Our town is fairly rural. Not like the more northern towns of New Hampshire, where farms with hundreds of undeveloped acres are found, but rural enough that many roads are still dirt, and the land is open enough to accommodate a good number of horse properties. It’s not uncommon to pass horses and their riders on the main roads through town, but more so on the back roads, many of which began as paths, decades ago, where the main means of transportation was horseback. “Bridle Path” 16 x 12 o/c.
Most trees are known for their foliage. Maples are famous for their brilliant autumn colors. Pines for their ability to stay green year round. Others for their flowers or fruit. Birches are somewhat unique, as they’re known for their bark. This place is out by the New Hampshire Seacoast, in Newmarket. It was that thin spindly tree that captured my attention with the stark white limbs cutting through the barn’s shaded facade. “Birch” 40 x 30 o/c
Fences are funny things. Their purpose is to mark territory, to keep things out, or contain things that are within. When I come across old rural places, with remnants of old split rail, or barbed-wire fences, the sense is that they once kept grazing animals from wandering off. More so now, I suspect our fences in suburbia are more designed to let others know where your property ends, and theirs begins. In this piece, I began without consideration of the fence, but I put it in, and as the painting came together, it seemed to became the subject of the piece. Whether you respect it, and stay on your side of it, is subjective. “Fenceline” 48 x 36 o/c
I’ve always loved Robert Frost, and like many of us, his best known poems are a part of us. As I began the charcoal sketch for this commissioned piece, his poem “The Road Not Taken” came to mind. When I explore rural New England for inspiration, I take the lesser roads, as they lead to places I’ve never been. Such was the case when I came across this scene…an often-painted pair of barns in Grantham, NH. The road that cuts horizontally across the composition was the road I came in on. When working with the buyer, we liked the idea of putting more emphasis on the intersection of the “main” road, and the less traveled one. The larger, wider main road seems to lead to something, or somewhere known. To follow the road that branches off of it seems to lead you to somewhere unknown. I would have not found this place, years ago, had I stuck to the main roads. The poem’s last line reads…”And that has made all the difference.” And I agree. “Road Less Traveled” 64 x 34
If you’ve ever spent any time in Vermont, you know it’s rural roads. You also know it’s main routes, which, aside from the two interstates that cut through it, everything else is secondary “highways” meandering from one small village, to another, and maybe to a larger city/towns like Montpelier, Burlington and Rutland. And aside from those secondary roads, pretty much everything else is a back road, carving up and over hills and mountains. It’s a great state to get lost in. If you follow any one of these old roads, often gravel and many not navigable after winter snows, you come across places you never new existed. Destination aside, following these seemingly primitive country roads is pure exploration, as they meander up and over slopes, switching direction this way and that, almost like the path of a skier, cutting across the grade. “Switchback” 48 x 30
A friend recently commented on a piece (posted to my social channels) that she wished she could “live in the painting.” I replied that I agree, and that I would too. Most of the artists I know paint what they love. They paint the places they love, the things or people they love, and they paint these subjects however they want, presumably to convey that love to viewers. I don’t often think about how or why I paint what I paint (or why I do so they way I do), but that comment got me thinking. My “subjects” aren’t as important to me as how I portray them. They’re places I know, or have discovered, and feel an attachment to. They’re places and scenes I like being at when I’m there, and in the studio, I make them how I want them to be. I don’t try to recreate how they actually are, but modify aspects of the setting to become more than it really is. Hearing that a viewer wishes to have a deeper connection to a piece by wanting to “live in it” is the ultimate compliment. “Envisage” 24 x 24 o/c.
Our property is surrounded by tall bush blueberries. Might be 20 or 30 of them, and each July 4th, the berries are at full ripeness, and from a distance, they’re puffs of green with dabs of blue from the ripe berries. But in the Fall, long after the berries have been harvested and eaten by birds, they turn a fiery rusty red, which lasts almost into December, as they’re the last tree or bush to lose their leaves. “Fall Blueberry” 36 x 36
This setting is in Vermont, along one of the winding routes that cut through farmland, valleys and small villages. The state is loaded with these roads, and along those roads old working, and abandoned, farms dot the landscape and roadside. This one sits along the side of the road, but I opted to leave the road out, as I imagined it many years ago, when the area was likely just open farmland. “Amethyst Ridge” 24 x 24
The Cape is known for it’s beaches. Miles and miles of sand, dunes and ocean (or bay) form the shoreline from the canal down to Provincetown. Often overlooked, though, are the freshwater beaches of the many kettle ponds that dot the Cape’s inland areas. Many of these ponds are overlooked, as they tend to be obscured by woods. I’ve driven past this old place many times, but until recently, hadn’t realized it sat along the shore of a pond I never knew was there. “Autumn Pond” 36 x 24
On a recent trip to Vermont, driving along rural Route 106, I spotted an old farm to my right, across the river that follows the twisty road South from Woodstock. A small service bridge crosses the river, and the road turns left and right, leading to a couple of old farms. As I approached the fork, a blast of red caught my eye to the left. Turned the truck around, and tucked into the overgrowth, a small abandoned shed seemed to be hiding behind a stand of fall-reddened sumac and other wild brush. I grabbed a couple photos of the scene, crossed the bridge, and continued south…forgetting to visit the old farm that had originally caught my attention. “Distraction” 36 x 36 o/c
