Isalos Fine Art

I just happened to browsing around on ebay and found this interesting collection of items.

Original Collection Of Maine stuff collected by Illustrious Artist Bryan S. Whitehead

• Items: Pottery, Rock, Knot in Rope
• Year Collected: 2004

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Description: This is a collection of 3 items. Item one is a piece of pottery found in the water next to the dock on Monhegan Island. Item two is a small rock found under a lobster trap in the port town of Stonington Maine; Its showing normal color and perhaps a little rust staining. Item 3 is a piece of synthetic rope with a knot tied by a real Maine Fisherman; the knot is unaltered.

Proceeds from this auction will be used for travel expenses related to my summer study in Maine.

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Needless to say, I'm pretty excited by this and I'll be watching this auction closely. When the budget gets tight this winter, I may be able to just go out and pick up a rock and put it on ebay... or maybe a genuine piece of Stonington ice... or perhaps some bottled fog or sea smoke.

Here's a photo of the gallery today with a nice Mini parked out front. The Barbara Sullivan fresco "Running Late" shows up pretty well too.

 

Within seconds of walking in the door, she gravitates to a painting of some cows in a pasture. She’s in her sixties, wearing a pastel outfit and a visor. She examines the painting through her designer sunglasses.

“That’s it," she says, "but why does it have to cost so much?” ($650)

She says this more to her friend, as though I’m not there. They proceed through the rest of the gallery, taking a minute to rule-out everything else.

She calls her husband in from the sidewalk. He’s wearing a cap embroidered with the name of a country club in one of the conservative coastal enclaves of retirees.

“There it is,” she tells him, “but it’s too expenesive.” Obviously she’s well-versed in the market values of bovine paintings. I’m sitting four feet from the painting, but the people won’t make eye-contact.

The man scowls at the painting. “I don’t like it,” he says, and walks out the door.

The woman shrugs at her friend. “Well I guess that’s it.” And then they’re gone.

First of all, allow me to point out the morning glories. Okay, I'll admit it: part of my daily excitement is watching the plants grow. We planted these in the spring, unsure of how they'd do inside the front windows. We ran strings up to the ceiling, and it wasn't long before the vines had gone all the way up and started branching out sideways.

So here they are, doing well, four blooms on either side of the front door today. This is a shot looking out the front window. Admittedly, gallery life has its slow moments.

Tonight, once again, there's music at the Maritime Cafe: a guy on guitar and another on steel guitar doing mostly covers of classic rock and country, Hank Williams to Otis Redding.




And here's the new painting from Carolyn Caldwell, part of her Lobsterville series. It's hung in the front window.



Carolyn Caldwell, Lobsterville III - Low Tide, oil on canvas, 24" x 32"
 

Not long after I opened this morning, I noticed that the fresh bait stench was a bit stronger than usual. I looked for the bait truck parked in front, but saw none.


Then Rebecca returned from the Post Office and said there'd been a spill on Russ's Hill.









Apparently a truck carrying lobster bait (crates full of dead fish) started up the hill. The crates slid to the rear of the truck, the doors came unlatched and... the rest is history.

This is one of those tasks not mentioned in the job description for Town Manager or Harbormaster, but they're all out there, scooping up the mess. How does this relate to art? If this happened in New York, it would be called an installation or a performance.

Now, I know quite a few of you out there are watching this blog and asking yourself "What can he offer that those high-fallutin' New York art blogs can't?"

Well, here it is: the sweet smell of Stonington.

This morning started out foggy. I like foggy days; it brings the people in. If they've just driven here, they might tell me that it was sunny over in Deer Isle, but here the fog sticks around like... like any number of dumb metaphors you can think of as well as I can. It gets thick so you can't see beyond the inner harbor, where occasionally, the bows of boats appear, cautiously maneuvering toward the dock.


Barbara Southworth

If you've never seen the place before, you would have no idea that out there beyond the fog lay a whole archipelago of granite and fir-tipped islands. The visitors come and go, their itineraries tight: one seaport town after another with not much room for diversions. If they're here in the fog, they'll know Stonington as a foggy place. I have had many foggy conversations today.

At dinner time I took my usual break, ate my frozen pizza (it wasn't frozen by the time I ate it) and toasted my 41st birthday with a martini, looking out over the foggy harbor. Then back to work.