Later That Year

Beyond, ed touchette 2012
walnut ink, watercolor, acrylic, graphite/ 140lb. CP

The Colossus of Wrents opened onto a field of aqua and azure. The monument, intended as an intimidation to those who might wander beyond the bounds of the village, nonetheless enticed cerebral meanderings. The structure was razed to allow parking for automobiles and SUVs in support of a nearby mall. Trends being just that ensured the mall’s demise and the sheep returned to graze on the grasses that soon replaced the pavement.

Entry

Gates, Ed Touchette 2012

Walnut ink, acrylic, graphite/ 140lb. Canson CP

Certain that great wealth and culture existed beyond the pales of the front yard and realizing that her present condition had become untenable, she left. She leapt forward and engaged the unfamiliar with glee. Dreams carried her beyond the bounds of consciousness to majestic encounters.

(Excerpted from Travels With My Aunt)

Contrary Doctrine

Thread, Ed Touchette 2012

 Walnut ink, acrylic/ Canson 140lb. CP

Driving south along an established, well-known route, we encountered a group of road weary travelers. They begged direction. Endeavoring to help, we listened to their dilemma, calculated with the information given and offered our best solution. We pointed west. They turned and stepped off to the east. 

(excerpted from Travels With My Aunt)

A Layered Existence

Mentor, 2008 

Reminds me of someone I knew then and of all I've learned since, discovered as a consequence of him and those with whom he associated and studied and interacted—theirs passed on through him to me and more. It is a one way street. Do not turn back.

Temple Altar

Temple Altar, 2012

 

 

From a favorite series, Structures, Lessons and Barns, this and most of the other works are created with walnut ink and acrylic paints on paper. This painting was selected for the 16th Annual Regional Exhibition curated by Al Miner, Asst. Curator of Contemporary Art, MFA, Boston. The show will open April 26 and close May 27 at the Newburyport Art Association, 65 Water Street, Newburyport, MA.

Expression

The Khaz,  2011
Ed Touchette
watercolor / Fabriano 140lb. CP

Will you look at this abstract stuff.  What am I doing here?

Violet's Garden

Garden Fence, 2012

Beyond the fence grew the sustenance Violet needed and craved. Tomatoes, potatoes,  beets, beans, and celery. Carrots Cézanne would have adored, broccoli, and endive. Bright yellow flowers popped from green vines promising a crop of cucumbers that would lengthen her pickling season by a few days. She didn't mind; the dill from the small herb garden she'd blessed with holy water and planted as a tribute to Escoffier, and the garlic would sweeten the smell of the kitchen for weeks.

Next year, she'd not plant the pumpkin seeds. Eda's Montclair Behemoths had won first prize at the Delacroix County Fair each year for the past eight. Each year their size had increased exponentially. Now they required more food and water than Violet could provide. This year, the biggest, a gargantuan, cast a shadow that stunted the growth of the eggplants. More the size of plums, they were likely to wither and shrivel to prunish for lack of water.  Regardless, if she could borrow Hal's pickup to haul the trailer, she could get that veritable Brobdingnagian to the fair. And she would win.

Circular

Streets, 2012

Curious travelers seek the center of The City where, they have come to believe, all questions asked are answered. They move through the maze that is the neighborhoods surrounding the center unaware of a new construction—one that will keep them from the resolution for which they search. They keep on.

(Excerpted from Travels With My Aunt)

More Springy and Eastery

Sunset from Banner Hill 2012

It goes

Factory, Ed Touchette
2013, Walnut Ink acrylic and pen/ 140lb. Fabriano CP

And so it goes.

Timely renderings untimely events. Unless you are petrified, existence is dynamic; things must come and things must go.

From The Wood Nymph Monologues

It had been some time since she'd visited the forests. Despite the cold of early spring, Helen decided to wade into the stream. She saw that which startled her beyond any pretense of aloofness she might think to render. She tittered and froze, mid-step. Below, in the shallows, a monstrous trout, perhaps a steelhead, a large rainbow of the migratory variety, lay waiting for anything that might present an acceptable repast when a minnow exited its covert to wend its way farther upstream where, perhaps in the course of the afternoon, it might encounter others of its ilk and being as social as most schoolies, communicate in a fish-like manner. Flumoxed by the flash of silver knifing through the waters, Helen lost her focus and her balance and, endeavoring to steady herself and stay a fall—an event that could have proved terribly painful—disabled the minnow, crushing it between the ball of her foot and a granite boulder, rounded and smoothed by the flow of waters. The limp fish floated to the surface like a leaf defying gravity. Up shot the steelhead and gulped the freshly slain minnow before Helen could scoop it from the purling waters to resuscitate the fry.

An excerpt from Trilogy for a Monkey and a Manikin

Did you mention the other thing while you were talking about the stuff we'd gone over before you told me you knew the stuff wouldn't matter to her or any of the others with whom she might be acquainted who could be of assistance, possibly, in facilitating an understanding, either between you and her or, even better, me and you and her....

Is It Spring It Is

Goodness me, I was driving through Washington County and had forgotten to put the top down on the convertible I'd rented for such a purpose when I spied something tucked in behind a pear tree bordering the road and providing a resting place for passerines that might have seen enough of the cold NE winter and had taken flight to visit old roosts in Florida or maybe Alabama.

Beach

Salt. Sand. Sunny times. Dreaming of the beach will get you through February.

What now?

THIS! Searching through volumes of drawings and this popped up. Archives are a good thing.

Tomorrow

And when I awake tomorrow, the wind will have abated. I'll no longer shudder at the sound of it tearing at the shakes. Until then, I'll stay where I am—in a state of utter disarray, despite my colorful outlook.

Summer's passed

watercolor, 22" x 30", Vermont.

Sorry to see the warm weather leave but autumn is beautiful.

from Limping Frogs
The lower farm on the south side of the road represented the bulk of the acreage.  A sugaring shack, ensconced in a stand of maples, belched steam in March when Will boiled down the sap to a rich, amber syrup for pancakes.  An oak lot heated his house through the winter months and several of the trees now stood as a desk and bookcases in the den.  The cedars that topped the rise near the stream supplied fence posts; some were milled for sale as siding and decking.  Tessellated with verdant pastures and feed fields, the balance of the land fed the productive herd, once renowned for their sweet, delicious milk.

Thoughts of Maine

I'm remembering sunny days on East Pond, sitting in a boat, sketching with watercolor.

A new . . .

Harbor View, Acylic/ canvas/ 22" x 18"


Bereft of technology.

Patterns

An Unknown City from Above, acrylic/canvas/ 2005, 36" x 60"

Interesting patterns.