Beautiful White Ram…

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© Joan Currie – Detail of White Ram sculpture by Federico Uribe – 2013

The White Ram by Gilbert Keith Chesterton (an excerpt)

Once a white ram, with curly horns
and deep brown eyes,
Roamed the verdant hills beneath
the azure skies,
In fields of green, he wandered
wide and free,
A noble beast, grand as one

could see.

His coat was pure, a snowy,
gleaming white,
That shone like stars on a crisp,
clear night.
With horns that curled in a majestic
sweep,
He stood as proud as ancient lore
runs deep.

I saw this charming sculpture of a White Ram by Federico Uribe yesterday. It was created using electrical wire, conduit, and keyboard keys. Check out his latest work (2023): lion, moose, turtle, and black lion, on his website.
I started looking around my house for old ethernet cables to see what I might create, as well. Stay tuned!

© Joan Currie – White Ram sculpture by Federico Uribe – 2013
© Joan Currie – Face detail of White Ram sculpture by Federico Uribe – 2013

Beautiful Canoeing…

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© James Currie – Northern Canoeing

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you imagined.
Henry David Thoreau

I am in the process of creating a wish list for this summer. At the top of it – to canoe on a northern lake. In recent years, I have substituted a kayak for a canoe. But, my heart still longs to paddle a canoe at dawn with a quiet j-stroke – on the upstroke, instead of lifting the paddle blade out of the water, it stays in the water. Magical!

Beautiful Pheasant…

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© Joan Currie – Detail of my pheasant needlepoint in progress.

A Bouquet of Pheasants by Joan Currie

In verdant glades where pine woods dense did rise,
Beneath a canopy of emerald hue,
There dwelt the pheasants, nye with watchful eyes,
Their clucking whispers soft as morning dew.

Among the shadows, hidden from my gaze,
Their presence marked by crimson, fleeting bright,
Elusive specters in the sun’s faint blaze,
They danced like phantoms in the fading light.

A childhood spent in backyard’s wistful play,
I lingered near the forest’s secret veil,
With heart that yearned for just a special day,
When pheasants bold would cross my playful trail.

Though glimpsed but rarely, they forever stay,
In dreams and echoes of my long-gone youth,
Those pheasants, shy, in twilight’s soft array,
A symbol of a time of joy and truth.

Whenever I see an image of a pheasant, I can’t help but smile! It takes me back to the landscape of my youth where I was so happy playing in the woodlands near my home.

Beautiful Mallard Ducks…

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© Joan Currie – Just found this mallard duck stained glass that hung in my family’s cottage for 35 years.

Emerald Hues by Joan Currie

In days of yore, in times Victorian fair,
By the pond’s edge, with crisp, clear air,
We children gathered, hearts aglow,
To feed the mallards crumbs in tow.

Their emerald heads, with sheen so bright,
Glistened like jewels in morning light.
Majestic creatures, in green adorned,
A sight to cherish, a scene to mourn.

In summer’s warmth, they swam with grace,
Dancing on water, a joyous embrace.
Their quacks, a chorus, a playful cheer,
Echoed sweetly, ringing near.

But winter came with chilly nights,
A frozen pond, no duck took flight.
The waters stilled, the mallards caught.
In nature’s grasp, their freedom sought.

We’d rush to save them, break the ice,
With tender hands, a sacrifice.
To free their wings to let them fly,
Underneath the frigid sky.

Those emerald heads, with memories tied,
To days of laughter, when time would bide.
Still call to mind a youth so grand,
With mallard ducks, and crumb-filled hand.

I remember a kindly police officer who helped us children free the mallard ducks stuck in the frozen water of the neighborhood pond. It was amazing that the ducks survived!

© Joan Currie – My M for Mallard needlepoint nursery pillow completed.

Beautiful Jaguar…

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© Joan Currie – My watercolor painting of a jaguar.

A Jaguar Sighting by Joan Currie

There, in the twilight’s gentle hold,
A vision rare, a sight untold,
A jaguar sprang from leafy shade,
Its presence fierce, my steps delayed.

With eyes of blue, like summer skies,
It met my gaze with wild surprise,
A flash of light in twilight’s gloom,
A piercing fire, a sapphire bloom.

Upon its coat, the rosettes danced,
With markings clear, my heart entranced,
Not leopard’s spots, but nature’s art,
The jaguar’s strength and mystic heart.

It moved with grace, a specter bright,
Through verdant halls of fading light,
In silent awe, I stood alone,
To witness what the wild had shown.

When I was very young, my knowledge of animals: mammals, birds, fish, reptiles, and amphibians, was limited to identifying them in picture books – mostly associating the name of the creature with the first letter of its name, e.g. “J for Jaguar.” Although I studied them in biology class and watched a number of National Geographic and Nature documentaries over the years, my keen interest in animals came to me only recently. I am completely besotted with them now!

© Joan Currie – My J for Jaguar needlepoint pillow.

Beautiful Owls…

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© Joan Currie – Detail of my watercolor painting of an owlet.

What the Owl Sees by Elizabeth Sears Bates

His velvet wing sweeps through the night :
With magic of his wondrous sight
He oversees his vast domain,
And king supreme of night doth reign.

© Joan Currie – My owl in flight watercolor after Jackie Morris

I heard the soft and soothing hooting of an owl several nights ago. Sadly, the owl decided not to stay but I took his presence as a sign of good luck!

© Joan Currie – Detail of my owl needlepoint in progress.

Beautiful Falcon…

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© Joan Currie – My “F for Falcon” needlepoint – just finished and ready to be sewn into a nursery pillow.

The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

I have become fascinated with birds of prey in the last few months – the variations of hooked beaks and talons are particularly interesting. I will share my paintings once the raptor series is complete.

Beautiful Pears…

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© Joan Currie – My Red Pears oil painting on canvas.

The fruit tree heard that
the Bhagavad Gita
recommends surrendering

the fruits of action to God
and so he gently dropped his
pears into Mother Earth’s lap.

Because he did so,
pear seeds
made the world
much more pear-treed.

from Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 5

An Italian proverb states, “in bocca chiusa non cade pera,” – a pear will never fall into a closed mouth. But, to me, there is something about the shape, color, and texture of a pear that makes it almost too beautiful to eat!

© Joan Currie – My pears on linen oil painting.

Beautiful Tiger…

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© Joan Currie – My watercolor painting of a tiger.

The Tyger by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

I love to listen to audiobooks while I needlepoint or paint with watercolors. This week’s book by John Lithgow, The Poet’s Corner: The One-and-Only Poetry Book for the Whole Family, gave me six and a half hours of pure bliss! The author included recitations, biographical information, and analyses of over forty poets’ content, style, and language. William Blake’s “The Tyger” poem was included in the list and inspired my blogpost.

P.S. I continued thinking about tigers and wild cats in general these last few days and when I came across Rudyard Kipling’s book, Just So Stories, I couldn’t resist rereading a story from my childhood, “How the Leopard Got His Spots.” You might enjoy it, too!

Beautiful Yaks…

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© Joan Currie. My continuous line drawing of a female yak.

The Yak by Hilaire Belloc

As a friend to the children commend me the Yak.
You will find it exactly the thing:
It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,
Or lead it about with a string.

The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Tibet
(A desolate region of snow)
Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
And surely the Tartar should know!

Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got,
And if he is awfully rich
He will buy you the creature—of else he will not.
(I cannot be positive which.)

© Joan Currie – My needlepoint of a Yak – ready to be sewn into a nursery pillow.

After Church when I was a child, my father would often take me and my siblings to visit the outdoor zoo in a park near where he grew up. The yaks‘ enclosure was a curiosity – I could never understand the game they played wherein the bigger yak climbed on top of the smaller one, and the smaller one never got a turn to do the same.