Fog and smells

Posted on February 16th 2018 by Catherine Redmond

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.

 

Out of the Barn

Posted on February 11th 2018 by Catherine Redmond

Two Horses just out of the Barn, 2018, Archival Digital Print

Billy and I drove up to North Chatham to pick up tick and flea meds for the puppies. Coming back to the car, it was just the moment when two striking Thoroughbreds were let out of the barn. To watch these two, their pleasure at being free, actually kicking up their heels and stretching their long muscles, their playfulness with each other, was to step into another world. We are all eager for spring. I’m predicting that it will come early. I need to believe this.

 

Layers of Place

Posted on February 2nd 2018 by Catherine Redmond

Dog Waiting in the Car, 2018, Archival Digital Print

The layers of place appealed to me in this photograph, not only my private humor in the situation, but that where things are is so confusing.  I had taken some boxes from the house that I wanted to put into the back shed. I loaded them into the car and took Billy along. Once parked, I left him in the car while I opened the gate. He grew restless and annoyed and discovered that he could blow the horn. It recalled my impatient father when I was a teenager and taking too long to primp.

Inside

Posted on January 19th 2018 by Catherine Redmond

Singing to the Radio, 2018, Archival Digital Print

The interior life becomes more pleasurable during these dark winter times. Everything contributes to the pleasures of the home — a singing puppy, a hot stew with a glass of red wine, the sound of the owl in the pine at night — the pleasures are simple but mean everything in the resonance of being.

 

New Snow

Posted on January 17th 2018 by Catherine Redmond

Fence Pattern, January, 2018, Archival Digital Print

A heavy snow, the world is white in the early morning hours. I’m so glad this isn’t a commuting day and I can stay inside and revel in the warmth of the hearth.

 

Snow Recordings

Posted on January 10th 2018 by Catherine Redmond

Highway of Tracks, 2018, Archival Digital Print

On the way to the studio I noticed the collection of tracks going down to the creek. Crossing the road where the light was better, I looked down onto the ice covered creek and there was a highway of tracks, a variety of species and their particular mark of presence running its length. I found a Coyote, a Red Fox, a Rabbit, and other things I didn’t recognize, one, I think may have been a Mink. All this happens as I go about my human concerns and they go about theirs.

 

The clarity of the cold

Posted on January 9th 2018 by Catherine Redmond

Trees as It Snows, 2018, Archival Digital Print

A week of cold and a deepening appreciation of shelter. The phrase a roof over your head takes on meaning in sub-zero weather.  These days I am grateful to be warm, even in four layers indoors, to have a fireplace, a stash of dry firewood, a reliable furnace, a car that starts, and the pleasures of snow dreams. Last night I met a new family.  I wish I could recall the interior of their living room which had a lot of antique paisley drapes. Their son had introduced me to them.  I had met him at a party.  The rest is vapor.  I woke up having enjoyed my dream visit to a warmer clime.  In this frigid time the nights hold magic.

 

Cold

Posted on January 3rd 2018 by Catherine Redmond

A Hungry Hawk, 2018, Archival Digital Print

Just a snapshot from my phone yesterday, a hungry young Cooper’s Hawk has been hanging around hoping to get a warm meal. Earlier he was sitting atop one of the feeders  he was so desperate to eat. The birds disappear as soon as they catch sight and the place is empty until he leaves.

It must be very hard on a young bird trying to learn to survive in such threatening cold. Last night I watched again the PBS documentary on The Donner Party. It is tonic to anyone who feels sorry for himself or indulges in self-pity, a reminder of what being cold, far from home and lost can mean.  A young woman who survived wrote to her friend about the experience.   She ends with this advice, “Don’t take no shortcuts and hurry along the way.”  This young Hawk will have to learn that.

 

Happy Holidays!

Posted on December 24th 2017 by Catherine Redmond

The Studio, Christmas Eve, 2017

A joyous holiday to you all! May peace prevail in this troubled world and the light outshine the darkness.  Art is long.

 

Mid-December in Our Chaotic Country

Posted on December 18th 2017 by Catherine Redmond

Car, Tree, Doves, 2017, Archival Digital Print

We are nudging toward the shortest day and the deepest of Winter. It’s a quiet time of survival, the silence for consideration, and the warmth of the hearth, even in this awful political landscape that torments us day in day out. I find the pleasures of living on the land remind me of the power of nature’s rhythms.  It reassures me.  Not all sappy sweetness, I conclude that we will never return to the way it was, what my generation assumed was the norm, the given. We watch, as befuddled spectators, the dismantling of the things we assumed were forever embedded in our democracy. Both parties sold their souls to corporate interests decades ago, and we have no one who works for us now. Greed is King.  Every good thing is absorbed and corporatized or destroyed. For an artist there is the work and either naively or because we have no choice, we keep making and hoping that something good will survive.  Were my creative life not so essential and nor so rewarding, I would be very morose now.