April 21, 2020, 8am:
Last year on September 1, I unloaded art supplies, groceries, and books into the magically-mine-for-the-month cabin and watched my family drive away. The last time I'd lived alone in the woods was close to 30 years ago on St. John in the Virgin Islands. As though no time had elapsed, I once again had with me a baseball bat and metal flashlight for courage in the darkest hours of night.
Here I am in the studio at Weir Farm with a paper mache bird. Click on the photo (credit Gaston Lacombe) to see the National Parks Magazine article written by Melanie D.G. Kaplan.
Apple Tree, charcoal and oil paint on canvas, 9”x12”
Ice House, charcoal, acrylic, and oil paint on canvas, 9”x12”
I was thrilled, overactive imagination aside, to be alone with my work. It was easy to shed everything not art or daily necessity like eating. In this way time opened up for me, a great vast field in which to create. Fueled by the urgency of only 30 days in this glorious bubble, I searched out new places on the grounds each morning to paint, and worked in my studio each afternoon. Even filled with so few activities, the days flew by.
Now it's different: similar stripped down living, but no clear end in sight. How to keep that sense of time as precious and irreplacable? I can wish I was living in a time beyond confinement, but focus too hard on that and this time is lost.
Stone Picnic Table and Bench, charcoal, acrylic, and oil paint on canvas, 22”x28”
Back of Tree by Stone Steps, charcoal, acrylic, and oil paint on canvas, 24”x36”