I love remote places…love being in the “middle of nowhere.” Visiting the rural town and villages of New England is often a great escape for those who live in cities. Friends who are self-described “city people” have commented that while they love escaping the city for a weekend in the country…they could never live there. One friend once said, when asked if she could ever move out of Boston, “never…I need to hear sirens to fall asleep!” I guess it’s what you grew up with. For me, the dead quiet of the countryside is what I prefer. I came across this place while driving through a small Massachusetts town. Much has been stripped out of the composition (old farm tools, junk, etc), leaving the essence of what felt like a very quiet, serene, place in the middle of nowhere. “Hinterland” 40 x 36
There’s a time of day, during late Spring and early summer, where shadows are cool and bright. Light reflecting off the new green of foliage, grass, and other vegetation, reflect light, and transfer a hint of their Spring color to their shadows. There’s never really any true darks in those shadows…as they are created both by light be blocked, and light being reflected. With a nor’Easter on the way up here in New England, seemed a good time for a reminder of what’s only a few months away. “Sunkissed” 34 x 34
The town just west of ours is Mont Vernon (yes, there’s no “u” in Mont). While it refers to itself as a mountain, it’s really not…more of a big hill. But in Southern New Hampshire, our hills are smaller than the monsters up North in the Whites…so the standards down here are a bit more relaxed. On a drive through Mont Vernon a couple years ago–a blindingly bright sunny day in early October–I passed this place, and was caught by the blast of bright sun on the old house. The light at the top of mountains (or big hills) is pure and often uninterrupted…and just seems brighter. This piece is both about that light, and our town’s neighboring “mountain”… “Mountain Light” 24 x 24
Someone recently asked about my use of color, commenting that it looks simultaneously “impossible” but “real” and that “it works.” Color is powerful, and we tend to associate colors with things, or actions (stop at red lights, go on green, skies are blue). In nature, colors aren’t always what they seem, particularly in different light. I like that observation, though…that the palette of a piece may seem impossible while also feeling real and that it works. “Highland Blue” 36 x 40
Woodstock, Vermont is one of the most beautiful, quintessential towns in the state. I’m lucky to be in a gallery there, and love every chance I get to visit. But more enjoyable is the trek there and back…as I tend to take back country roads that cut through valleys, along streams, and up mountain roads. Each trip results in inspiration. This location, a few miles south of Woodstock’s center of town, is up one of these mountain roads, and off of that a rocky, potholed road leads further up to a clearing where this complex of outbuildings revealed itself. These trips through the surrounding area reveal the true beauty of the state. “Outskirts” 24 x 24
Can’t remember where this scene was. I think in Vermont. I came across it years ago, somewhere, and did a pastel sketch with the intent of starting a canvas. Years went by. I came across the pastel recently and, seeing it with fresh eyes, felt it was worthy of committing to paint. While not much larger than the pastel itself, the finished piece captures the essence of the sketch, which is almost always the intention, though not always the outcome. The red trees in the sketch seemed they could use some amplification,which led to the piece’s name. “Redwood” 16 x 20
It’s the first day of 2022. Few will miss 2021, for obvious reasons. But for all the bad that 2021 will be remembered for, I’m grateful for the many good things that happened “last” year. And while not much of a New Years Resolution practitioner, I do look at the new year as a time for fresh starts. And with my little corner of New Hampshire entering what feels like day 15 of cold, gray, drizzly, icy weather, thoughts of Spring have crept in sooner than normal. Appropriately, a commission that has been in the works for a couple months is completed, and out for approval. The palette may have been influenced by our current bleak weather, as it leans towards the colors of that other marker of new beginnings…Spring. “Maylight” 54 x 28.
Martha’s Vineyard has a great conservation program known as the Land Bank Commission. Proceeds from every home sale are given to this organization. When privately held land worth preserving comes up for sale, the Land Bank has an opportunity to bid. As a result, there are many preserved, pristine parcels of land on the Island that look today as they always have…wild, rural and untouched. You can lose yourself in some of these places, whether it’s Felix Neck, Cedar Tree Neck, Quansoo, Chappy Point Beach, and many others. On a recent trip to Felix Neck, hiking the meadows that extend to Sengekontacket Pond, I found myself captivated by the simplicity of the landscape. Meadows, a few trees, and a distant treeline that separated the land from the water. Some call these properties preserves, conservation lands, or sanctuaries. What they all provide is refuge from the modern world. “Refuge” 46 x 32
I love remote, isolated places. Not just as subjects for paintings, but because I like being there. There’s something about knowing you’re away from everything, and everyone, but close enough to return to it all when you’re ready. One such place is along this strip of barrier dune in West Dennis, not far from our house there. It’s a mile-long stretch of sand dune, wind-dwarfed cedars, seagrass and hedge that buffers the Atlantic from a lagoon. Off-season, when all tourists are gone, this place is desolate, but calming. You can walk the long parking lot that flanks this sandy strip, or the beach on the other side. And if you take one of the dune paths that cuts through, you get that sense, for a moment, of being in the middle of nowhere. “Haven” 24 x 20
I tend to trespass too much. I call it “exploring”…scouting the landscape for inspiration. But more often than not, in an effort to get a unique perspective of a place, I might accidentally (and sometimes intentionally) enter private property. Several years ago, while exploring the shores of Truro, I parked on the road that leads up to Corn Hill to grab some reference of the well-known cottages that sit up top. Hiking up the massive dune, I made it to the back side of the one of the cottages, and took advantage of the off-season emptiness of the place. These unique perspectives are worth whatever risk my uninvited visit might result in.
I’ve painted this place multiple times…sometimes one cottage, and sometimes it’s identical neighbors to the left and right. The light in September, along the coast of Cape Cod, is pure and clear, and given a unique hue as light reflects off sand and sea. “September Light ” 36 x 36
