Oh, If Only...

Today I wished for a bigger camera.

If I were my brother Rob I could have brought you a great picture of the Canada Goose family I’ve been following, but this is the best I could do.

The babies are almost grown up! I can’t tell them apart from Mom and Dad, but they’re still a close knit family. You’ve seen Rob’s work although you may not know it—he’s an important source for me.

You can see this House with Jays in my show at the Saint Francis Gallery this summer in South Lee, Massachusetts. I’ll be saying more about it.

Recognize him? I’ve had him in my files for years, waiting for his moment.

This will also be at the Saint Francis Gallery.

Thank you, Robby, for the inspiration, for making it easy for me and for being a not too awful little brother.

To see more of Rob’s work, go to Rob Swanson Photography

Speaking of Saints, have you ever seen the Martyrdom of Saint Barbara, at the Met? The first time I encountered it I was overwhelmed and I began my study of Saint Barbara who, among other things, is the origin story for Rapunzel. As I remember the painting, Barbara kneels before her father, who wields a terrible sword. She has a look of resignation on her face and her neck is bare. Four men are looking on; everyone is dressed to the nines in clothes with elaborate patterns, as if the painter, Lucas Cranach the Elder, wanted to concentrate on anything but the gruesome truth of the scene. The legend says that at the moment Barbara died her father was struck by lightning and she went to Heaven to be the patron saint of armorers, architects, the Italian navy, a battalion of the United States Marines, and anyone about to be struck by lightning. Also, some enslaved peoples practiced their own religions under the guise of Saint Barbara, so she’s their protector.

Now, as I remember it, the painting hung in the great room at the top of the great stairway, filling an entire wall, at least thirty feet wide and twenty feet tall. But I went there last year to visit Barbara and she wasn’t there! the wall was filled with Rosa Bonheur’s Horse Fair, a great work, yes, but not my Barbara.

So I went to the guard, a dour looking fellow, and asked where was Saint Barbara? You know, she’s having her head cut off. He said, “Take a look down the hallway on your left. Everyone’s getting their heads cut off in there.” Then he kind of twinkled. Maybe not so dour. So I walked down the hall and I was shocked.

The painting, so huge in my memory, is 48 inches by 48 inches. It’s really small! How could my memory have played such a trick on me?

Arthur and I have had heated discussions, not to say battles Royale, about things that have happened in our past, each of us fighting to the death for our own truth.

Maybe I can let that go.