A Charcoal Drawing of a Woman Without Her Dog

Turning the page in my notebooks, I rediscovered a sketch I made of a seated woman that became the basis for three paintings. Two large paintings remained in New Jersey. The third small square one was finished in South Carolina and became part of the Monologue series which then became part of a book of poetry and paintings. The small square one saw the addition of a white dog. Despite the fact that the sketch was black and white I remembered the woman’s black, white and red garments. That painting was collected by someone in Hendersonville, North Carolina I recall.




The original pencil sketch for the paintings was just finished up recently using dark, sultry charcoals and pastels. It has become a moody drawing even though the paintings it inspired were warm and glowing. I’ve reproduced at right the small painting with the dog along with the poem for comparison.

The White Dog

She comes to me

cloaked in white fur

The white robe she wears

when cloistered from the common world

from herself

from truth that curdles on the tongue

like a bitter herb

that makes me mute



She speaks to me

through her muddied white fur

soiled by a roll in the dice

played by God and the universe

Double fives

She speaks in numbered voices

of hopes, regrets, whimpering softly

to my closed eyes



She looks at me

Her dewy shining eyes

begging for a bone of absolution

tugging at the white skirt

that I wear

for protection

against the scratching paw

that bids me listen