The anxiety and fear of the day
weighs on my happiness like a cloud hiding the sun on a cold winter day.
I kick a mosaic of autumn leaves and angels fly from my feet bringing a smile.
10/27/20
10/24/20
3rd in a Series; Betty's Brook, 24x24, oil
I guess I'm into a series, Betty's Brook. There's an enormous artesian spring on the Westfork Ranch. It never freezes in the winter no matter how cold. It is deep in the alder, aspen and cottonwoods and runs into the Sanpoil. The trails that run through it are made by range cows, moose and deer. It is a bird paradise with many waterfowl and marsh birds nesting in the spring, returning in the fall on their way to southern climes. It is a classic wetland the sort salmon used to call home.
The process is one of distilling the impressions of the place into a technique that is the language of expression. The artist paints from a vision within and sees himself in the world around him.
Betty's Brook 3, 24x24, oil, SOLD
10/22/20
Five years later... sheesh, I guess a record of my time has lapsed or filled by other platforms. I have been ruminating on the issue of recording one's life. It used to be we saved photos in an album for future reference by descendents and such that has been replaced by a virtual album and yet here is my online self from 5 years ago. Had a left the planet would it still go on? Even if it had would anyone care to look at it. Relatives, friends and descendants could, atleast until the platform was obsolete. One of my tasks for this winter is to digitize an analogue album of ancesters an aunt left me so the grandkids have an idea of their roots. I'm digitizing photos and lineages while at the same time I will make prints of old photos of ancestors to document in material / analogue form something concrete for posterity. What a conundrum the virtual realm presents.
What does that say for the business of making paintings? Talk about analogue! Practically retrogressive.
Do we really own our own thoughts anymore?
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