It was on a late June evening, when I was first introduced to artist, poet, and gardener, Celia Thaxter. I had just poured six months of hard work into a group of paintings for a solo show opening in late August. The subject matter of these paintings was about grief and love and hope and connection wrapped up in the metaphor of flowers, bodies of water, and constellation symbolism. I had just been thinking about how Maine has continuously played pivotal role as a place that I go to for friendship, rest, and the comfort of a personal reset. Perhaps it is the salt in the air, or the sound of the ocean, or the way people who connect to a place I feel so profoundly about I also connect with…Honestly, I am not really sure what it is, but the story of Ceilia Thaxters life got close to that feeling. There was a point, while watching the documentary, that I realized sometimes it takes the perfect combination of things to create that container of magic and wonder— the right people, right place, right time, right context. We should all be so lucky to find this place of wonderous being at least once in our lives. To experience this level of intentional, present, appreciation, and devotion makes everything seems to fall into place and exist in a liminal space just-right-ness.
Made Here | Celia Thaxter's Island Garden | Season 11 | Episode 1 | PBS
Land Locked
by Celia Thaxter
O happy river, could I follow thee!
O yearning heart, that never can be still!
O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,
Longing for level line of solemn sea!
Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,
Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,
All summer's glory thine from morn till night,
And life too full of joy for uttered words.
Neither am I ungrateful; but I dream
Deliciously how twilight falls to-night
Over the glimmering water, how the light
Dies blissfully away, until I seem
To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek,
To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail
And dip of oars, and voices on the gale
Afar off, calling low, -- my name they speak!
O Earth! Thy summer song of joy may soar
Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave
The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
That breaks in tender music on the shore.
See Also: Abbey Meaker Star Island photos (another artist crush for another post)