Here are a few more of the woods and Spring Thaw. I think I’m spinning my wheels and then I’ve also been distracted by poetry falling out of the sky. I did walk down the lane this afternoon and look at the woods again and i know i can do better so, (sorry), expect more trees soon
170222 Spring thaw fluid c/p 9″x12″ (cer. prose. ngomb. sepia)
170222-a Spring thaw fluid c/p 9″x12″ (cer. prose. ngomb. sepia)
Playing with the rigger brush
170222 Spring thaw fluid c/p 9″x12″ cer. prose. ngomb. sepia
Finally I am at my work table and the brush is loaded with water and pigment. When I can paint it is a little like praying or meditation and I always feel lifted in spirit-
“Like a breath I knew would come, I reach for a new day”.
Yesterday was bad beyond description. I am so grateful for another chance.
Here is the little pencil sketch I made from our brief walk yesterday.
And here is a watercolor from the sketch.
There is so much depth that’s missing so much movement and glint in the hemlocks that I just have yet to figure out. And the bright shimmer of the water, the soft roundness of the melting snow. Gee wiz this doesn’t capture that at all so we’ll try again.
Actually I’m supposed to be working on ocean waves and sand-oops! Anyway it’s nice to do even a little.
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep,
Today has been a day of clouds and silver-tipped trees outlined against the sky.
My travels take me outwards from the center like the travel lines on a spider web. Some of the roads are dirt and some are paved state highways. One heads north and anchors me to the mountains and another east to connect me with the ocean. The one which reaches out to the western hills is closed to me now but, one heads south and connects me to cities and art and performance. I’ll take that tonight to resume the figure drawing I’d let go. Ghosts haunt all of them and make travel difficult; yet if I don’t travel off the hill will there be a new day?