When it’s not raining here in New Hampshire (which it seems to have done almost every day this summer), the sun in recent days has cast that light that has a feel of September. Shadows are a bit more elongated, the air is clearer, and cooler. But, like September, this time of year can switch on a daily basis from hints of fall in the air, to reminders that Summer is still underway. “August Sun”
The Cape’s south side is home to the Atlantic-facing beaches, where powerful waves, riptides, and sharks contrast with the calmer, north side beaches along Cape Cod Bay. While both are beautiful, in their own way, the many rivers, estuaries and inlets that cut into the Cape from both sides, are in many ways, the most dramatic, as they are where the changing tides are most evident. At low tide, receding or incoming water creates patterns of light and color that contrast with the grasses and plants that thrive in the marshy muck. Anything floating at high tide, is likely run aground when the tide is low. “Ebb Tide” 30 x 24
I love remote places, and over the years, have loved living way outside the bustle of urban areas. Many years ago, when I first moved to Martha’s Vineyard, we lived in Aquinnah (then called Gay Head), at the most western part of the island. Home to the famous colorful clay cliffs, it’s a wild, windy, remote and incredibly beautiful section of the Vineyard. Our house sat on a sand plain, off Moshup’s Trail, and overlooked Vineyard Sound and Nomans Land (an unpopulated island, now serving as a bird sanctuary, though was still used as a bombing target while we were there). This place reminds me of that place, the near total isolation of it’s location where land and sea meet. This smaller piece was done partly as a composition study for a larger piece, which will likely have a completely different palette. “Westernmost Point” 14 x 14.
Up here in northern New England (particularly in Vermont), where winter snow can start in the Fall and continue into the Spring, many homes have tin roofs, which allows snow to slide off, and are sturdier in high winds, which can flick off traditional roofing shingles pretty easily. I’ve always loved this roofing material, as in the right light, the sun reflects giving the roof a soft pastel blue, green, or yellowish tint. The farm across the street uses tin, and it’s roof has been each of these colors, depending on the time of day, light, and atmosphere. “Tin Roof” 20 x 20 o/c
Recently completed a piece depicting this same setting. That larger piece now resides at its owners home in Maryland, but the composition was interesting, with the cluster of structures casting long shadows from a low western sun. This version of that setting is equally focused on that great light of late in the day. “Westward Sun” 36 x 36 o/c.
This piece was begun about 3 or 4 years ago. Got it started, then put it aside to work on something else, and over the years I’ve intended to push it along, but didn’t. Recently decided it was time, and after several weeks of work (off and on), got it to where it should have been a long time ago. This old cottage will likely not be around much longer, as it sits on a pricey piece of acreage overlooking Nantucket Sound and the Atlantic. Other small summer cottages around it have succumbed to modern seaside architecture in recent years. As grand as these new summer retreats may be, with their state-of-the-art climate control systems, they don’t possess the charm of those days, decades ago, when a good sea breeze was all that was needed to cool the home after a day of summer sun and heat. “Salt Air” 58 x 34 o/c.
Living in a disposable world, where everything has an expiration date, and shelf life, I appreciate things that are well made and last a while. One of the aspects of rural structures…barns, old sheds, old homes, is that they were built to last. When I come across old barns in the countryside, many worn out and tired, they have a sense of craftsmanship about them…a quality in how they were built that has them still standing for decades, and even centuries. This one was in a small town up north, Canterbury, New Hampshire, and had been well maintained, over the years, and more so recently, and dated back to the early 1800s. But even if it had been neglected, like so many are, it’s likely it would still have been there, standing strong. “Longstanding” 24 x 24 o/c
White Pines are likely the most abundant tree here in New Hampshire. If you leave a pasture or meadow unmowed, it’s inevitable white pine saplings will sprout up in a season or two. Over the years, pine forests have grown from what had been cleared, worked farmland. Stone walls deep in dense woods and forests are the only reminders of how most of the state had been cleared for farming. They’re the kind of tree you can love and hate simultaneously. When they’re where they belong, they can be beautiful. When they sprout up where they shouldn’t be, they’re invasive and ugly. This stand of mature trees creates an interesting weaved pattern behind a local barn, and gives them the sense of being where they belong. “Pineridge” 30 x 24
I recently had a friendly debate over what was better…lakes or oceans. We have no shortage of lakes up here in New Hampshire, and they’re beautiful and, in some cases, world famous. But I’m an ocean guy. Love the “salt life”. No doubt that ocean winds and crashing waves are contrasted by the relative calmness of a lake. We agreed to disagree on which we preferred, but did agree that despite our preferences, both are beautiful. “Dream Lake” 36 x 36
This farm is about a mile or two from home. As with many parts of our town, which was once all farmland (what town wasn’t, at some point?), and is now broken into many smaller lots, many of which preserve the rural character of the many decades ago. I pass this place daily, and only recently saw it lit in such a way, with the out-of-composition treeline to the right casting a long shadow across the warm meadow grass. “Summer Meadow” 20 x 16 o/c
