December Frost

December Frost

  oil on panel  14" x 14"

It just seems these old trees have witnessed time stretching back for decades - they are evidence of energy and moisture and time accrued. The struggle to record the gesture and weight, to come to terms with the space and volume at times seem to be a kind of homage to the trees and the time they represent. This brings to mind a quote of Willem de Kooning's, "It seems that a lot of artists, when they get older, they feel their own miracle in nature, a feeling of being on the other side of nature."

October Day

  oil on canvas  28" x 44"

It has been a couple of weeks since my last post - we've been to two weddings and a funeral and of course Thanksgiving with family and so on.  Plus, I have been framing work for two up coming exhibits - I'll have three paintings in the December / Holiday show at ArtSquare in Leesburg, Virginia. Everyone is invited to opening night, next Friday, December 9th - starting at 6:30 in the evening. Also in Leesburg,  I'll have 15 paintings at the Loudoun County Courthouse beginning January 10th through the end of February. Lots of new things there - which I am now wrestling into frames!  So very busy and glad of it, I guess - I'm looking forward to it all slowing down soon and a more regular pattern of painting and posting and writing about it all.

Early October Day

Early October Day

  oil on panel  12" x 18"

A little, non-descript corner of a field that seemed to me to hold all of Autumn within it's space. I'm always drawn to the ragged edges of the land - the places not filled in and neglected - if one looks closely enough the old fence lines and depressions left from old buildings' foundations can still be found. 

View of the Potomac From Murray Hill

View of the Potomac From Murray Hill

 oil on panel  12" x 16"

A new perspective of the river from high on a bluff - I'm more used to floating in my rowboat down there among these islands. This view was afforded my workshop group a couple of Saturdays ago by the nice people at Murray Hill, a beautiful estate right on the edge of Leesburg, Virginia. We had the run of the place for two glorious days and it was very special. 

Fall Day, Near Leesburg

Fall Day, Near Leesburg

  oil on panel  9" x 16"

A simple visual poem attempting to capture a day full of movement and color and change. The best paintings, it seems to me, are the ones in which the painter suspends any drive to control or order the world and commits to simply struggling to grab hold of a small part of the chaos. Willem deKooning was an independant and contentious fellow, never trusting artist-types who espoused an abstract / transcendant theory of what paintings should look like. Instead he wrote, 'the best we can hope for is to bring some order to ourselves'. He never could say where his work would go until he entered the process - the commitment and faith in the process without regard to finished product. Such work looks to me to carry an intensity and freshness that is intrinsic and everlasting. 

Lake Afternoon

Lake Afternoon 

  oil on canvas  9" x 12"

  Another one made standing on the dock, trying to breath the space and light right on to the canvas - without worrying about what things are. Sound crazy? Well once one detaches oneself from judgement, hesitation, fear of failure or imitation - and one embraces the moment and the place as revealed in value, color, and shape - the impossible can happen and the spirit of that place appears as if by magic. Hope this one takes you to the lake on a late afternoon in September, on a magical day.

A Road In Maine

A Road In Maine

  oil on canvas  28" x 38"

When I look at this one now, I wish I could go back and stand there on such a day. Maybe that is the large part of making a painting - one tries to compress a process measured in hours down to a precious moment, even as every molecule in the field of vision constantly changes. Maybe also, getting lost in the process of painting for a few hours allows one to forget the passage of time that will not allow that moment to happen again. A painter must always move forward while fighting to hold on to something already gone. I had an opportunity to look at some of Edward Hopper's paintings a couple of weeks ago and I think that is the impact of his work - the essence of an awareness of irretrievable time past.

Moosehorn River, Late Afternoon

  oil on panel  12" x 15"

Funny thing, the refuge is mis-named, Moose have antlers not horns - probably left over from early white settlers' mistake. The river meanders past where I had settled to work over a couple of days - I could look in any direction and see another good subject. After normal everyday electronic saturated life, the absolute quiet and huge scale of the space were intense - and hard to leave after a few days. Hope these paintings bring a little of that peace home with me for you. Of course, if you're ever interested in owning any of these works, simply get in touch.

Moosehorn Afternoon

Moosehorn Afternoon

  oil on panel  9"x 12"

The Moosehorn National wildlife Refuge is close by our lake, its a huge swath of land that runs parallel to the lake along the side towards the Canadian border. I would guess the refuge is several miles long and two or three wide - it is a real treasure - with nesting bald eagles (they swoop our lake for fish) and big old black bears (I've seen two over the years up there) and all kinds of various wildlife. Lucky for me there are a few paths that lead in to the Reserve and one even has a covered platform for watching birds (or painting) - this one was done looking North from that platform on an afternoon last week. The time went by without notice, though at one point a beaver swam by and circled once, then disappeared. I had to hustle my clean up routine and pack up and hike back to the car when I finished, late in the day. Don't particularly wish to see any bears close up at feeding time!

Lake Morning

Lake Morning

  oil on panel 9" x 12"

A brisk morning out on the dock, looking down the lake shore. Times like this make me realize that every painting I make is in some way, a celebration of the marvelous experience of being alive at that moment. I am seldom happier than when up on a lake in the far eaches of Maine. 

Small Town Summer

  oil on canvas  28" x 50"
This one has just seems to capture the absolute quiet of a lazy summer afternoon in a small rural town. Maybe a lawnmower in the distance, maybe some kids playing in an empty lot - otherwise quiet and close and hot. This one is a little more controlled than some others I've done but I like to just let the way a place affects me have the last say on what happens in the work - that and some sort of intuitive feel for what looks right and visually effective - its like the Richard Diebenkorn quote to the effect -'painting is an art where one recognizes what one has never seen".

August Evening

  oil on canvas  50" x 58"

The connection between poetry and painting are as close as any two different art forms can be.  The search for exactly the right word or set of words echos the search for the right color, the right value. Both forms struggle against the limitations inherent to their scope and tools and process. It is those same limitations that shape the end and give life to what artifact is left at the finish. The goal of each is to allow the ones who discover that work after the fact, to engage - to enter in and experience the place and the mood found within, on their own, with only their eyes and heart to guide.  I feel I’m standing on the edge of those fields Sherwood Anderson writes of every time I read this little poem.

Evening Song
Sherwood Anderson

My song will rest while I rest. I struggle along. I'll get back to the corn and
   the open fields. Don't fret, love, I'll come out all right.

Back of Chicago the open fields. Were you ever there—trains coming toward
   you out of the West—streaks of light on the long gray plains? Many a
   song—aching to sing.

I've got a gray and ragged brother in my breast—that's a fact. Back of
   Chicago the open fields—long trains go west too—in the silence. Don't
   fret, love. I'll come out all right.