The Backyard, 8 A.M., 2018, Archival Digital Print
The Earth is awake and blossoming, full of new life and optimism. Persephone is freed from Hades and Mother Earth is joyous.
Up here everything conspires to give pleasure, sight, smell, sound. I live in a paradise. Yesterday a big Crow paid a visit to my front yard, a first. There is a family of Ravens nearby but rarely I hear or see Crows, so this is the first time I’ve seen one land and hang around. He was glistening, curious and a gift to me. I have ground round in the refrigerator for him if he comes back. I’d like him to be a regular.
I’m thinking a lot about watercolor and plan to set up a table near where this shot was taken so I can sit out and observe and paint. In spite of my respect for the medium, I had a show of watercolors that went on tour throughout the United States in the late 70s, I haven’t touched them since then, preferring gouache instead. I’m ready to see what happens.
Westside Highway, Rain, 2018, Archival Digital Print
A mighty thunder and lighting storm rolled in last night. The sudden darkness was spectacular for its drama as it came across from the Catskills. I was out picking a few Daffodils trying to grab those beauties before I was struck dead. Those blooms smile at me now right above the sink with a single white Geranium. The Westside Highway shot from last week gives the urban version of rain from the train, but it is far less thrilling than the experience up here.
The rains are welcome now and good for all things growing. I have two climbing roses ready to be set in and various seeds started for the back garden. It looks like a Fox may be living under the foundation of the house and I hope to see kits soon if I’m right.
I’m thinking a lot about the abundance of empty decorative painting and what it means particularly now, and finishing the book on Hillary’s campaign disaster.
More soon on all of these.
New Growth, 2018, Archival Digital Print
The day before Easter and the timely approach of spring reassures. There was a Red-Winged Blackbird on the top branch of a tree yesterday who sang from from seven to nine a.m. non-stop. Some eager female surely must have been seduced by that song. Nests will be starting soon. Everywhere life is in renewal. It happens fast. Winter and miserable cold and the switch turns on and Spring takes over.
Retreating Snow, 2018, Archival Digital Print
I started a painting yesterday, this thing that seemed to come from some source other than me. It presents itself and wow! I am surprised by what I see and how it got here. Later I was out finding images to shoot and was reminded of Morandi’s landscapes, the drained color and almost imperceptible hue differences, I see him everywhere now.
Wire, Snow, 2018, Archival Digital Print
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Wire, Snow continues my attraction to the minimal which reads like drawing. The winter is the time it is easiest to see these expressions on the land. To my continuing surprise, every day brings something new to my eyes and senses. I had set up this crude wire circle to protect the shoots that were starting to peek above the earth. I wanted to keep the puppies from running over them. Once the big snow came, it turned into another order of visual surprise.
Trees from the Train, 2018, Archival Digital Print
Dense fog has settled over us this morning. It is a misting facial to the land, so damp that droplets form on my skin almost as soon as I go out to feed the birds. The Coyotes are hanging around much closer than last year, and noisy at night. The dogs smell them and growl, then bark, protecting the homestead. When we go out in the morning they immediately find the vile spot that these interlopers marked. But, me, I am teased by hints of spring and all critters are welcome.
Buds, March, 2016, Archival Digital Print
Every sign, every change is laden with hope. As the sun crawls higher in the sky and the small signals suggest the warmer weather, we note the tiny increments of change. This must be built into our DNA as children of the Earth. Our pets grow frisky, we feel like leaving our scarves on the hook inside. We leave our coats open inviting the spring to take us even in its early chill. There is no more poignant longing than for Spring, for all its metaphorical echoes. I remember jumping in the mud, the smell of the wet ground and the first shoots of Daffodils. It is as real now as it was when I was four. Breathe deep and treasure these moments of bliss and expectation.
March Madness, 2015, Archival Digital Print
Is it living on the land or does Spring always come like this? Being either inside or underground, I can’t remember noticing with such an acute shock the almost overnight change in season. I thought these things happened slowly. I guess I was wrong or distracted.
Brooklyn Brown, 2.19.14
It was after five
Enough light to catch the Brooklyn
brownstones on my way to
Dream of spring
Dream of sweet peas
tendrils through the snow
Yearning for sun.