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For most of my now Medicare era life, I have considered my last name to be English. And this is true enough. Creech is an English spelling of a name that I’ve always known originated in Scotland but has little purchase there. There is no Creech clan, tartan, nor any other official Scottish recognition. The southwest of England, particularly in the counties of Somerset and Dorset, is in comparison a boiling cauldron of Creechiness. There is one monkey wrench in that a distant cousin of mine once researched family history showing that at about the time of the U.S. Civil War my direct Creech ancestors migrated to Canada from…Ireland. And I do not know whether this means there are also Irish Creechs OR an English Creech just so happened to embark on a ship from Ireland. It gives me slight panache on St. Patrick’s Day but that is it.

We were lucky enough to spend time in Lincolnshire, England, and then in Edinburgh this summer. While in Edinburgh, we made a point to look a little deeper into the Scottish roots of Creech. Which is Creich (pronounced using a vowel sound known only to Scots falling somewhere between "Crike" and “Creek”). The internet, which is never wrong (grin), is quite firm that Creich is the great granddaddy of many later anglicized spellings starting with Creech, but including Creach, Creigh, Creych, Craich, Criche, and so on. At least one source says that Creich was a name from a Pictish tribe who lived in Fife. The best anybody can guess is that the name derives from "rocky or rugged ground." As a stop on the way to St. Andrew’s we called upon Creich Castle. This is now a dilapidated heap of stone which manages the amazing feat of looking like rock walls actually melting. 

It turns out that another person with my last name did real research in the 1990s about Creich Castle.  Here are the high points:

SITE  The site was chosen by McDuff Earls of Fife as a defensive position against Viking raids, perhaps as early as the 8th Century.

CASTLE ITSELF There is mention of a first castle in the 13th Century, which was later expanded upon in the 16th Century.

WHO LIVED THERE? A variety of people named Creich did, at first anyway. Whether by custom (e.g. “Laird of Creich”) or by lineage is not clear. The area to this day seems to have the informal moniker "lands of Creich." The male line of the Creich Castle family failed in the 1350s, and the eldest daughter married Andrew Murdock. This is of note because Mr. Murdock was the grandson of Robert the Bruce, King of the Scots.

THEN WHAT?  Well, at some point a family named Beaton became Constables of Creich Castle. Descendants of people named Creich farmed the surrounding lands, and one suspects that the Creich and Beaton bloodlines surely intermixed to some degree, sanctioned by the church or otherwise. 

HISTORICAL NOTE 1 Perhaps you have heard of Mary Queen of Scots? She lived at times at Falkland Palace, a short distance away, which the Creich farms provided with food. Turns out that one of her Ladies in Waiting was Mary Beaton of Creich Castle, and MQ of S often wrote of the kindness of the Laird of Creich in supplying the Palace with such abundant and great tasting chow.  

HISTORICAL NOTE 2 David Beaton of Creich Castle served as Archbishop of St. Andrew’s from 1539 to 1546.  He was stabbed to death and hung from a St Andrew’s Castle window by supersecret ninja agents of Queen Elizabeth I, because that kind of stuff was the thing to do during the Protestant Reformation in Great Britain.

HISTORICAL NOTE 3 Yeah, the Protestant Reformation is a good an explanation as any for why the humble Pictish tribe Creichs of Scotland are kind of lost to time and southwest England’s Creechs are now the go to source genealogy-wise.

Okay, so I really didn’t know much of this when our tour-guide drove onto private property so that I could get a few snaps of this pile of rock rubble associated with my last name. There is a maybe century or two year old house a few steps from the castle, and the current occupants are not named Creich. They are, however, delightful people who are more than happy to let folks like me see and photograph the property. Susan presented me with a fancy leather book in which people with last names such as mine could sign and write notes. There were already several dozen Creech notes, and I took a few moments to add mine. It was a bizarrely holy moment to me. She showed us the castle well, a former outhouse (now used as a garden shed), and an associated Dovecoat. She had a schedule conflict, and seemed very disappointed that she could not invite us in for tea. We later stopped by nearby Creich Church (1832) and over to Falkland to say hi to the spirit of Mary Queen of Scots and eat lunch in a lovely pub. A fine morning.

There is absolutely no evidence of any direct blood connection from me back to Robert the Bruce, or to people who lady-in-waited on or grew food for Mary Queen of Scots, or to the former Archbishop of St. Andrew’s, or to really anybody with even a remote connection to Creich Castle. Even so, there is nothing to say there couldn't be….

One thing I know with certainty is that there will be paintings to come in relation to all of this.  

Now that our 2025 Christmas Cards have gone out via snail mail, I'm happy to share it here. The waterfall is Shamokin Falls in Wintergreen Virginia, and it appears that some excited hikers (or elves) have added a Christmas tree. The card's interior message is "Rejoice, rejoice, believers, and let your lights appear!," which is technically from an Advent hymn. However, I figure that sending out Christmas cards is an Advent season activity, so I throw myself upon the mercy of the court.  

Like many people, we include holiday letters with our cards. I won't attach the whole thing, but I will share that in November Crystal and I attended our nephew's wedding in San Diego. It was lovely. Our flight home, though, was preceded by an event offering insight into the foibles of the human condition, which I am happy to summarize here as a pubic service.

Prior to the wedding, there had been some drama – well, worry - because the government shutdown rendered airline consistency even worse than normal, threatening our scheduled flights. Then a slight reprieve when the Feds reopened less than a week before our travel. More drama when we both came down with severe head colds just before flying to San Diego. Unnecessary drama when I lost my credit card at the San Diego Zoo. Lovely drama in the form of a delightful wedding, and meeting our newest grand-niece Annie (who is an absolute doll). All of which was topped off with silly drama on the way home. We were patiently sitting in the boarding area for our flight when painfully loud alarms in the terminal preceded a robot klaxon voice informing folks THERE IS A FIRE EMERGENCY IN THE TERMINAL - PLEASE LEAVE THE TERMINAL USING THE NEAREST EXIT. Over and over again. Seeing and smelling neither fire nor smoke, and wanting to make sure we caught our flights, most people just sat and looked around to see how others would respond to the unending 100 decibel doomsday proclamation. Some people did exactly what the voice of impending doom said to do and opened an emergency door to go out to mingle amongst the Boeings and Airbuses. These wise and cautious folks were immediately yanked back inside because that was simply not allowed.

A few minutes or so later, the alarms and messages stopped, with no follow-up information given.

The take home messages:  

1. People are sheep. Scream FIRE in a crowded airport and they’ll just sit with open mouths waiting for somebody else to initiate a response.

2. The Transportation Security Administration is perfectly willing to barbecue human beings provided that the aircraft remain secure. 

And on that encouraging note, I wish you - dear reader - a Merry Christmas, and happy all other holidays of your choosing. 

Crystal and I might be described as “sort of” travelers. By this I mean we sort of plan what we want to see whenever we go somewhere new. We sort of know our general wish-list, but remain open to change based on factors such as weather, or "neat!," or the wisdom of the locals. This can work out very well, such as our learning of, and walking to, a delightful concert while in Helsinki and an out of the blue decision to visit Tallinn, Estonia, on the same trip.  So when we visited the great American Southwest, we knew we'd go to Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks and try to visit a slot canyon while in Utah, and we'd visit the South Rim of the Grand Canyon and then Sedona while in Arizona. On this vacation the "sort of" came in because we had not assigned specific dates for individual components. The locals cheerfully gave us details on various slot canyons - how far a hike, best time of day, whatnot - and then just as cheerfully advised us not to do it. 

Slot canyons are just as the name implies. They are slots in the sandstone landscape; sometimes so thin that you have to turn sideways to squeeze through certain spots. By a combination of erosion and lighting they can appear ethereal. The slottiness, however, can equate to extreme danger. Ranger Rick at the Kanab information center made it very clear to us that if even only so much as a quarter inch of rain were to fall ten miles away, a wall of mud and water could inundate a slot canyon. This is not the same as getting rained on while hiking on the Appalachian trail. It's more like walking inside a railroad tunnel with Ol' 88 barreling your way at full speed. People have been killed. People have been left shivering on tiny ledges for days waiting for rescuers to make their way to them. Sporadic thunderstorms were forecast throughout southern Utah during our entire visit, so every slot canyon on the map was designated to be a no go to all but the stupidest of tourists. 

This is where having skills as a "sort of" traveler come to the fore. Hey, we decided, let's go the North Rim of the Grand Canyon instead. This turned out to be a wonderful decision. If you don't know, the South Rim side of the national park is the "touristy" side. The North Rim is the higher, remoter, and far less developed side. To get to it you drive up onto the Kaibab Plateau and through the Kaibab forest for miles and miles. There isn't much to the Kaibab forest  - Ponderosa pine trees, some aspens, and meadows - but it's the most gorgeous "not much" I think I've ever seen, worth the visit even without the Grand Canyon at the end of the road. And here's the kicker: if not for the sketchy risk of slot canyon death having been drilled into our skulls, we would have never seen the Kaibab forest or the North Rim.

Tragically, early this year it was all slaughtered in a forest fire. Nothing left but cinders, char, and ash  So, thank goodness that by the virtue of our "sort of" approach to travel planning we experienced a lovely day up there in September 2022. We'll never have another chance in our lifetimes. Sure, give things two or three decades and it'll all be beautiful again, hopefully with the national park remaining not touristy. But it’s doubtful that we’ll get back.

You might be wondering what does this have to do with anything? Let’s reword the question. If you paint, what do you do if you did not go to a slot canyon? Answer: you find a copyrighted* photo of one of the most famous ones and use it to paint a watercolor. Gotta be honest, I don't think this quite catches the amazing beauty of Antelope Canyon, or at least of the photos I've seen of it, but it was fun to paint anyway. And, as with the Northern Lights, we haven’t given up on experiencing a slot canyon one of these days.

* image adapted from a photo attributed to Ken Church

On January 29, 2010, our good friend Shannon Johnston was installed as the 13th Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Virginia. The service occurred at St. Paul's in Richmond, a beautiful and historic church next door to the state capital. My wife Crystal played the organ for the service, and she needed to be there very early which is why I was able to take several photos of the historic church just as the the winter sun was coming up. 

Soon thereafter, I painted the "recently risen sun making the church building glow" as a full sheet watercolor.

This painting hung in our den for 15 years. We've always really liked it, and it gained additional significance a couple of years ago when Crystal began to work at St. Paul's as Music Associate. The painting no longer hangs in our den. The St. Paul's choir has plans to travel to England in 2026 to sing at Lincoln Cathedral and we donated the painting to a silent auction conducted as part of a fundraiser for the trip. It did very well, so that's nice. I had a pleasant painting of a waterfall in my studio which now hangs in the den where St. Paul's used to so at least the wall isn't now bare. But giving it up for auction did hurt a bit, sentimentality-wise.

I have always said that no painting of mine is ever not "available" under the right conditions (such as an offer of a buttload of money, for example). My glib pronouncement is based on the concept of "well, I can always paint another one." This thought should be tempered by the realization that no two paintings I have ever done of the same thing have ever turned out looking even remotely similar. With paintings, every single one is irreplaceable in the sense that I can never reproduce what I've done before. In this case, I especially had no desire to attempt to duplicate something I had painted a decade and a half ago.

Notwithstanding, I still remember how pretty the church was in the early morning winter light, and I wanted to paint it again but as its own thing. So, this would be in oil instead of watercolor, and it would zero in more on the church itself. I also used this as opportunity to try something I've never done before; specifically, underpainting. This means an initial layer of paint applied to the canvas to serve as a base for the actual paint later used to create the image. The color should be neutral and thereby not distractive if it peeks through into the new painting. The theory is that this new base color can be optically mingled with the actual painting colors without risk of the colors turning into mud. I'm sure art schools spend entire semesters on theory and variations, and artists spend entire lifetimes to learn mastery of the concept. To me, it was something new to try. Let's walk through the stages. 

After laying out the drawing I painted the entire canvas with watered down acrylic brown sienna. I used acryllic (a) so it would dry quickly, and (b) because I just happened to have some lying around. I needed to touch up the drawing before moving on.

My next step was a complete rule breaker. In oil painting, the theory is you work from dark to light because the dark paints go on thinly and the light paints need to be thicker and opaque if possible. I ignored this, instead following my mentor Christphora Robeers' oft stated instruction to think hard about the placement of your darkest darks and lightest lights. I believe she always meant this to be a "while you are painting" mantra rather than a "do it first" directive, but the latter is what I felt called to do here. Growth as an artist, I believe, can only happen when you are willing to step outside any self-imposed boundaries. You may get worse before you get better, but it's worth the risk. 

During the next painting session I focused on the church building itself. As you can see, I try to be a general feel person as opposed to a capture every detail one. 

In the penultimate painting session I tweaked the building and added the sky. As I recall, that very early January morning sky was the very palest shades of pink into lavender. It was not as intense as the radioactive fallout hue I went with here. However, my feeling always has always been that if I had wanted a photograph I would have printed the one I worked from. I do think that the underpainting scores a point or two in terms of general overall warmth.

The final stage of any painting is to not look at it for a while, and then return and just glare at it like the world's crankiest olympic figure skating judge to find every little thing about it that stinks. Then fix what you can, decide to live with what you can't fix, and, finally, abandon the whole thing for good. Later on, if you wish, you can write an entry on your website's blog about it.  I have completed every one of these stages. Peace. 

The past month has not been politics as normal. I’ve got no problem with addressing waste in government, but it should be done right. The haphazard and abhorrent treatment of dedicated and talented and valuable federal employees by Elon Musk has been disgraceful. I am perfectly aware that international relations require grace and toughness in equal measure. The president’s and vice president's attempted Oval Office beatdown of Volodymyr Zelensky was not toughness. It was immaturity so far beyond outrageous there are not strong enough adjectives to express its horridness. I believe in equity and civil rights but can only conclude that the current president obviously does not because his malice-ridden executive penstrokes have nailed a door solidly shut on all people who are not Caucasian and straight. Since January 20 executive policy has been administered by bazooka, instantaneously blowing decades of progress into atoms while half of congress looks up from their descent to Mordor only long enough to cheer. This is not the America I signed up for.

The damage done in barely more than a month in office will likely take years to recover from and some of it is already probably beyond repair. There is no doubt that the actions of these bullies will result in illness, poverty, terror, death of dreams, and just plain death for untold tens of thousands or more persons they do not care about. It’s a hell of a thing. Impossible to stomach.

The bullying of Zelensky is the foulest and least mature political act I have ever witnessed. I fear February 28, 2025, will go down in history as the moment when the United States fell off its self-proclaimed pedestal as the leader of the free world. Not just fell, actually, it blew the pedestal into smithereens and then flushed the smithereens into a cesspool and lit them on fire. Between this and the anti-immigration flimflam, this country has lost all standing it ever had as a beacon. Might as well send the statue back to France.

The president is acting like the slumlord of a shithole country (his words, remember). It is only natural therefore that people across the globe will perceive his domain to be a shithole. I LIKE this country, and now I and hundreds of millions of my fellow Americans have been painted to be what most of us certainly are not. 

The old solace of “Well, I didn’t vote for him” doesn’t even begin to cover it. The current president and his gutless sycophants on Capitol Hill are so far beyond any established boundaries that the words “United States” have lost meaning. Since renaming geography is now a thing, we might as well call this nation the Disheveled States of Shithole. And don’t you dare call me disrespectful for writing such a thing. I didn’t dump thousands of hard-working federal workers (who DO make America great, by the way) in the trash. I didn’t berate a respected and amazing world leader of a country at war the way a wife-beater treats his spouse. I don’t dismiss people trying to escape poverty and cruelty as just a bunch of rapists and killers. I don’t act like a mob leader just because I can. I don’t treat my allies as enemies.

I do not think this county is a shithole, and I resent the current incumbent for doing so much to portray it that way to the rest of the world. I feel  venom for the senators and representatives and governors who think it’s just peachy that he does so. Is it meaningless to them that their constituents are being fired by the thousands without cause and/or financially devastated by their so-called leader’s insane actions and policies? Or that this country is becoming an international laughingstock? I am begging them to stop, think, and listen. They control one third of federal governmental power; why are they so resistant to using it?

This is a strange place for such a message, I know. This is my paintings website, and it’s usually a vitriol-free zone. I have definitely gone a different route with this particular blog entry. All I can tell you is that it’s hard to discuss why I painted such and such a painting when every day my country and its position in the world are being denigrated by a president who acts like a diseased body part and a political party so obviously either in thrall of or just plain afraid of him.

The painting? Part of the Grand Canyon. Some things remain worthy of celebration.

p.s. I once had a boss whose mantra was “Anybody can complain. If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.” I don’t think my taking the time to write these thoughts is just complaining. The solution is for Congress to reclaim its role as a branch of government and establish some guiderails around all this madness. Sure, I’m writing this in a hobby blog with fewer than a hundred regular readers. But my contribution to trying to find a solution is that I am sending a copy to my congressional representative and both senators and I urge you to write your representative and senators as well. Please do so even if you totally disagree with everything I've written. It's the way the country is supposed to work.

We have an archaic habit of sending out Christmas cards via snail mail. We don’t buy the cards in a store; for some 22 years now we’ve had them printed with one of my paintings as the image. This year’s model: "And this shall be a sign unto you; ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. “ Watch A Charlie Brown Christmas if you want to learn a bit more.

We also include a somewhat non-traditional letter with the cards. In the early days I tried to just make them funny, not always successfully. In more recent years they’ve become somewhat more of a who knows? As in who knows what the heck he’s going to write about this time. Here’s this year's letter:  

We’ve been sending out our personal Christmas cards for something like two decades now. It’s becoming harder to come up with subject matter for the card illustration, and we are in danger of repeating ourselves. Seems like we’ve done it all – Advent candles, shepherds, angels, holiday trees, wreathes, our pets in funny Christmas hats or under the tree, Santas, Scrooge, reindeer; once Anthony even painted a rock formation we saw near Banff because it reminded Crystal of the holy family being followed by the wise men. (Note, being the kind of sticklers who drive other folks crazy, we usually try to avoid the wise guys as they are more of an Epiphany theme. We even cheated on the Advent candles card by “lighting” the middle candle). This year when Anthony asked Crystal for a suggestion she said “I don’t know, you’re the artist.”

Our system is that Anthony paints the picture based on which Crystal picks the text for the inside of the card. It’s usually from a hymn. The year that Anthony painted a reindeer, for example, Crystal did some research and learned that in the native cultures where reindeer reside they are associated with wisdom. That card’s message became “O come, O wisdom from on high” from O Come O Come Emmanuel. Betcha didn’t know that our Christmas Cards contained Easter Eggs, did you?

So. About this year’s card. There used to be unwritten rules regarding the depiction of any deity. In newspaper (remember them?) comic strips (remember them?) cartoonists were forbidden by their syndicate bosses from illustrating God in any fashion. Now they can cheerfully draw a bearded old cartoony guy with optional halo and it doesn’t matter how well or poorly they do so. Church nativity pageants used to rely on a light bulb in a wooden box to depict the Holy Infant in his manger. Nowadays, new parents compete for the honor of loaning their actual human baby to be held by the nervous, possibly terrified, 12-year old girl chosen to play Mary. 

Inspired by this new-found freedom, our card this year depicts the former light bulb, the reason for the season, the King of all Kings himself, all wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in his manger. The model was unable to sign a release allowing our use of her image because she’d only hit the atmosphere moments before the photograph used as Anthony’s source material was taken. She is young AnneMarie, our newest grand-niece, and we’re looking forward to meeting her.

This message inside the card this year was not cribbed (or should we say “mangered?”) from a hymn. It is from a song called The Cry of a Tiny Babe by Bruce Cockburn. Crystal was slightly hesitant about suggesting this because the lyrics are copyrighted. But we promised ourselves that we wouldn’t attempt to make any money from our weird and hopefully quaint tradition of unique annual Christmas cards, so we should be safe from greedy and vengeful recording company lawyers. I doubt that Mr. Cockburn himself will be particularly concerned.

Like a stone on the surface of a still river

Driving the ripples on forever

Redemption rips through the surface of time

in the cry of a tiny babe

Speaking of redemption ripping through the surface of time, AnneMarie, who goes by Annie, was born just a few months short of 100 years after Crystal’s mother Georgia. They probably will never meet. But their births coming essentially a century apart tie them together in ways completely distinct from the lines on family trees. When Crystal and I visited Mesa Verde National Park decades ago, a Navaho tour guide spoke of the seven generations connecting all persons. These span all whom we may know and love from great grandparents to great grandchildren. The circle of life and all that. 

It might be hard for Georgia now to focus on this continuity. She’s lived through a depression, a world war, several other conflicts, the advents of the jet and space ages, Elvis, the Beatles, the Kennedy assassinations, the Civil Rights movement, Watergate, Star Wars, computers, people with green and purple hair, 9-11, Lady Gaga, iPhones, electric cars, and more. And the thing of it is, we can’t tell you with any certainty whether she feels a particular connection to any of it. Her heart has always aimed itself towards her family, church, and Dutch/Friesian heritage. An amazing focus actually. So at 99 years and counting, it’s okay if she doesn’t retain room in her memory banks for the news that Anthony’s brother’s daughter recently had a baby on the other side of the country. The continuity is there nonetheless.

We can report, however, that she voted very deliberately in November in hopes of giving herself the best possible birthday present: the inauguration of America’s first female president on her actual 100^th birthday. Oh well, one can speculate that if she lives to reach 104, there may be opportunity for her to try again.

Assuming she makes it to her 100^th birthday on January 20, Georgia will have been on earth for 36,525 days (the extra 25 days constitute the leap years). We will have a celebration, of course, although it will be simpler than the ones held for her in the past. After two or at most three hours of any activity, she’s ready for a nap. And after 36,525 days she certainly deserves it.

And now, we ask you to put aside this letter and go find people important to you. Give them big hugs. Do it for their great-grandparents and their great grandchildren. It’s one way we too can help redemption rip through the surface of time, if only for a second or two. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Merry Christmas.

Peace be with you.

Crystal and Anthony.

"Well, this could be the last time

This could be the last time

Maybe the last time

I don't know"

I have blogged about the Dresden Frauenkirche so many times now even I am getting sick of it.

In a nutshell, there is an authentic rebuild of an amazing centuries old church located in Dresden, Germany. The reason it is a modern reproduction is because during the Second World War, Allied Forces bombed the previous one to smithereens (defined in most dictionaries as “biscuit to Volkswagen Beetle sized bits and pieces of something once monstrously huge, not one iota of which can be recognized for what it once was”).

I loved this church the second I laid eyes on it, which is why I have painted it more than once. And as I have previously reported, a version hangs in our dining room in direct line of vision to where I usually sit and it annoys the living hell out of me.

I also previously reported that I painted another one from scratch, hoping to correct all the things that irritate me about the first attempt. This 2023 version has not yet migrated to the dining room; rather it remained on an easel in my art studio. I see it at least five days out of seven and while it addressed much of what annoys me about the dining room version, it still came up short for me.

So I sat and thought, a process which bears considerable resemblance to Winnie the Pooh (often depicted as thumping his stuffed head with his stuffed paw whilst mumbling “Think, Think, Think” in Sterling Holloway's voice).

Every single how-to-paint tutorial since the beginning of time tells you to get up and walk away from a painting on a regular basis to see what it looks like from across the room. That is the vantage point where most people will see it. If you stand too close and don’t take the long view you’ll be much more likely to give the background, midground, and foreground the same “feel.” I suck at following this standing order.

When I created all these paintings, I believe that I was able to separate the church from the buildings behind it. However, the statue of Martin Luther (which survived WWII) stands at least 200 feet in front of the church in real life, and you would never know it looking at the painting as I left it in 2023. I had, and have, zero interest in attempting a third 4 ft by 3 ft version of this scene, so I Winnie the Pooh thunk thunk thunk for several months on what to do. When enough time had passed that any remaining sentimentality regarding all the effort that had gone into the second big painting had flown away, I decided to ACT!

This meant picking up a paintbrush again and glazing the church. What is glazing? In this case, it meant painting over the church with a homemade glop prepared using unmeasured amounts of paint and linseed oil. This is often how things like mist, smoke, and fog can be put into oil paintings, which I have done before many times. This was the first time I’d tried the method to use deliberate translucency to blur down a single feature comprising over one third of a large painting. I think it worked well, which is terrific because the only other possible outcome would have been that I'd ruined the painting.  Having done this, and seeing that it worked, I then added some white highlights on parts of the Martin Luther statue and the folks since the late afternoon sun is obviously coming from the left.

In my mind there is now a clear foreground (Martin Luther statue and friends), midground (the Frauenkirche), and background (the buildings and whatnot behind the Frauenkirche). This might not be how it strikes you, but tough bananas if that's the case. It’s not going to hang in your dining room.*

So there we have it. I give my solemn word that this will be the last time you will read about the Frauenkirche on this website. Unless I paint it some day from a different vantage point.

ps - Before and After

 2023

2024 version (after glazing)

*Unless you buy it, of course 😊

This is our Christmas Card for 2023. The subject is our new puppy Goldilocks (Goldie for short). She thought a painting of her in a Santa hat would be "just right."

If I were more computer savvy and not such a cheapskate about paying for software, I'd try to set this up as an actual digital card. You'd see the cover with Santa Goldie, then click to open the card to this year's message, which is:

Peace on Earth and Mercy Mild

Blessings this Christmas and in the New Year

Since I'm a non computer savvy cheapskate you'll just have to imagine it.

I also wanted to set up a link to this year's Christmas letter, but there does not appear to be a harbor for PDFs on this website's platform so I have nothing to link to. Those who receive actual cards via snail mail will of course be getting them if you haven't already. Others who may be interested in reading this year's Christmas Letter can do so by scrolling down the page a bit. Of course it's mainly for friends and family, but, hey, anybody can be curious...

Merry Christmas

Scroll down if you dare

We lost our dear dog Neva this past August, something we learned about on our first full day of vacation in Maine. All we care to say here is that she died under shocking and tragic circumstances way before her time. Sorry, this is a terrible way to start a Christmas letter, and we apologize for opening with a total bummer (if it helps, you might compare this to Ebeneezer Scrooge hobnobbing with Jacob Marley’s ghost to start off A Christmas Carol). In this case, our heartbreaking experience relates to other information we’d like to share.

Which is that we made a wonderful friend that day. After being traumatized with the news, we attempted with little success to enjoy Acadia National Park. When we returned to the perfect VRBO we had rented, the owner walked outside to great us. She asked us how we had enjoyed the day, and we shared that we had done our best given the news we had received that morning. She expressed shock and concern when we told her what happened and then asked an interesting question: “Do you know who I am?” Not in the indignant and self-important tone of voice stereotypically associated with that query. Rather, with kindness and concern, as if to avoid burdening us with unnecessary preamble.

Our VRBO owner is Jennifer Skiff, author, award winning journalist, and internationally recognized animal advocate. Translation: “Do you know who I am? I am the guardian angel of all dogs, and I hope to soothe your distress and quiet your burdened minds.” 

You can – and should – read about her on www.jenniferskiff.com. To us, it was a blessing that we had chosen her lovely property as our way station while on Mount Desert Island. Her kindness and insight kept us on keel. Jenny’s one of those people who just knows when to give you a shoulder and when to provide space to breathe. One of her books is The Divinity of Dogs, and our experience that week in many ways had mystical canine vibes. 

Just one example: After a couple of days exploring, we asked Jenny if she had a favorite hike on the island, hopefully not super crowded. She told us about a trail which is not part of the national park, but which is nonetheless eternal parkland. It was established decades ago by the Rockefeller family as a place where their dogs could roam freely. She broke out a map and began marking the way. First you park here, then you take the “Friends” Trail. At the end of that you begin the “David and Neva” Trail.

Q: WHAT did you just say?!  

A: The “David and Neva” Trail.

Whoa.

This trail is named for two dog loving Rockefellers – David, who blazed the trail in the late 1940s, and his daughter Neva, who revived it 25 years later. In 2015, the Rockefeller family donated 1000 acres, including this trail, to the Mount Desert Land and Garden Preserve with the condition that it remain dog friendly in perpetuity. We had to go. It is a beautiful place to hike, and it is very welcoming to dogs – both on land and in the pond the trail borders. We came across a younger person whose dog was swimming enthusiastically, making bubbles and chasing them. Crystal said, “He’s having fun,” and the lady replied, “Oh yeah, this place is heaven for dogs.” As we continued the four-mile circuit, Anthony came to think that this gorgeous location represents the kind of place where Neva might peacefully continue her divine existence. He kept imagining her bopping around or sleeping in the sun. It helped. Our brother-in-law John often references the “Rainbow Bridge,” something pets cross after they die to a lovely meadow where they wait for us to reconnect on the way to heaven. If ever a place fit that pleasant thought, this is it.

We shared a couple of good talks with Jenny during our stay and remain in touch. Our bad news would have been infinitely harder to negotiate without her compassion for us (who were, after all, just a couple of strangers renting her digs for a few days). There were many other curious moments as we grieved which could easily be labeled as signs or divine interventions. Maybe they were just coincidences or wishful thinking on our part, but whatever one might want to call them, we derived comfort. 

We knew we would eventually want another dog, but also knew that our mourning processes would take precedence. A few weeks later, although we were still distraught, Crystal’s birthday rolled around and Anthony could not resist. We welcomed a new fluffy little dog into our lives. That’s her on the painting for this year’s card. She’s part Cavalier King Charles Spaniel and part Bichon Frise; what they call a “designer dog” with the fancy label Cavachon. We named her Goldilocks Jennifer Cavachon – Goldie for short. Goldilocks for her golden fur and penchant for wanting things just right. Jennifer for Jenny S., who really did guide us tenderly as we navigated our dreadful loss of Neva. And Cavachon because, well, it sounds classier than “Mutt.”

Maybe we should have waited a bit longer because we catch ourselves sometimes calling her Neva by mistake, but Goldie is a different personality who busies herself fully imprinting her own vibes on the household. Sometimes tearing about at near the speed of sound and other times sprawled on the floor in a pose mirroring that of all bear rugs. Her eyes, expressive beyond belief, come from the spaniel part of her background. Piet, our 18-year-old deaf cat, is a good friend to her when she’s in bear rug mode and a formidable enemy when she’s being a puppy.

Other news:

Blah blah blah Work blah blah blah Family blah bl- Recreation (not enough) blah blah blah Life. Lather, rinse, repeat.

As with so many people in our demographic we find ourselves, Crystal especially, involved profoundly in the care of an elderly parent. Georgia is 98, gaining swiftly on 99, and life is not easy for her these days. We ask your prayers that her days and nights might be peaceful and her mind calmed. In return, we wish you, dear reader, a peaceful and joy filled holiday and upcoming year. 

Crystal & Anthony

(and Goldie and Piet)

This is the third time I have painted this amazing church. Before telling you why, let me tell you some back story. Star Date 2016: my wife was at the time an associate director of the Great Richmond Children's Choir (which she now leads). The choir toured Germany that summer. I was not planning to join them but here's the thing. They would be singing in St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, where J.S. Bach had been the musician from 1723 until his death in 1750. And prior to the concert Crystal would play a recital on the "Bach Organ," built in 1999-2000 and designed to look and sound similar to that which Bach had played. Now I can be a bit slow on the uptake, but I did finally realize that this would in all likelihood be the only time she would perform on the Bach organ in Bach's actual church. I had to go. So I joined the tour at its halfway point - meeting them in Dresden before they moved on to Leipzig.

Schedules being what they were, I would need to fly into Dresden the day before I was to join up with the GRCC. As typical for flights from the US to Europe I flew overnight and landed in the early a.m. The thing to then do is to power through the day to get over jet lag as quickly as possible. So I checked into the hotel and then set off on foot to explore Dresden.

Now I've read Slaughterhouse-5 and I know that the firebombing of Dresden by the allies in World War II reduced the city to smithereens. There was nothing left. I'd like to blame it on jet lag, but it really was my own pre-acknowledged slowness of uptake that led me to think upon laying eyes on the church "Huh, I guess this part of the city wasn't bombed." No, it most certainly had been. The church and all surrounding buildings had been lovingly reconstructed so well that it all looked hundreds of years old. Not only that, but the reconstruction had only been finished about 10 years before I got there. 

This is the Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady) originally built 1726-43 in the vicinity of another church that dated from the 11th century. It stood for 202 years doing just fine in both peace and war - even successfully bouncing cannon balls off its walls during the Seven Year's War. Cannonballs are one thing. Over a half a million incendiary bombs are something else. Beginning on February 13, 1945, the allies sent several hundred bombers for a two day mission which placed Dresden near the top of the list of the most hellish events of the Second World War. The bombs actually did not do much damage to the church, but the resulting fires reached temperatures of 1830 Fahrenheit causing most of its structural components to in essence explode and virtually all of its thousands of tons of stone to collapse. Some partial walls remained, and the statue of Martin Luther outside the church survived. Dresden was in what was to become East Germany. The East German government wanted to clear up the rubble and build a parking deck but "popular sentiment" of the residents discouraged this. Instead, the national leaders threw some chain link fencing around the rubble and let it all stand for 45 years as a symbol of the evil of the West. 

See what I mean?

Upon the reunification of Germany, wiser heads prevailed and the church was rebuilt. The work started in 1994 and was finished in 2006. If you look at my painting you see the edge of a dark wall on the left side of the church incorporating the largest remaining original structure. I swear to you that inside and out the thing looks like it was built in the 1700s. Hence my stupid thoughts upon first seeing it.

Okay, so why have I painted this scene three times? First off, I hope it is obvious that I am impressed and moved by its history. But there is more. Here is the first painting:

This is a little (12" x 9") oil on panel that I dashed off freehand one evening. I enjoy its looseness and sense of fun. But it's little. The second attempt is a  48" by 36" oil on canvas that I at first liked but later found irritating.

I talk about that in this Blog Entry and again in this one. Quick synopsis of the previous two blogs: my painting friends really helped but the painting remained unsatisfactory to me. I live with it hanging in the dining room, where it irks me every time i see it. Too muddy. Too two dimensional.

One day not too long ago I saw the following painting hanging in the continuing care facility where my mother-in-law resides:

The painter is Anthony Robert Klitz and I like the way he really fades the building in the background. You can really sense things receding in the distance. Who knows - maybe it's fog, maybe it's the overwhelming glare of afternoon sun. Whatever it is, it works. I knew an approach this skimpy on the architecture would probably not work for the Dresden Frauenkirche, but it nonetheless made me want to take another crack at trying to paint it with more dramatic light and shadow. Let it seem more unfinished than overpainted. Suggest more, detail less. Avoid all the trying too hardism that makes me not like the previous version. 

Do I feel I succeeded with this version? I'll get back to you in a few years. Did I enjoy the GRCC concert and organ recital the following day in Leipzig? You bet.