Stubbie, Ready to Move

I should say a few words about the late Stubbie, who sadly died in 2011 at the age of 16. His mother, Lily, had him and his brothers, Cowie and Speck, in our back yard one July 4th. Stubbie was the runt of the litter, and developed a loud whine to aid him in fighting for his place in the milking queue. He remained vocal his entire life, and never entered a room without saying something.

When he was maybe a year old, a Superball appeared in our house, and captivated him with its bounciness. Soon enough he was fetching the balls we’d toss across the house. He got so obsessed with chasing the balls that we learned that if we said the word “ball” he knew what was going on, and would give his characteristic whine. We had to spell out b-a-l-l in conversation so as not to rile him up.

Since Superballs had pretty much been removed from toy stores because they were small enough to choke small children, we had to work hard to keep a stock of them on hand for Stubbie – the rest had been long ago lost under furniture – and eventually we gave up the game, and Stubbie forgot about it all. When we moved, we found a trove of Superballs, but we never told him about them.

Dexter's Bag is Packed | Stephen Springer Davis | 2012

Dexter was that kind of cat who would lie on top of anything that was out of place on any surface: a piece of paper; a hat; a glove. If that thing also happened to be comfy, awesome: the laundry basket; a suitcase, a jacket. If we needed that thing he was lying on to be removed, say to use it, we understood that we would have to replace that item with one of equal value and if possible, comfort.

While Zoe, who I last wrote about, was never all that interested in strangers, Dexter was thrilled when someone new was on the scene. He was such a sweetie-pie that his name modulated over the years to become Dextrose.

Zoe | Stephen Springer Davis | 2012

That’s just the way she rolled, and I wanted to memorialize her in a painting.

And through it all the farmers continue to grow poppies and lavender, for which I am very grateful.

Where they live is on the edge of Provence, which makes their lives much less hassled. Ever since the publication of A Year in Provence, Provence has been over-run with visitors. Although our trips took us through Provence, enjoying the incomparable beauty of the landscape, for the most part we were only occasionally in the swell of tourists. I’m happy to say that because we speak French pretty well, we were never taken for Americans. One time we were asked if we were Polish or Swedish.

This boardwalk is quite the scene. Teenagers proudly wear “I’m a Guido. Love me.” and “I’m a Guidette” t-shirts. There’s an arcade game where you can shoot paint balls at a heavily padded guy wearing an over-sized so-called Guido head while he wiggles from side to side. But the weirdest was a “game” where you could shoot BB’s at life-sized manikins, about 8 of them rotating on lazy susans, holding plates. If you break a plate you win a prize. But what was truly scary were who the manikins were: Saddam Hussein, Michael Jackson, Louis Armstrong, and, wait for it…President Obama. Is this legal? Did I mention that Seaside Heights, at least on the boardwalk, is a terrifying place?

To the Beach Stephen Springer Davis 2010

But I digress. Not far south of Seaside Park is Island Beach State Park, which is a whole other world. This park is serenity. Seldom do you see people, because no one owns land in this section of the island. You park, pay a fee and head to a pristine duney beach. It’s lovely. This is a painting of an entrance to the beach through the dunes. It’s the Jersey shore, but not Jersey Shore, for sure.

Fog Rolling In | Stephen Springer Davis | 2010

It was one of those August days in Maine when it actually was hot, as opposed to Colorado-like. Very refreshing to be overlooking the ocean on such a day, when it was in the upper eighties. I’m guessing that the water was about fifty. The result was that despite the sun fog started to accumulate over the ocean. As I painted, my right arm was warm and the left chilly.

Looking Down on Camden | Stephen Springer Davis | 2010

Camden has to be one of the prettiest towns in Maine. It’s right on the water and has a beautiful harbor surrounded by lovely, nicely kept homes. Nice parks, an enviable library that probably has multiple copies of The Preppy Handbook. Some might say the town leans to the hoity-toity, and I’d be inclined to agree. Let’s just say that I did this painting of the town from the distance that for me was the most comfortable.

Beachcombers in Belfast, Maine | Stephen Springer Davis | 2010

I like to find a beach scene where there’s a lot of beach and plants in the foreground, and the ocean fairly far away. This spot accommodated me because the tide went way out. When the tide was in here, people who wanted to wander by the ocean had no choice but to wander by the ocean, because there was really no beach, just rocks.