Mid-Summer Notes

Summer on Cape Ann always arrives all at once— currently writing this entry in the breezeway that bridges the gallery and the studio. To set the scene, the wind has created its own personality today with its power so i’m wearing noise cancelling headphones to help me concentrate. I’ve hit the point in the summer where I am burnt out from the conversations with tourists. so, today, if anyone wants to buy something from me they will have to get through the noise cancelling headphones and the moody painter in the back.

to explain- My nervous system is amped from managing changes at the physical work place: new landlords and owners of my space, and the loss of my consistent neighbor, Lori who is an artist who ran his business on the neck for over 45 years. His family decided to pull his business when he was in the hospital for a few weeks. It’s made me reflect on subjects like consistency, dedication and community. When a business closes after so long, how difficult it can be on the community , and on surrounding businesses. The sadness overlooks what IS currently still standing and trying to build. I know i can’t take it personally, although some days its hard not to.

When I first moved my business to the Neck, a beloved strudel shop closed to the right side of me just a month later, and for the last 6 years we’ve been delivering the news to people. Just as I am writing this, someone walked by my shop and me and said, “so, nothings here anymore” and I couldn’t help but scream “I AM!”

but we move forward— The gallery is in its fullest season now, and the days have settled into its chaotic rhythm that feels equal parts beautiful and exhausting—Most mornings begin early—before the doors open, before the streets fill with visitors. If the weather is warm enough, I'll slip down to Front Beach for a quick swim or stay at the cottage It's become a quiet ritual that reminds me why I chose to build a life here.

Then it's coffee, opening the shop, and welcoming whoever wanders through the door.

People often imagine that being an artist means spending every day painting. In reality, summer looks a little different if you’re on Bearskin neck. most days in July I'm framing prints, keeping up with inventory, working on proposals for the year ahead, answering emails, sweeping the floor, tending to my plants that are hanging on by a thread (help!), or talking with visitors about how a painting comes to life. Those conversations are some of my favorite parts of the day. I get to hear where people are from, what brought them to Rockport, and sometimes what a particular painting reminds them of.

The painting happens in all the spaces between.

I'm working on several commissions right now and quietly developing proposals for a two larger public art projects. Those are slower, behind-the-scenes kinds of work that don't always make it onto social media, but they take a tremendous amount of thought and energy. I love that part of the process, too even if it means my floor isn't always covered in fresh paint. It means something bigger is coming. Building out time for visualizing and dreaming plays an important role in all of this.

by this point in the season I'm feeling worn around the edges. Summer asks a lot from small businesses, especially artist-run ones. my inspiration changes where it lives each day but its always found in nature.

Lately I've been finding it in the smallest moments.

The garden outside my little cottage has been overflowing, and I've been paying attention to the way morning light moves across the leaves. the catbirds that caw and yell, dusty blues, tangled stems, salt air-

my home office! doubles as a shade garden + cat portal

Thank you, as always, for following along. Whether you've visited the gallery, collected a piece of my work, or simply stopped here to read for a few minutes, I'm grateful you're part of this little corner of my world.

– Morgan