Spent the last few days gathering work To show in a few places. Little hope this Will bring returns But I try, I try, I wish I could be more effective. Hah, something I have never been, but Still I try.
Friends, dear couple, come visit, something for which I am always thankful, because I do know that living here? Few will come. And truth, that is not totally the place’s fault. Fault need also be accepted by me, for who will come Visit? Not many.
Again I have driven, and driven, and driven, I am glad to see my mother and wish I could see her more often But I live too far away from her, too far From all I love. Who do I love now, who will love me back? So this too hot day I drove away, drove back here, to the last place we called home, where we had love but not me alone.
The Studio at Line's End Farm is where I paint and try to find some joy again, and some equilibrium, not simple these days. One weblog records thoughts, ideas, methods and mixtures, palettes, observations, actually anything that intrigues me concerning my painting and working in the studio. Another observes only the horse in paintings that I find influential. The last are done for my sanity. All are my opinion only, open to other suggestions.
I will write in red, for my dear, love; who never saw red, not in ink, not in ire.
In 2010, the cold went beyond ten decades, was a century mark of hard winter through the mid-atlantic. For one small household banked by an Eastern Shore river this winter was epochal.