Postcard on wheels

Old postal delivery vehicle, on display at the James A. Fareley post office in NYC.

Postcard received in the mail.

Lassie lives in Finland, Clarice lives in my Neighborhood

This stamp and postcard arrived last week from Finland.

Clarice hasn't set up her farm stand in the neighborhood yet. She's a musician who lives in the neighborhood, and she has a farm upstate. Every once in awhile, on no schedule that I've figured out, she sets up a tv tray on the sidewalk and sells fresh produce from her farm. We have some bigger farmers' markets around here, but I like Clarice's stand best. When she brings jars of homemade pickles, I know I live in heaven.

If the portrait on the postcard included a cello, and if the woman were 30 years older and wore a colorful skirt, floppy sunhat and a fanny pack around her waist, I would swear it was a painting of Clarice from my neighborhood.

From China

A postcard from China with charming stamps arrived the other day. The red pig diamond-shape stamp is my favorite.

The sender wrote on the card that Shanghai is the largest city in China. How embaressed I am that I didn't know that, and I would not have guessed it if someone asked me. Collecting postcards and stamps from around the world is bound to improve my education.

Plus, collecting mail is really fun.

Life in the Big City

Three postcards I recently sent:

A dear friend of mine when I was growing, sort of a second father to me, told me never to move to a big city.

"There's no lonelier place than in a crowd," he said to me.

This was a man who took vacation in the early spring and spent it at his cabin in the woods, hoping to hear the ice crack as it broke and melted on the lake. Have you heard that sound?

I still hear the sound in my ears, if I imagine myself in the places were I heard it, an eery sound that surrounds the area around the lake and echos beyond.

Sometimes when the cold crowd gets to me, when the city drowns me, I think of the ice cracking across the lake and an old man writing down the date in his weather log. "The ice went out early this year," he would write as a note to himself to read next year.

A Postcard and a Tree

"It will never grow," my father said to my mother as she and my aunt dig up a clumb of sapling birch along a river. My mom and aunt put the saplings and some dirt into a bucket and stuck the bundle in the backseat of the car.

"It will never grow," my father said to my mother as she planted the little trees in the front yard of their new home.

The tree planting happened before I was born. As long as I can remember, I lived in the blue house with the big white birch tree in front.

I recently received this art gallery postcard with images of wood pieces:

San Francisco Postcard

A photo of the beautiful houses in San Fransisco arrived in my mailbox this week. If I were the art director of this postcard project, I would've moved the cool green pick-up truck a bit forward. Against that red brick wall, it would look even cooler than it already does.

Then again, the postcard isn't about the cool car and perhaps moving the car would distract from ths houses.

This morning on the subway, a woman walked up and down the aisle and explained to the crowd that she didn't have a home. She was homeless, she said, and was selling candy from a box to support herself. One of the people who gave money (she didn't want the candy) was dressed in a white sweater and black skirt. Her make-up was done to perfection and her bleach-blonde hair was pulled into a neat up-sweep style. The candy-seller took the dollar and said to the woman, "You are beautiful. You look just like Ivana Trump."

On the way home on the subway, I overheard a dark man with gray-hair wearing a white knit cap tell a group of young men, "Don't conform to the trash. You hear me? Don't conform to the trash." The boys nodded in agreement.

It was a long day for me, and it seemed like every friend and acquaintance I encountered today had negative comment to say. It's easy to slip into negative thinking and talking, and it's a fight somedays not to comform to it.

As I slipped into my apartment building, this old art-deco building that is my home, I recalled the two uplifting moments of the day - a homeless woman telling an elegant woman how pretty she was, and an old man giving advice to young guys who seemed to be actually paying attention.

Jefferson postcard

I received this museum postcard from a fellow American.

My family took many road trips when I was a kid. My parents loved to stop at any museum or historic place we encountered on the road, and my father liked getting off the main highway to travel the back roads. My friends came back from winter vacation with stories of Disney World or beach resorts. I had stories from LBJ's ranch and could name every scenic overlook along the Mississippi River.

The sender of this postcard writes that she has taken many school groups to the museum and would like to visit on her own someday. I'm a homeschooling mom and I also organize plenty of group field trips to museums, but I have to admit the reason I do it is because I like writing the name tags. There is something about handing out "Hello. My name is ___________" name tags that pleases me.

From Belarus

At a dinner party awhile ago, I sat next to an iconographer. He told me he paints religious icons in the Russian Orthodox style. Since that dinner, I run into him from time to time at various events. Whenever I see him, I say to myself, "There goes the icongrapher." It's not often you get to say that.

I received this icon postcard from Belarus. It's beautiful, isn't it?

Today I passed a tiny shop with a curious window display of figurines and candles. Turns out the store does business in books, firearms, and church supplies. They have an in-house psychic detective, too.

I peeked in the store, but it was dim and I didn't see a postcard display to lure me inside. I kept walking, though I wouldn't mind meeting the detective. I'd like to be able someday, when I see the detective in chance encounters, to say, "Well, there goes the psychic detective." But, I'll have to live my life without being able to say that.

Then again, what do I know? Maybe I will get to say it. I really can't predict, after all, whether I'll meet such a person or not in the future.

But, back to the mail. Here are the beautiful stamps on the back of this beautiful postcard.

Postcard

This postcard arrived in my mailbox from Finland. I'm liking the local handicrafts I see in the picture. I'm not sure what all the pieces are used for, but they look good. The stamp looks good, too.

Postcard

I always reserve the right to change my mind. Just yesterday I wrote on the blog that I'm not particulary fond of photographs of flowers. Today I received this postcard of a wildflower and I said to myself, "I am a fan of flower photographs after all!"

There is an abandoned, empty lot near my apartment. It's mainly bedrock outcropping, a big hunk of rock a few stories high on a lot between apartment buildings.

A few years ago a developer began the project of hammering away the rock, with the idea of building a new apartment building. I guess the guy ran out of money because one day the work and noise stopped. Year by year I have watched the weeds and wildflowers take over the lot.

The first plants that come into a distressed area are strong, and they help break up the soil so other plants can later take root. I like those pioneer plants and I admire their strength to heal a wounded piece of land.

I wonder if I had a wound, of the heart or body, who would be the first on the scene to help heal me and pave the way for growth and blooms. Someone with the strength of a wildflower, I suppose.

Oh, and before I forget, here are the stamps that came with this wildflower postcard.

Postcards

As fond as I am of flowers and botanical drawings, I'm not real big on photographs of flowers. And, the calla lily is probably my least favorite flower. But this photo of a cally lily by Maplethorpe, now this I like. A lot. The curve of the petals, the embracing shape, the thing sticking up... it's all captured so well in this photograph and it was easy for me to buy this postcard when I saw it in a stationary store the other day. I sent it to Spain.

I bought this photograph of calla lilies by Man Ray at the same place I got the Maplethorpe postcard. I sent it to Russia. The recipient says she likes surreal art. Hope she finds this dreamy.

Postcard

Have I mentioned my love for illuminated manuscripts? Oh, I love illuminated manuscripts. Imagine how wonderful it would be to own books illustrated so lavishly.

A couple of years ago my kids were studying the Middle Ages and we visited the collection of medieval art at various museums in the city. One small museum had an exhibit by a modern-day artist who works using the same techniques as a medieval illuminator. I asked if I could bring a group of kids to see the work, and the artist offered to host a workshop for the group. The kids learned how to make their own pigment from natural items and they practiced using a straw to blow small pieces of gold to their illuminated page. It was one of those magical and fun days that last and last because it lingers in memory.

I'm mailing this postcard to a woman in Germany who likes castles.

Postcard

Are you thinking what I'm thinking when I look at this postcard? That's right...it reminds you of Jenny Linsky doesn't it.

If you don't know who Jenny Linsky is and if you do know any kids under the age of 10, check out the series of books about cats who live in Greenwich Village. Really great books, trust me.

This postcard is of a painting of the Village by Sloan, and I sent it to someone in Russia who says she likes animals. I'm not sure how she feels about hanging laundry on her postcards.

Postcard

This postcard arrived in my mailbox today. Isn't it beautiful?

And here are the stamps that came on the postcard from Russia.

Postcard Community - join in

Passing this along: http://postcardsforsatori.blogspot.com/

All you have to do is send a postcard to the hospital, nothing else, and cheer up a youngster undergoing major surgery.

Postcard

I have mixed feelings about art museums. On one hand, it's thrilling to be surrounded by the works of masters. On the other hand, I think art should be mixed up into our daily lives and something we surround ourselves with all the time. And, art is what we should create ourselves. We're all artists, not just the super-talented masters.

The American Folk Art Museum is one of my favorite museums to visit. I don't see many other visitors there, and perhaps that's because the MoMA is down the block. It's hard to compete with Picasso, Matisse, Van Gogh, and, Monet. When I visit the MoMA, I feel like a star-struck fan spotting a celebrity, but I don't feel inspired. When I visit the Folk Art museum, I can't wait to get out of there and make something myself.

This postcard from the Folk Art Museum of an American flag on a fence gate is on it's way to Estonia.

Postcard

My Grandma T had a flower garden behind her tiny house. Everytime we visited her, once a week I suppose, she took us on a tour of the garden in the postage-stamp size yard. Every bloom was a treasure to be admired, every change in the garden was a miracle.

Living in a tiny apartment in New York City, I don't have a backyard for a garden. I have to travel by foot, bus, or subway to spend time outdoors surrounded by flowers. But I make the trek, and I thank my grandma for giving me the habit of noticing what is happening around me, no matter how tiny and small. The habit has been a gift from her that lasts my lifetime.

I mailed this card today to someone in Texas who likes flower postcards.

Postcard

Several years ago I went to see The Quilts of Gee's Bend exhibit at the Whitney Museum of American Art. When I walked into the first gallery and saw huge expanses of denim, mattress ticking, and remnants of cordoroy stitches roughly into quilts, I didn't know what to think.

As I walked through the galleries, I noticed more colors and some famliar patterns. Still, these weren't the quilts I expected to see. Yet, after spending time with them, I fell in love with them.

I could quickily see they were quilts made for warmth out of necessity. It took me awhile to see they were works of art made out of a creative spirit I craved.

I'm sending this postcard to Malaysia this week.

Postcards

A few postcards I mailed this weekend.

I have a thing for illuminated manuscripts. I just love them.

I'm tempted to jump into this bed of plants, they look so wonderful. It would probably hurt to do that since some of these are cacti. And besides, that would be an insane thing to do. But I am crazy about these plants in the greenhouse at Wave Hill. I have had plans for ages to sketch in the greenhouse, but something else in the park distracts me every visit (usually the cute cafe seating that overlooks the Hudson).

This postcard was sent at the request of a collector of 9/11 commemerative postcards. This imagine isn't of 9/11, of course, but you can see the towers in the background. The scene is from the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge. The one time I visited the park, I went to see migrating birds on a spring day. The weather was horrible, however, and all I saw was the inside of my umbrella flipped inside out from the strong winds.

Postcards Received

Yes sir, I like this postcard of a library in Scotland.

I like the rack things on the desks. What do you suppose they are used for? To hold papers, it looks like, or maybe to hold open books while you're working at the desk. That would be so cool. I want one on my desk. This card from Scotland was sent to me by someone in California.

And this postcard sent to me by someone in Ohio who says she got the postcard at the Met, in my own city of NYC.

Funny how these postcards are traveling around the world...and they end up in my mailbox and then in my hands and then in my nifty postcard storage box.