VINCENT OF DOWNTOWN BROOKLYN


 

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Sparhawk oil portrait of Van Gogh, c. 1999

 

“ONE THING I KNOW:  WITHIN A FEW YEARS I MUST BRING A CERTAIN WORK TO COMPLETION….I AM CONCERNED WITH THE WORLD ONLY INSOFAR AS I HAVE, AS IT WERE, A CERTAIN DEBT AND DUTY, BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN ROAMING ABOUT IN IT FOR THIRTY YEARS, AND ALSO BECAUSE I WANT, OUT OF GRATITUDE, TO LEAVE BEHIND A SORT OF REMEMBRANCE IN THE FORM OF DRAWINGS AND PAINTINGS–NOT MADE IN ORDER TO PROMOTE THIS OR THAT TREND, BUT ON ACCOUNT OF THEM HAVING IN THEM SOMETHING THAT EXPRESSES A SINCERE HUMAN SENTIMENT. THAT IS THE GOAL OF MY WORK…”

Vincent Van Gogh’s letter to Theo Van Gogh, 1883, from the Hague, on his third year of having begun to be an artist.

I’ve been years writing my autobiography. In it Vincent Van Gogh comes to visit me this one anguished young painter’s night in Brooklyn. I ‘m in my early 20’s, in the clutch of death by brush, not knowing enough to translate my visions to canvas and I have conjured him up. He stays and advises and the most marvelous grand adventures happen in the following year. During which my own story unfolds. My book begins when I am packing up and leaving Yosemite, remembering back decades to that midnight I first saw him.

Constant warfare my whole life.  Like an old soldier now done with war. What were the whirling years, to whom did they  belong.  Not a stranger, no not a stranger.     An earlier me.”

to be continued…………

 

 

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YOU NEED ART! SPARHAWK ORIGINALS


T H E      H A W K S     P E R C H     G A L L E R Y

Calla Lilies and Leaf, InteriorT h e      H a w k s     P e r c h      G a l l e r y

on Carmel Valley Road is filled with beautiful paintings. mermaid facing leftLADY BUG MOON WALK Everybody needs a painting in their lives! And~~ I can’t help the feeling~~ the more the merrier.

Big Sur Kitchen, Rabbit Vase and PoppiesOPEN NOON TO FOUR DAILY TIL LONGER HOURS IN SPRING EMAIL    sparhawk@barbarasparhawk.com  for appointments at any other time, glad to make it your day

There is no wall in anybody’s life that is too small or crowded that will not benefit from another painting.

Detail Center, Artist and Three Cats   White IrisDSCF4165ALL MY PAINTINGS ARE MUSEUM QUALITY ~~ IN RICHLY PIGMENTED OILS ~ STUNNING COLOR ~ STRONG IMPASTO POTENT EXPRESSIONISM !!DSCF3782A good painting produces a powerful connect in us, straight to our interior ~ to explain the heart’s undescribed beatings ~ fix the eye on color that excites or reminisces ~ clear a path to untried places.  Here is the unmet friend. DSCF4202And you will also find beautiful PEN & INK drawings,

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JensenPORTRAITS (great commission prices)

Blue Bird WatcjerPlasterD   DETAIL RT.CHILD, EXQUISITE Renaissance Sculptures, Handmade Redwood Frames, Turtle-shaped Drawer Pulls. Dexter Lives Here

Hand-Painted SIGNS ON WOOD, DSCF3994Garden Light Garden Light Fixtures, Tibetan NecklacesDSCF3810       USED BOOKS – NOVELS and ART BOOKS,  beautiful GREETING CARDS, great chairs to sit and look, read….and Inspiration in every direction! The whole place is alive with beautiful things. Come add to that……………..DSCF4233

The Hawks Perch 

6 miles in from the Ocean

9700 Robinson Canyon Road

COME FOR A VISIT

Van Gogh to 125 Bond StreetOPEN NOON TO FOUR DAILY TIL LONGER HOURS IN SPRING

EMAIL sparhawk@barbarasparhawk.com for appointments at any other time, glad to make it your daySparhawk mona lisa 2

One more, Flowers and Moth Caught by the Wind


 

FLOWERS and MOTH CAUGHT by the WIND

I did this awhile back, and it’s been one of my favorites. It’s got a nice weight of paint on it and the colors are good, and there’s a fine activity to it. If I do say so myself.

The moth is in the lower right hand corner, not too visible and definitely not in distress.  This sold, last week in the gallery.

I overheard two musicians talking about the effect of wild climate on the landscape. Of course plants love the wind, said one. Otherwise there wouldn’t be poetry.

Studio Chair


The Studio Chair

Oil on Canvas.

This big old fine thing sat in the corner of my studio in Big Sur in the Sycamore Canyon cottage. The seat was a good three feet almost square, fine curling up with a book chair, or collapse in me chair or just to look at for it’s generous proportions.

The bathroom is through that door around the corner, deep claw foot tub and circular shower curtain that always made me feel like Paris redux.

Late Summer Arrives


We’ve had a cool summer on the central coast, only now beginning to break its grip, finally heating up. Big Sur south coast (Big Sur Kate) announced 84 degrees before dawn, and I envy that cozy kind of hot air. Carmel Valley isn’t matching it.

Carmel-by-the-Sea was jammed yesterday. Fog lifted, word is out. The ocean was going from turquoise to a deep ultramarine blue, brilliant white foam on the cresting waves that hit those cratered copper colored boulders along that stunning coastline. Down by Carmel River a long slim span of kelp just under the surface put a mystic shine on the blue. When you get closer you see the orange and brown sea creature dancing.

In that little sheltered, sand dune protected bay just a few feet from the ocean, a man in a big straw hat was practicing kayaking. Doing all the maneuvering, memorizing technique. His young daughter was inner tubed, laughing, weaving in dad’s wake.

Always curious to see tourists, which I once was. I wish it were not the case but Carmel fosters a kind of uneasy pretension, all that beauty and so few sure of themselves in it. Until you hit the beach and get carried by it. Thank God for nature and it’s power to connect with what’s real and discard what ain’t.

A friend in Yellowstone overheard a visitor who said, I’m comfortable in my own skin here. The friend’s been there for weeks now, photographing grizzly bears and wolf packs vying for fallen bison, and has amazing photographs (Oops John) of the incredible wild things that live out their dangerous lives within those acres and acres of flowered pastures and purple mountain majesties.

Enough time in wilderness we forget how we look, what needs fixing, the fugit of tempis, and all the stuff that doesn’t matter once our hearts and brains are on fire with the call of the wild. All that registers is, Oh my God, look where I am! The stuff dreams are made of.

Gardens have been delighted with the cooler weather, very good year for plants and flowers, no heat drooping anybody. I feel so bad for the drought-stricken mid west.

I heard a radio report on the weather in Fresno, I think they’re looking at 113 degrees today. But if you live in Fresno you expect it.

When I lived in Coarsegold and up above Bass Lake (5100 feet) we’d get some of those hot mountain top days making for spectacular sunsets.

Those hills around Yosemite are famous for flying saucers and UFO’s. You learn to take your new neighborhoods in stride. It’s always something.

South Coast The Wild Coast Is Lonely


The south coast of California is empty/full, a hurricane on its calmest day. Once seen it is become mine. This one construction of flesh and bone and H2O particulate facing the massive power (of the very same flesh and bone and H2O) knows…it is who I am.

Bed In Summer


Bed In Summer  by Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?