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blow the horn

In the Back Bay, I’ve been walking past the First Baptist Church of Boston for years, but, today, for the first time, I trained my camera up to the top of the building tower.  And what an amazing sight.

Designed by Henry Hobson Richardson, “… its square tower is 176 feet high. At the top of the tower … is a frieze of sculpted figures representing baptism, communion, marriage and death. The frieze was designed by Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, famous for the Statue of Liberty, and was carved by Italian artists after the stones were set in place. It includes the faces of Sumner, Longfellow, Emerson, Hawthorne, Lincoln, Lafarge, and his comrade Garibaldi, and other prominent Bostonians …” (History of the First Baptist Church of Boston)  I hope to learn more about this amazing building, and take more photos, over the summer.

a watery sequence

Just rocks and water in shallow dishes and …

even a bit of ice.  My creative procrastination between papers.

Hope you’ve had a good day.

That’s the image that always comes to mind as I walk in the rain, and snap a few photos from beneath my umbrella.  No dancing, though I am tempted on occasion. 😉

the big oak stands

majestic

in the winds of the rising storm.

A little oak in the making, growing next door to the muffler shop.

One day, one of  my brothers called and it was clear that he was in need of immediate assistance.  Not for physical trauma.  He needed someone to lean against, as we all do at some time.  I was thousands of miles away.  I could not get to him so I called a person that my brother had mentioned in recent years, an older gentleman who’d been an important figure in high school but I had not seen or spoken with him in over two decades.  That day I used the online white pages to track down his home number.  With barely a greeting, I told him I was sending my brother to him.  He simply said, in a lovely warm voice, “Okay, Cynthia.  I’ll be waiting.”  And then I called my brother and I told him that he needed to get to that gentleman’s house and when he did he was to call me.  He said, “Okay, Cynthia. I’m going.”  Time did pass but then the phone did ring.  My brother said, “It’s me.  Hold on.” Then he passed the phone to the gentleman who said, “Don’t worry.  I’ve got him under my wing.”

Why does that story come to mind today?  Years have passed.  My brother is fine. He and the gentleman remain close friends.  I think the story surfaces because over this past week I have been witness to other acts of kindness, and reminded of people like this gentleman, willing to spread their wings over those in need, without question and without expectation.  They are bits of brightness in the sometime dark, men and women who are often not recognized by others or even by themselves for the beauty they add to the world.  By the way, I have not seen the gentleman in this story, or spoken to him, since that day.  I did send him a postcard saying thank you.  And, he sent me a card back saying you’re welcome.

the sun shone bright upon the clouds.  I thought a storm might come, but it passed.

and this is what I saw as I stood beneath one tree.

It is always a treat to walk through Trinity Church in Boston’s Copley Square and to have the opportunity to photograph the architectural features, especially the stained glass windows.  This particular detail of a gold-winged angel is in the Edward Burne-Jones window, Wonder of the Shepherds (1882).  This image is now available as a postcard in the church Book Shop, located in the building undercroft.  You can read more about Burne-Jones’s adoration of angels in this 2006 article by his biographer, Fiona MacCarthy.  Learn more about the Book Shop here.

a somerset sky

Recently, a friend invited me to join her for an “art-in,” and there she provided me with paper, pens and watercolors and encouraged me to paint whatever came to mind.  I decided to paint what I call a little somerset sky.

a somerset sky

a somerset sky

Its origin is this:  Of late, W. Somerset Maugham’s  Of Human Bondage has found its way into my hands, and there is a particular color-filled passage that I return to.  It is near the end of the book.  After an eventful night, Philip Carey, the main character …

“He leaned against the parapet and looked toward the morning.  At that hour the great city was like a city of the dead. The sky was cloudless, but the stars were dim at the approach of day; there was a light mist on the river, and the great buildings on the north side were like palaces in an enchanted island.  … It was all of an unearthly violet, troubling somehow and awe-inspiring; but quickly everything grew pale, and cold, and grey.  Then the sun rose, a ray of yellow gold stole across the sky, and the sky was iridescent .”

Thanks, Carol, for the opportunity to put brush to paper.  More about Carol’s beautiful artwork later this summer.

Have a good day, folks. 😉