Blog Archives

Selfies...From the Past

9/28/2019

Self-portraits by artists could be considered the longest, and oldest, way to take a selfie.

Elizabeth Vigee Le Brun did several self-portraits, and when I see simple reproductions of them, I'm impressed. If I'm standing in front of one of her portraits, I feel that I can see what a gentle person she was (I hope), and I'm fascinated.

When I viewed reproductions of Rembrandt's self-portraits, I wondered what he was thinking to paint so many pictures of himself. After seeing an original, I changed my mind. I was in awe, just as I am with Le Brun's work.

Norman Rockwell even did artwork of himself painting a picture of a picture of Rockwell.

John Singer Sargent created a self portrait, but when viewed beside the likeness he did of his teacher, Emile Carolus-Duran, Emile's visage seemed to have more depth. As a student, you do want to impress the instructor, and I'm sure Sargent did.

We would have no idea what many of the artists of the past looked like if it not for their selfies, and I'm happy they took the time to create them.

BTW: That's a selfie of my hand holding a paintbrush.

Carriages...What My Character Might Like

9/21/2019

I'd thought about carriage houses before, and often refer to them in novels. But I'd ever really thought about one with a carriage in it, and how much room the vehicle would need.

I was thrilled to see this one. And I was fascinated by the perch. The driver needed a place to brace his legs if he pulled on the reins to make a sudden stop, I suppose. I've also been told you wouldn't want to hurt a horse's mouth, so you do have to take care.

When I walked up to the carriage, the guide reminded me that carriages needed more maintenance than just a fresh coat of paint. The roads could be rugged, and hard on the wheels. They really could break.

So when the character in It's Marriage or Ruin is delayed by the carriage getting stuck in a puddle...well, it could have happened. Servants could have been that tricky...particularly if they were paid well.

Note: The carriage above is a photo I took at the Mount Vernon estate.

Photos From My World

9/19/2019

Perspective...

I see an endearing little squirrel in the photo.

My husband sees a pest that gnaws, and destroys, wiring on lawn mowers.

Utility workers see a potential cause of power outages.

Bird lovers see a seed thief.

My cat sees a potential meal.

...No wonder he's taking a break.

Photos From My World

9/18/2019

"Summer afternoon. Summer afternoon. To me those have always been the most beautiful words in the English language." Henry James

Marcus, Lord Grayson

9/14/2019

In my area, the peerage is as common as unicorns, hobbits, and Cujo. Except, on occasion it does seem an occasional Cujo might sneak in.

So, it would stand to reason that I would avoid writing about characters who are of the peerage. After all, there is that adage, write what you know.

But, I believe people are basically the same. As one of the female aristocratic types in one of my books said, "We put on our bejeweled slippers the same as anyone else."

The hero in It's Marriage or Ruin is Marcus, Lord Grayson.

Excerpt:

Lord Grayson remained perfectly still for several moments before he moved. He rearranged the hem of his sleeve and his eyes fell over Emilie, making the air she swallowed fill her with a fresh warmth. ‘We meet again.’

‘You knew I was out here,’ she said.

‘Whether I did or not, it doesn’t matter.’

Even in the darkness, Emilie could imagine him plainly. Nature had sculpted a visage which could have inspired Michelangelo to do better work.

Her hand wanted to caress, to run over the planes of his cheek so she could experience him with the feeling of touch as well as sight.

Inwardly, she berated her traitorous thoughts. She pulled herself from the momentary stupor, blaming it on her fascination with form.

How unfair that someone such as Lord Grayson, a man who said he liked frivolities, would have such a pleasing appearance. Her mother had been so wrong about which of Avondale’s sons had been graced with handsomeness.
The humour on his lips faded. ‘Miss Catesby, you are an accident waiting to happen.’

She tossed the words out. ‘Accidents do happen and I am not the cause of any of them.’

‘You cause things to happen on purpose.’

‘Occasionally.’

Miss Emilie Catesby

9/8/2019

When I saw my first book pop up on a website, I was thrilled. But it was so alone. Just one book. Now, my tenth one has been published.

When I'm writing, I can feel the characters' thoughts, but rarely imagine their faces. Then, when a cover arrives, I soon begin to see the characters as the exact image that is portrayed.

An excerpt from It's Marriage or Ruin that tells a bit about Emilie:

‘Miss Catesby. Stay away from my brother. He would ruin you.’

She touched the light wool of his waistcoat, letting her fingers flatten against him. Leaves rustled again as the wind touched them. The breeze strengthened, and the air tingled her cheeks. ‘I would say it’s not your concern.’

‘Miss Catesby. You’re an innocent.’ His fingers pressed into the fabric at her waist and he moved back a whisper.

She trailed her fingers up the waistcoat, touching the cravat, the edge of his jaw, the curve of his lips. She could have been touching a Michelangelo when she felt his face. This was something she’d never imagined before. Her heart pounded from the merest touch of his skin.

To feel a true masterpiece overwhelmed her. She dropped her hand and clenched it, keeping it at her side. She could hardly wait to capture in paint a masculine jawline. One with a hint of darkness in it. In shadows. Such a challenge. To put this image on canvas. A man in the shadows. Darkened features. She could never call it The Dark Angel. Her mother would destroy it. She would call it A Saint In Repose.

She could not calm her heartbeats, but inspiration came at the strangest moments, and one should relish them, hold them close, hug them to one’s heart.

But she could not touch him again. He was the forbidden fruit. The crevasse that could swallow the as-yet-unmade creations that were inside her and turn her into nothingness.

‘Art is my passion.’

His mouth parted. ‘You could have more than one passion, perhaps.’

‘I do. Oils, then watercolours.’

Art In the Beholder's Eye

9/7/2019

Reflections in flood waters reminded me of an impressionist's painting. So I took a few moments and a few pictures and tried to see them through an artist's eyes. Georgia 'O Keeffe loved her flower portraits.

Moss on rocks in the yard reminded me of daubs of paints.

The hideously ugly fungus that had popped up after the rain was the most photogenic.

Selfies...From the Past

Carriages...What My Character Might Like

Photos From My World

Photos From My World

Marcus, Lord Grayson

Miss Emilie Catesby

Art In the Beholder's Eye

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