Under the Influence

 

Day is Done, 9×12 – SOLD

I paint at night because it’s the best way to get a block of uninterrupted time, but it’s a double edge sword.

If you’re under the influence of the art bug, walking into your studio was a bit like an alcoholic walking into a bar.  You think, ” i’ll just take a look at last nights stuff quickly.” Then you pick up a brush to fiddle with a spot just didn’t look right and before you know it, the paint is still flowing  at 2am on a work night.

And even though I’ve learned to hate 7 AM and I don’t have any illusion that I could quit anytime I want, it’s not a problem.

Prints can be purchased on Etsy here.

Blizzards and Other Things

Summer Storm, 9×12

It’s a painting day today. It’s also blizzard day, and I’m happy about  it’s a painting day today. It’s also blizzard day, and I’m happy about both of those things.

 We went to have brunch before we got snowed in, and I’m sure the scenery from the driver figure into paintings somewhere today, but for the moment I have the other extreme–summer–on the brain. 

One Thermal Mama

Geothermal Mama, 9×12, Watercolor

One of the many things I love about Iceland is how beautifully it proves that a woman (or at least this part of her) can be 20 million years old, and still be one hot mama. 

Prints can be purchased on Etsy here.

Upstate of Mind

 

The other night T1 was driving the two of us towards Saratoga Springs to get him a haircut and a pair of pants without holes to wear to his college interview.

The area is pretty densely settled with farms and homes, and there aren’t many uninterrupted vistas. As we neared the top of a hill, the sun sank behind the clouds, casting a glow and silhouetting scrawny trees that bordered an abandoned farm that was not yet ready to surrender to the earth – a perfect interruption.

I’m a pretty confirmed agnostic – the only thing I know for sure is that I know nothing – but as I thought about all the treasures humans unmake, that they think they can remake better or even live without,  I caught myself whispering “only God can make a sunset.”

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Prints can be purchased on Etsy here.

New York States of Mind

Upstate State of Mind, 9×12, Watercolor

Gershwin and Copland were at the top of the playlist last night, and I was  in a New York State of mind, thinking about how these two children of immigrants fleeing persecution expanded our musical legacy with contributions that captured the optimism and possibilities of America. 

I kicked off with Rhapsody in Blue to help my head try and find its way back to a vivid sunset we enjoyed a few nights ago as we drove through New York’s Capital Region.  T1 was driving, letting Mom focus on sinking sun behind the snowy, rolling hills, dotted with farms.  I marveled as I always do that we were driving through the same state that holds one of the biggest cities in the world.

I’ve lived in New England for over 20 years–the longest I’ve lived anywhere in my entire life.  My parents lived abroad a couple times when I was a kid and moved within the US. When I left home, I kept traveling and moving.

I love the New England, but despite the long residence, I never felt that it – or any place – was home. I’ve rarely been any place that I didn’t fall in love with for a time, but the ants in my pants never completely leave me alone. I’m always ready to try a new food or hear the music of another language — for a new adventure.

It’s one reason, that the place that most feels like home is New York state. Ten minutes from the house, it’s close enough for a get away to Saratoga or Albany. Between the Capital Region and nearby Adirondacks the state offers enough diverse activity to quench – for a little while – my wanderlust with an occasional day trip.  It turns something as mundane as a snowy sunset over an Appalachian foothill into a reminder of the world of possible adventures — from Manhattan to Niagra Falls — just over the state line.

Possibility is a powerful aphrodisiac.  Almost as heady as the adventure itself.

 

 

 

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An Easy Winter

Cold River 9×12, Watercolor

 I avoided learning to paint snow for as long as I possibly could. In watercolor, white is about what you don’t meet, and the challenge of leaving the right parts blank seemed too daunting last year.

Last year we hardly had any snow, and I was content to paint the dormant fields and forests.

This year we’ve had a bit more snow, but it’s been an easy winter — on and off the paper.