>Thank you, James (www.jamesbrandess.com/@jamesbrandess) for the inspiration and the art. You help us all to define "Saugatuck."
I know a guy
who paints the world around him,
a chronicler for the spaces
where we live.
He captures landscapes in heavy dollops
and swoops of oil on canvas—
reds, blues, river greens
and beachy tans—
laid on thick
and dripping from the image
to the easel
to the dune grass
under a pine tree
above the Delft blue waters
of Lake Michigan.
He’s known for having hillocks
and mountains of paint
piled up and streaked,
brushed hard on canvas
or sometimes plywood,
curlicues of coloured oil
making tugboats and tulips
and town parks
into valleys, fens,
and rising dunes
of paint.
You see his stuff all over town,
at Phil’s Bar & Grill
and in the window
of his gallery
just across the street and
in friends’ guest bedrooms
or on their mantles.
He’s painted famous beaches,
buildings, budding poppies
like flotsam at sea in a green pasture,
and even the SS Keewatin in all
her faded glory.
I wonder what he thinks,
what he sees,
when he is looking at the river,
the beach, the poppies, or
the bayou just down
my road.
Does he see the world in
swirls and mounds,
streaks and corkscrew
whorls?
When I need to paint,
I see the wall that is scuffed
or a pale colour that reminds
me of all the time
gone by and the forgottenness
of so many of my life’s moments—
painting our first accent wall
in our first city apartment or
picking out the paint
for the new kitchen
or master bedroom
or cottage in the woods—
and when I just can’t stand it
anymore,
I sit down to type.
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