Fall

We’re halfway though October here in Vermont, moving from brilliant foliage to stick season. In the meantime, I’ve been in my studio working on a few new pieces. Here’s Tea Time, 16 x 16 in., gouache, Flashe, and paper collage on board, 2021. The first pic is where the piece started (showing the collage underpainting) and the second pic is where the piece ended up, with layers of paint, letting some of the collage shine through. I’m looking forward to passing the new pieces to Stella Quarta Decima (SQD) gallery in Manchester, Vt.

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Here’s what’s also happening…a party taking place right in front of our house:

Birds' Eye

Birds-eye-view, aerial, and panoramic views…why do I love it so? I’m working on a picture of Montpelier, VT, currently my hometown, and in doing so, I’m seeing what the wide world of Google has to offer me for references. So much overhead view! Is landscape a character? If attachment to a landscape supersedes other things like job opportunities, cost of living, diversity, are you crazy to remain attached? I find myself in that boat, tied up to a particular harbor. In my case, the boat is a canoe, and the harbor is a green bank on a Vermont lake. It’s frightening, committing to a place. My limitless view of the world (”I could go ANYWHERE…except maybe Afghanistan”) has tightened, the aperture dialed down, and gone is a periphery. Through my pinhole view, I gaze at the details. All of this is by choice - or is it? Is there a thread that keeps us tethered to a place, because the landscape matches up with our own shape? Like a giant hand moving puzzle pieces, slotting me in to this one little open space. 

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Bird's eye vintage view, Montpelier, Vermont