winter

Snowfall

Snowfall, 48 x 48 inches, oil on canvas.

We had lots of snow this past winter. Lots. I eventually get tired of dealing with it- well, the cold, more than the snow. It was bitter cold for weeks on end. But all that aside, I love the look of it. The feel of it. Snowshoeing. Cross country skiing. The dogs' happiness with it. But most of all I love the effect it has on the land.

I spent much of the winter thinking about how I put paint down. Mark making is a very popular topic in painting the past decade or so, and I suppose on some level that's what I am meaning. But to me, that makes it seem too specific, the marks too precious, to have their own identity. I'm concerned about the lay of the paint, the texture and surface, not as individual expression of marks, but as a intuitive representation of what the experience of being in that place, at that moment, feels like. I don't want it to be that conscious an effort, no more so than the dreamy feeling I have when I am outside and find something I want to paint. So in the moment it's even closer than intuition.

But then I guess it's a combination of marks. Of colors. Of paint.

I'm still thinking about it.

For scale

One of the biggest reasons I moved the studio a couple years ago was for space. The work is getting ever larger, and I didn't have enough room to either set it up at an easel, to get back from it enough to see, or even more problematic, to photograph it. In the space I'm in now I have a white wall- well it was just a plasterboard wall until my son Todd got after it with a big roller and buckets of paint- large enough to install a gallery hanging system. And my old friend, the multi-talented Tim White- helped me figure out how to light the large landscape work I am doing. But the scale is still hard to convey, so I decided to put my studio mate to work.

Grand Prismatic Hot Spring, Yellowstone National Park, oil on canvas, 30 x 120 inches.
With Uly, 120 lbs of good company.

Trespass, 48 x 120 inches, oil on canvas, curio cabinet.


Along Kebler Pass, 48 x 100 inches, oil on canvas, curio cabinet.

In the dark.

I left the pups at home and skied tonight, in a blizzard- first time int two years. My skis are in tough shape, needing a good waxing. The snow was 10 - 12 inches of peanut butter powder, drifts over my knees, wind howling, and within a 1/2 mile I could no longer see the lights of South Lima. At one point I was a bit concerned I was lost, surrounded in a mauve/gray swirl, visibility of about 20 ft. Then I found the hedge row I was kind of expecting.

So much fun. So quiet. And oddly relaxing.

First storm of the season.

First Storm of the Season, 11 x 11 inches, oil on panel.

I didn't want to go out. I wasn't expecting this weather yet- I was living in the fantasy of having another month of fall. But today we woke up to 14 º. I put off the walk til noon, when it had risen to a balmy 18º. And the wind had kicked up.

It would have felt a lot warmer at 7 in the morning.

But my first rule of living with dogs is, A tired dog is a good dog.

Rule 2? A not tired dog is a serious pain in the ass.

So layered up in wool, down, and whatever else seemed like it might work, we headed out. Of course my two companions were wearing their summer outfits. Their beards didn't ice up, their faces didn't freeze, their toes weren't numb. And they were not the least bit excited when I'd had enough and turned for home.

And then, for me, the walk paid off. Well, in addition to the aforementioned tired dogs. The sun, trying to push through the storm, slipping in and out. I don't paint very directly much anymore. My work has evolved into a very indirect process of layer after layer, applied over days and weeks, often into months.

But today I got home and went right at it. It was fun, and made the 45 minutes of freezing my….. of being cold, seem even more worthwhile.

These two. 45 minutes was nothing. Another half hour of all-star wrestling finally did them in.

Scraping winter away...

Walking the other morning I saw the first turkey vulture of the spring. I've seen robins, but it's the return of the vultures that really makes spring seem real. As we walked up the hill a couple more lifted off the field to our right. I'd had to call Uly off a deer carcass late in the fall- either a deer hunter's lost shot, or possibly a car the culprit. After winter, I was surprised there was enough left to attract the birds.

We walked over to where I remembered it laying. There wasn't much left, nothing but scattered hair. I was amazed that the coyotes and crows could have done that  thorough a job. But then our noses found it- the skeleton, drug off 50 yds downhill to the west. As we approached, there was a desperation to it's posture. A sadness. Like she was still trying to escape her long past fate.

Spring seems to finally reveal everything scraped down by winter.

Back in the studio, the scraping reveals something more hopeful. My palette is a 24 x 30 inch sheet of 1/4 inch glass. The paint eventually builds to such an uneven surface as to be unusable, and I have to go after it with a scraper.

The process reveals miniature abstract expressionist master pieces, one after another. All unintentional surprises, but beautiful. The color combinations revealed always give me pause, a chance to approach more intentional work with a broader sense of color.

Mud Season.

We have 5 season here in western New York. The usual four, but then, sandwiched between spring and summer is Mud Season. It is usually a solid month, frequently longer and not ending til May strolls along.

It is the one time of year living with sidewalks would be nicer, and living surrounded by muck farmland is tough. The mud permeates everything. The dogs track it in. The cats. Our shoes. The cuffs of pants, often times soaking up to mid-calf by the end of the daily walk. It wears you down.

Well, wears me down. My two walking buddies don't mind so much.

One in particular.

When I see Trillium show in the dark, damp shadows of the woods I know the end is near.

Thankfully.

I'll let you know.

This week's walks, things seen.

We walk every day, for an hour or so, sometimes much more. Keeps the dogs fit, and me mellow. If I told you about everything we saw, everything I thought about... I'd never get anything done.

But here's a few things from this week.

Once in a while we come across something a bit unnerving- a track the size of my hand.

But then I remember it's ok- he's with me.

And just this morning, for the second time this week, and enormous flock of snow geese. I quite counting at 240. There were ultimately well over 1000.

And just as we got back home, a juvenile bald eagle slid overhead.

Pretty good start to the season.

Uly's Rodeo

Darb and I took the dynamic duo out on Friday morning. Another lovely spring day in western New York, 31 degrees, wind and snow. Slush. Mud. You know, spring.

But no one told the critters the weather was bad, and they were about. Swans and geese overhead- they always get Uly's attention. Finn is fairly oblivious to flying things, figuring out long ago that they are out of range. And Uly doesn't show any interest in chasing things in the air, though if they start on the ground, he seems sure they may be a potential threat. In the air, he watches, seems to contemplate.

The rodeo started when we crested the hill out back, in the woods. A field filled with turkeys, 150 yards away. There was no holding him back, and with that much lead, the turkey's were in no danger. A little squabbling went up from the flock as he burst through a hedge row, then turkeys lifting off in every direction. Hell, I'd probably take flight too if I thought he was after me.

Sixteen to twenty turkeys, going in ten different directions. And then they spooked the deer. I don't think the deer ever saw the Big Thunder (he has about 31 nicknames at this point), just spooked with the turkeys, their bellwether. Turkeys every which way, deer tearing the length of an unplowed field. Maybe it is spring.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, his work done, he strutted back towards us, obviously quite proud of himself. If I was a more demanding dog owner, if we lived in town, if we walked in parks or on sidewalks.... well, if, if, if. We don't, because neither he nor I would get to see and smell all the good stuff. See it, feel it, smell it, roll in it. Well, I leave the rolling mostly to them.

On the way out of the woods a opossum waddled across in front of us. Waddled, rather than bolted- I don't think a opossum is capable of bolting. But the waddle drew the dogs attention, but more like their cats do at home. Curiosity. A buddy, a plaything...  We called them off pretty easily, and held them in turns while we each took a closer look.

The oddly pink and human hands, gripping the maple and hickory in the cold, looked like he was thinking it wasn't quite spring yet either.

WInter arrived...

this past week, with a quick dump of heart-attack snow, and the arrival of some favorite winter neighbors.

I love to watch the Short-Eared owls, often arriving as a pair, arcing crazily around the fields. Staying low and close to the ground, they'll wheel acrobatically and drop on something small and unseen in the distance.

Darby prefers the Harrier hawks, with their slow, gracefully rocking flight, also low and quiet above the winter turned field.

The cold is sudden, and not altogether welcome, but I've already found a painting in the harsh arrival. Something small, but atmospheric, should be done in a couple more days.

Coyote

Tracks. The creek bed runs along the fields out behind the house. Frozen in the winter, it gives up some of what happens when we aren't out there. I step out on the culvert nearly every day while walking the dogs. Watching the creek flow by three seasons of the year, seeing the ever changing tracks of unseen neighbors during winter.

I am finally settling into a productive working rhythm between the Small Work and my larger pieces. I just finished the bear project, and I am trying to do a little more with it before I show it here next week.

Sunset, moonrise.

4:35 on the muck, sun nearly down.

A meeting and running errands today. One of those days that you accomplish a lot, and feel like you've gotten nothing done. I finally got home and thought about diving into work.


Tracking Finn. At nearly 14, Molly doesn't like the deep snow anymore, and Finn is less than bold without her big sister.

But I can always work. After a day of freezing rain, we got a good snow last night. I went skiing with Finn.

5:15 and the moon is already high above in the eastern sky. Days are noticeably longer.