Woke to a gray morn that heralded the soft snow To follow. A day of translucent light, cold temps And beautiful colors. Moved my box from window to window, painting The serene views of untrammeled snows stretching Away from me. Moved through the quiet rooms of this house, Enjoying the quality of its spaces and the comfort Of its rooms.
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.
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