​Four Christmas trees   Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/linen  12"x16"  30x40cm  $200.00

We went to the craziest “nativity” town this week:  Montalabano, where they are featuring more than 70 different Nativity scenes.   There was everything from the standard in-the-manger variety to scenes using demijohn wine bottles for the characters; or dressed up espresso pots – even a frying pan mural of the birth of Jesus.  I liked an alpine crèche, complete with ropes helping the wisemen up the rocks, standard yet regional.   A chandelier featured Mary, Joseph, the baby and livestock, all instead of candles.    A town, a la Jerusalem, was built of small boxes, placed in a terrazzo entryway, and I think it may have been my favorite.

Italy has the most marvelous individual Christmas light displays that I have seen:  blinking, mutlicolor, dripping lights.  Orange/persimmon is a popular shade, a beautiful turquoise and many purples.  We drove home from Bologna last night, and it seemed we were never without a blinking balcony, or free form tree.  It reminds me of Christmases of my youth, with much eating and drinking and lots of family and decorations.  Blair is off picking up our turkey (a 14 pound butterball from a friend) as we speak.

Despite the fact we’re not to the end of the year, I’ve already got my thinking cap on for 2016.  2015 was a year of change – and 2016 will need to be a year of growth, development, earning.   We drove long distances yesterday – to the beach and back, and it always helps me think.  On the highway, ideas emerge like exits.

We are considering rekindling Blair’s silverware business.  We now have a large basement, which will accept an anvil, work table, and (vented) oven.   I’d like to make glass, but would have to do some big research beforehand.  With all the sunshine here, glass could be quite beautiful.

On a more practical scale, I am going to look for some teaching/workshop opportunities with American universities in Italy.  I can easily hop a train to another major city such as Florence, even Rome, if the schools around Bologna don’t suffice.

I discovered that Babbo Natale, Father Christmas,  comes to Emilia Romagno on Christmas eve.   A secondary character, la Befana, a kind of Christmas witch, brings special treats on 6 January.  I have been very good.   Everyone is already wishing Auguri, Buon Natale, Buona Festa:  and it’s a long haul of holidays ahead.   Whoopeee.

MERRRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!
from Blair Laurie and Harika 
Merry Christmas to All, Don

Don: Don't use black pigment. Why? As this painting shows, and Delaquire said, Black (gray) is our enemy. Even mixing black with other colors gives a gray pall to the paintings, as is seen in the shadows on the right side and the yellow tree, and the middle ground hill. It should sell quickly, it's laid out well. Some say, "that's all that matters".
   Don: I just viewed this painting on my lighter Dell monitor and talked to Laurie. There is no black in this painting.


“It was a beautiful operation,” Dr Gottarelli announced, beaming from ear to ear.   It was evident he really loves what he does.  He operated on Blair on Friday, performing a modified inferior turbinoplasty on Blair’s nose.  Blair hasn’t been able to breathe through his nose for years, as those of you who have hosted us overnight are aware of.   And Dr. Gottarelli is famous for this particular operation, which is without pain (really!) and no packing of the nose.  He and one other doctor in Dallas, Texas developed this procedure, and it is really fab.

Blair had the operation done at Casa di Cura Madre Fortunata Toniolo, a chic private hospital in Bologna.  I translate it as Lucky Mama’s House of Healing – more or less.  It is still a fraction of the cost of a US hospital (I got pre-authorization from our health coverage), but lots more than the public hospitals in Italy. I have told the ambulance people in Rocca Malatina  THAT is where to take me if the occasion arises. 

 The hospital is staffed by nuns, old and young. Woven Frette linens, with the hospital logo, cover the beds.  A crucifix over the door. I was encouraged to stay with Blair in his room and there was a bed for me. They asked what I wanted for dinner, and were disappointed when I said I wouldn’t be dining in.  Harika might have stayed, too, but that wasn’t certain. We drove home.

I think a lot about loving what I do. It was always a big problem when I had a “real” job. My boss never wanted me to enjoy myself.  When they finally succeeded in making me hate my work, I’d have to quit.

I got new block printing tools while in the USA, and spent a joyous afternoon carving a plate of Monte Cimone. Except it's backwards.

Artnotes:In the Hills



While walking Harika, a man we know in town motioned for us to “come over here”.  He went on to point out the white wall on the new clubhouse of the Alpinists. “A mural is what we need here”, he asserted.  The club’s thinking had, in fact, gone beyond that – they had an image in mind, the “Sassi”, the two big rocks which define our town, and the surrounding wood.

The Alpinists are a force here in the Apennines.  They were very active in World War II, and much action transpired in these hills.   They still get together, and have increased their numbers with the addition of local hikers.

Bob Dole, the former US senator, was a second lieutenant in the 10th mountain division at Castel D’Aiano (we went to lunch there on Monday, passing Dole’s monument), where he was seriously wounded.   It was thought Dole wouldn’t survive, but he did and was determined to do as much as he could with his remaining strength.  Dole was here, just ten miles from our house, in October 2015, to revisit his mountains. “This may be my last trip,” the 92 year old veteran announced. 

We gladly agreed to paint the mural, if the Alpinists provided all the paints.  Blair went up on Monday and sketched out the design, in charcoal.  Tuesday morning we were in full painting form, and knocked out most of the picture that day.  The Alpinists decided they’d like their alpine hat on top of the mountain – which I gladly obliged.  “That feather needs to be longer…”

We loved painting outside, in public, once again.   A dozen people stopped by over two days to watch the progress:  sidewalk supervisors.  I was, myself, surprised at how quickly the work went.   Blair was the layout man, and I did the sky, the rocks, and the hat.   He painted most of the trees, although I made an occasional dab of green paint.  On Wednesday, we finished.

Harika supported us, dozing, chasing a cat and digging shallow holes in the clay, the same stuff that was on the playing fields.   She welcomed each observer.  An occasional coffee laced with brandy, a plastic cup full of homemade grappa, “the specialty of the house”, kept us warm.  I almost hated to see the project come to a close.

We’ve asked for a Christmas tree in return – if anyone can find us a nice 10 foot tree, these guys will.   As we signed our name on the mural, I told the president of the club, “we’ll be in Rocca Malatina forever now”.

Arnotes:  Orientation
​​Pheasant at the side of the Road    Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/linen  10.5 x 14"  27 x 3 cm   250.00

“Eat lunch in Comacchio.” our friend called to say.  We were on our way to the beach, Porto Garabaldi, the “dog” beach, and probably our closest bit of sea from the house.  We
​live​ smack in the middle of Italy, with the Mediterranean (actually on both sides) on one side and the Adriatic on the other.   The Adriatic is marginally closer by car (just about 2 hours), so we pointed the Cream Puff east.

Earlier in the week, there were lots of kids wandering around up the hill from our house.  They came in buses, from the city.  One of our party spoke to the the leader.  “Orientation”, she said.   The students were let out, with compasses, to go find certain landmarks in the woods.  I can hardly imagine that activity taking place in my own youth, but I thought it was a useful and remarkable exercise for young people.

We arrived at Comacchio right at lunch time.  We parked outside the town under a shady tree for Harika (she will not leave the car now that we have it back), and Blair and I trekked in, to this “little Venice”.    The town is mainly pedestrian, with intersecting canals.  It is not known as much for the town itself, but for excellent regional food.  My friend added “eel is the specialty”.

We staked out what looked like a good restaurant – two Italian men were tucking into some very tasty looking spaghetti.  There were many restaurants, but I like to choose one where people are eating.  There was a fried eel starter available, eel spaghetti and a variety of other dishes.   We opted for the “spaghetti granchi”, crab spaghetti, cooked only if two ordered it.  Several half-crabs lie on a bed of red spaghetti.  It was outrageously delicious, and really would have been a meal in itself, had we not opted for a second dish of “brodetto di Anguilla”, eel stew.  It was fabulous as well.  I had to pace myself to eat all this food (it came with polenta).   They had a variety of homemade desserts, but I wondered if I could walk back to the car as it were.

We had bought Harika a few slices of bresaola (dried salted beef), another Comacchio specialty, which she downed with bountiful water.   We drove the five minutes to the beach, where we all dipped our toes in the very cold Adriatic.  In the summer, the Adriatic is a murky brown and tepid; in the winter, it takes on a turquoise hue and is surprisingly cold.    I was the only person in a swimsuit, and only proceeded to my stomach; I couldn’t make it any further.   I kept my sweater on.

My own “orientation” process in Italy has been an interesting one.  I am making new friends, always scary for me, and I am shocked at my own eagerness to form relationships.  I am very happy about it.  A friend describes it as the difference between the city and the country:  in the city, you have to have a tough exterior to ward off egotists and charlatans; in the country people don’t have to be like that.

I painted one picture while we were at the beach – the Adriatic region has such a jewel-like look in the sky and water.  Just at that time Harika got in a fight with a German shepherd – our girl’s usual technique of acting wounded and crying didn’t work with this young dog, whose owner had less success in corralling her than we did in catching Harika.  Fortunately, no blood was shed.

We drove home by Castello di Serravalle, overlooking the hills of gold and red leaves.  Next day we set out to paint them.