The carving knife has been sharpened on the whetstone

drawing of a turkey for dinner

And the steaming bird, fresh from the oven, rested on the sideboard, waiting to be carved for the feast of giving thanks.

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The kids love to karaoke

On a Friday night in Red Hook, a delightful reunion of friends over a swell dinner and lots of singing. (I don’t sing at karaoke, but I sure love listening and drawing.)

After a day where a sudden drop in tempurature causes green leaves to fall like the piano needles from Charlie Brown’s xmas tree

I must quiet my mind.

Sometimes it can be done with reading on the train. And sometimes it needs to be done by formulating, or finding, some clear thing out of the jumble of tangled strings and wires— the ones that formed knots in one’s head during the tumult of the day. 

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There was no ignoring such a noisome spectacle

jack o lanterns on an iron fence

The severed heads had been put on pikes for all and sundry to see; made examples of. The unseasonably warm autumn weather made grotesques of each— death masques submitting to rot and gravity; to the punishments meted by the state.

Passersby turned their heads, and covered their faces with kerchiefs, but there was no ignoring such a brutal and noisome spectacle.

jack o lanterns on an iron fence

Here’s ink— doing a physical take on white noise

ink drawing of woodgrain by E Daggar

First: you may disagree, but I don’t demean a beautiful wood grain by referring to it as white noise.

Sometimes the most powerful tonic is a meditative white noise. It’s one of the things I love about the hustle-bustle of this town. Everything retreats as you wander; as you dive inward for a moment— take an amuse-bouche of psychic space. A slice of some steady static can be a city person’s version of soft, reassuring silence.

As a farm girl, I tell you it’s a quieter version of the symphony of cricket-song, late on an early summer’s night. It’s a cacophony of release.

I give you:  w o o d g r a i n !

(quietly)

Some tall ones in the ‘Hatters

That’s what some few of we Brooklynites call Manhattan— the ‘Hatters*. Also,  Work Island, The Big Town. Often accompanied by a groan (implying the MTA, etc)

I’ve been spending a fair amount of time there the past few weeks, and it’s been brilliant. I’ve had to re-calibrate my perspective; always a healthy pursuit. Seeing my town with fresh eyes. Remembering why I’m here.

I missed my accustomed, promised Thursday post yesterday, but I was okay with it, fine with it, as I’ve been posting nearly every day for a month. Hope you feel soft towards my remiss as well.

For now, enjoy this dynamic of skyscrapers and rhythmic windows in the perceived (and sometimes actual) heart of NYC on a fine sunny day. Looka’ that crane, building more UP!

If you’ve never done, check out This is New York, by Miroslav Sasek. It is timeless New York.

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*This is a Tara Lynne-ism.

Seasonal gourds and a straw broom on the porch

ink drawing of pumpkins on a porch

Day thirty-one: Seasonal gourds and a straw broom rested on the porch. The wind was picking up, and the barometer was dancing.

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I hope you’ve enjoyed this Inktober as much as I have! Stay tuned— I’ll be putting together a little book of these drawings (and possibly a few more) in the weeks to come!