Something New

Proctor-Homestead-web

I admit it. I have never loved The Crucible.

I read it in high school and then again in college. I went to a few performances and even watched the movie to try to love it. I love history and I love reading about this period, but I never got into this play. When I read or watched the play, I rarely felt invested in any of the characters.  I felt sorry for them, but most of the time, I just wanted this play to be over.

Last Sunday, Thing1 volunteered to babysit Thing2 so I could go to Hubbard Hall in Cambridge, NY and see my husband perform in the Crucible as Giles Corey. I was excited to see him and other actors whose work I’ve come to love, but I was skeptical about the event, even as I climbed the steps to the darkened theater.

So I sat down and got out my sketchbook, doodling in the dark as we watched girls, caught dancing in the forest, try to assuage their guilt by turning a town upside down.  I sketched a few more vignettes, but soon I realized I was just gripping my pen as sadness over the impending fates of the girls’ victims took over.

I watched John and Elizabeth Proctor (played by David Snyder and Erin Ouellette) tried to repair a damaged marriage even as the world began tearing them to pieces, and suddenly there was more than just pity. There was an irrational hope that history would change, and, as Elizabeth Proctor was torn from her home, all I could do was grip my sketchbook from the end of that second act until John Proctor was led to the gallows at the end of the play.

For the first time since I’ve known about this play, I felt the incredible sadness but also new admiration for victims of the witch hunt who were defiant until their last breaths. I even experienced little momentary pity for the instigator of the chaos – the damaged and deceptive Abigail Williams beautifully played by Catherine Seeley Keister who managed to bring depth to a character that seems to lack dimension on the page.

Abigail-Williams

Each member of the cast brought new life to the characters they portrayed.  Deb Borthwick as Rebecca Nurse had a perfect no-nonsense attitude to the early accusations that only someone who has weathered a host of fussy eaters could muster. Lia Russell-Self as both the trapped Tituba and the pitiless Judge Danforth expertly walked both sides of the mayhem, and Digby Baker-Porazinski (still in high school) was the picture of conflict as he portrayed Reverend Hale, an expert on witchcraft who comes to regret the events he has helped to accelerate.

I know more experienced theater critics will have their opinion of this performance, but this isn’t a critique. It’s a thank you note to Hubbard Hall and places like it that recruit seasoned veterans, up-and-coming actors and talented amateurs to create a community of artists that breathes humanity into something that was once dull and lifeless. It’s gratitude for creating something new.

It’s what great art does, and as I headed home, thinking about the message of the Crucible as if for the first time, I remembered once again why art matters so much not just to those who create it, but to the people they inspire.

A Beaten Path


There are two ways to get to the top of Mount Equinox in Manchester Vermont. You can pay your money to take the Skyline drive to the summit, or you can find your way to the no-traffic light town of Sandgate and go up the back.

You can’t drive the whole way (Sandgate’s dirt road eventually turns into a wide leaf-covered path). Once on foot, you’ll eventually get to the gate of a monastery run by the Carthusian monks (who also, incidentally, govern access  to the skyline Drive). There’s a sign warning away trespassers, so we’ve never actually made it to the top of the Equinox without paying our money down, but along with that once-beaten path on the backside of the mountain, we’ve discovered something equally interesting.

When we first hiked that road, we wondered about its origins. There were easier ways to get to the monks and  the top of the Equinox, but it was clear the road had once been in use frequently enough to leave its mark on the mountain.  Shortly after the ‘real’ dirt road ended, we found our answer.

Thing1 was our distractor-in-chief at the time, occasionally luring us away from the path, and about a mile and a half past the end of the town road, he discovered an abandoned barn we HAD to see.

The barn roof was disintegrating, and we saw no other evidence (save for a few headstones that we almost tripped over) that a farm or homestead had ever existed. The carving on the headstones was so worn down we  couldn’t read the names on them.  As I was wondering what catastrophe that had driven surviving family members away from the farm, I realized this almost abandoned road had been made by and for hooves and feet, not rubber and steel.

At first I had thought these languishing headstones in this isolated part of the mountain were a sad statement about precarious nature of rural life (then and now).  However, as we walked to and from the monastery gate with its no trespassing sign, passing the old homestead again, the late afternoon sun dipped low enough to bathe the woods in gold. I remember the branches were naked on that hike, but the forest, guarding its little cemetery, was warm and absolutely peaceful in the sun.

Modern rural life can be very hard, and I don’t cling to any romantic notions that life on the back of a mountain in Vermont was any easier a 100 years ago, but this quiet resting place was a testament to more than just hardship. It reminded me that people still come to these hard-to-live-in places because a life away from the madding crowd brings with it freedom and (in spite of the long winters and minimal economic opportunities) peace.

An Early Spring

Springs First Kiss, 9x12 Watercolor, $80, Matted and ready to Frame

Springs First Kiss, 9×12 Watercolor

The lack of significant snow has produced some dramatic, and, in some cases, romantic mountainscapes this winter.  There is more green than white reaching up to the sky, and the bits of snow that remain at the top of the mountain make Mother Earth look as if she’s sleeping, waiting for spring.

I was going north on VT 7, decending from the highest elevation when my favorite perspective of the Equinox came into view. I had sped down to Bennington to get groceries, and the sky was still pink and orange, the clouds leaning over Mother Earth for what seemed to be an early spring kiss.  I’m waiting to see if she decides to awaken early.

 

To purchase the original, contact me at rachel@rachelbarlow.com.  You can purchase cards and/or prints here.

Fly

Wave Runner, Watercolor 12x16, Matted to 16x20

Wave Runner, Watercolor 12×16, Matted to 16×20

A few weeks ago an aunt who had been a huge influence in my creative life passed away. Her encouragement was felt even when we didn’t see each other for years.  She and her sister were (and are) not willing to listen to their nieces and daughters downgrade their work or trash their talent, and her words of encouragement are with me every time I pick up a brush.

I found an old black and white picture of her running on the beach where our family has spent the last 80+ summers.  She was so full of joy she looked like she could fly.  Officially I’ve heard that people can’t fly, but my theory is that, instead of keeping the secret of flying all to herself, she shared her joy of life with everyone in her life else so they could soar.

I’m just figuring that out now, and it’s helping me get closer to the secret of flying, of joy and the sharing of it..

$80 Matted Ready to Frame. To purchase the Original, contact me at rachel@rachelbarlow.

Card and Prints of this painting are available here.

Flowers on the Brain

Tulips-web

Tulips, Watercolor 9×12 Original Sold

I think Mother Nature is playing mind games this week. After withholding snow until winter sport season is almost gone and people are thoroughly read for spring anyway, she’s seen fit to drop a few inches of powder on us each of the last couple nights. She’s too late, though. i’ve got flowers on the brain, and it’s gonna take a lot more than a few dusting of snow trip to turn that back now.

Prints and Cards of this painting are available here.

Guilty Pleasures

 

Best Laid Plans

Best Laid Plans

I know the Big Guy is not the only married man who becomes paralyzed with terror anytime he hears his wife utter the words, “I have an idea.”  To be fair, usually the ideas involve holes in the ceilings and wall-sized holes in the walls (for the wall-sized window of course).

The only time my home improvement ideas don’t trigger stroke symptoms is in the dead of winter when my scrappy hardcover book of graph paper is my first sounding board.

There’s no logical reason for it, but sometime around the end of January, visions of backhoes and rototillers dance in my head as I fill page after page with new layouts for my veggie garden.  In the end, only the colors change places, but the doodling has become a satisfying substitute for the words, ‘I have a dozen ideas’.   At least where the garden is concerned.

You can find prints and cards of this painting here.