversation is met consistently with fanatical praise or unbridled nose-crinkling disgust.

Even among its supporters, the dish is frequently described as an acquired taste. The chilly Saturday morning my dad first tried to acquaint his young children with it, none of us could be sure what to make of it, for its texture and flavor defied even our most imaginative expectations. It should be noted, too, that in spite of its seeming malleability, it does not take well to being modeled into cool shapes before frying, and believe me, we tried.

Three new paintings.

Boxing Day, 2007. oil on paper, 10"x10"

Dog on the ice, 2007. oil on paper, 22"x22"

The blushing bride, 2007. oil on paper, 10"x10"

You are certainly not my neighbor's cat.

pen and ink, 5in. x 7 in.

That is, the skittish gray tabby we set the trap for
whose green eyes glared out at me
from beneath my shamefully uncool minivan.
You are not that cat.
Yet you return again and again,
drawn by a fly specked can of sun-warmed tuna
and hunkering silently in the corner of the cage
chagrined by your greed and gullibility perhaps.
Your gray coat reminds me of the wily mane
donned by an old writing professor of mine,
while your tail at a glance
resembles some ancient, exotic root vegetable.
And finally my friend,
if it must be pointed out,
your smell—
your smell is not spectacular.

Flat File Fridays!

various sizes, gouache on paper

I think it was January of 2006. My brother was ice fishing with a mug of Irish whiskey, a little snowman at his feet, courtesy of his soon-to-be-wife, Erika. It was cold and gray out, and the ice on the lake, solid since Thanksgiving, was blanketed in crusty snow.

I had to keep taking my gloves on and off in the course of these two studies, and at some point concluded that getting the face to look like his would take more time than my bared digits could handle. The sky was getting dark fast. I'm pretty sure I had my own coffee mug of whiskey too, poured over two rocks that over the course of an hour never got any smaller.

January of 2006 sounds about right. Anyway, it was cold.

National Collect Rocks Day

Really, it is. You should all head on out and celebrate.

New Feature: Flat File Fridays!

watercolor and gouache on paper, 7.4" x 11.25"

From the dusty vaults...

This was painted in the Adirondacks, sometime around Summer '01, I think.

Frogs apparently make good models. People will pose, but they're always, like, "I have to go check the roast," or "I have to run out at quarter-of," or "Are you done with my nose? Can I move yet?" Frogs don't do none o' that.

After an hour, this handsome fellow still hadn't budged. No complaining about stiff joints or anything of the like. If he had an amphibian picnic to attend that afternoon, he gave indication of no such pressing engagement.

It could just be that he was a jerk, that the other frogs and newts never invited him anywhere. I'm not ruling that out, and as I've always gotten on pretty well with difficult social types I'm not sure I would have noticed. Still, he posed like a champ, and I'm posting this as a tribute to his princely virtues and resilience. I dearly hope he went on to live a long life and father thousands of patient, virtuous children.

One of nine.

oil on canvas, 12"x18"

Busy week.

Those are good... the dog parlor sketch went through without a hitch, so here's the painting. I'll be finishing the last few from this series today and posting them soon.

But first, I think I'll have another cup of coffee.