Heavy hard frost this morning.
It didn’t catch me by surprise.
Covered tenders and put away tools.
The fleece jacket was a mistake.
Should have gone with full winter coat.
Got this far in the morning walk…
and chose the heated kitchen…
I have given over to the Muses…
completely and utterly.
The days are not mine.
They breath for me.
They lift… or do not lift the brush.
So it was surely they
who stopped me here
in the frosty hollow
perhaps to remember…
View from my easel – 2010
It is such a pleasure to look out on this farm when I’m working.
And this winter, for the first time since we turned the bungalow next door into my studio, we had a real winter.
This was the morning after the first storm.
Finnegan and I were the only ones out in the neighborhood…
just as the birds were waking up.
I spend most of my days, in this corner of Pennsylvania,
painting corners of Martha’s Vineyard.
I’ve waited for three years now to find a way into painting
what is right outside my very own window.
It was the warm golden light that glowed from within the stand of drying cornshalks in that morning’s sunrise that did it for me.
I started with the treeline on the horizon
and then the barn, that magnificent old dame
and then the cornfield
layering color after color in the foreground
in preparation for toning it all down to create that field of white.
Good thing as it turned out.
Halfway through the painting I looked out
and all of that lovely corn had been harvested.
A moment’s beauty…fleeting but recorded now
to remind me how to see.