
Color makes for intrigue – just look at the splashes of vibrancy my dad uses in this painting. Why not turn his artwork into a writing prompt? Who is this woman? Who or what is she waiting for, and why? What happens next, and what went on before?
Paintings by my father that inspire thoughts to ponder.

Color makes for intrigue – just look at the splashes of vibrancy my dad uses in this painting. Why not turn his artwork into a writing prompt? Who is this woman? Who or what is she waiting for, and why? What happens next, and what went on before?

I’ve been remiss in sharing my dad’s paintings! Sorry if you’ve missed the way he expresses what he sees through his art. I’m back, and promise to be more consistent.
I love this sailboat painting of his – it’s a biggish work that we have hanging in our hallway. I see motion and freedom and the power of the wind harnessed.
What do you see?

On a day in January, when I’ve lived in England twenty years, I think back to the ski trips in the mountains of the American West Coast, or the hills of Minnesota where I grew up, and I get a bit nostalgic. If you have mountains to gaze at today, enjoy them for me!

The weather in London has looked a lot like this painting lately. Grey, drizzly, chilly, and with only periodic bursts of sunshine. I know for a lot of people, January feels dull and grey too. It can feel a hard month because of the effort we may put into the resolutions made at the beginning of the year that we haven’t yet abandoned. I heard from one of the teachers at the gym this week that there were three injuries in the space of an hour there, partly because of the increased traffic from people wanting to work off the weight they gained over the holidays.
How do you bring sunshine into the grey?

On this Christmas Eve, we wait and watch and wonder. Pondering the gift of Jesus, the Son of God, born a baby. If you are rushed with a long list of tasks to prepare and feeling hassled; if you’re sad because this Christmas feels different because of people not with you; if you feel quiet and grateful and joyful; may the God of wonders, who became Man and lived as one of us, fill you with his presence today and always.
Note on my dad’s watercolor – I asked him (Leo Boucher) to put into paint one of my favorite Christmas decorations in their house, which Dad made some decades ago. It’s a wooden base with the figures of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus cut from a darker wood. I love the simplicity, and how the story comes all back to this.
Happy Christmas!

We’ve had a different sort of Advent in our home this year, as I didn’t realize I had none of our Advent candles stashed away like I usually do. Getting them (we go for three purples, a pink, and a white one) meant a jaunt to the next High Street where parking is a nightmare, and it just didn’t happen. So here we are days before Christmas with the candles only recently purchased, but now the kitchen table needs to be cleared of the cookie-making mess before we can assemble and light the Advent wreath.
We’ve failed our own customs this year, but I imagine God doesn’t much mind, not wanting us to get our knickers in a twist, as it were. Life is messy – which is why Jesus came as a baby in the first place.
How’s your Advent going?

I like my dad’s abstract art, such as this oil painting (sorry; not a watercolor!) that hung in various places in our home when I was growing up. Art, I know, can be subjective, and probably abstract art even more so.
To me this painting says home and familiarity, but also conversational groupings, time with a friend on the water, buildings and structures. Actually, however, when I look at it, I don’t think so much about the individual parts but rather I like to soak it up as a whole.
Over to you – what do you think about abstract art? Like it, loathe it, or somewhere in between?

As the news has been filled with fairytale stories of a commoner from the former Colonies marrying a prince, it seemed fitting this week to showcase my dad’s abstract of a castle by the water. You can picture this as Windsor, where the wedding will be next May, or perhaps a fortress in the North of England, a haven of safety against marauding invaders.
What does this picture say to you?

Growing up in Minnesota, I’d often go with my family to visit my grandparents, both sets of which lived on farms. I took for granted the beauty of the fall colors and the picturesque farms dotted along the way as we drove to Southern Minnesota or Iowa. Now, however, I can bring forth those memories with thanks, also grateful for my dad’s artistry in capturing the moments.
For those who are celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow, may your celebrations be marked with joy and abundance.

This autumn scene speaks to me of an age gone by. A time before electronic devices and everyday mass shootings. A time for reading, gardening, and talking to the neighbors while delivering a homemade cake. But those days had their own challenges, such as people in a minority not having a voice, or cultural expectations reducing the number of creative expressions workwise (can you imagine many people with a so-called portfolio lifestyle back then?).
Keeping with the autumnal theme, what has died from that era to give us what we have now? What do you wish hadn’t perished? What are you grateful for in this new day?