
Monday, January 31, 2011
Looking Over

Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sketching
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Spring!
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Mountain View
Snow in Black and White and Color


Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Washington's Crossing
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Snow Brook

Friday, January 21, 2011
Large Canal
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Big and Tiny

Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Three Miniatures



Sunday, January 16, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Pointing to a Snow Tree

I continue to read Annie Dillard. The following is from Living by Fiction: "...You know how a puppy, when you point off in one direction for him, looks at your hand. It is hard to train him not to. The modernist arts... have gone to a great deal of trouble to untrain us readers, to force us to look at the hand. Contemporary modernist fine prose says, Look at my hand. Plain prose says, Look over there. But these are matters of emphasis. So long as words refer, the literary arts will continue to do two things at once, just as all representational painting does two things at once. They point to the world with a hand."
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Cold Canal

Monday, January 10, 2011
Winter Trees

I am also working on an oil version of yesterday's mountain, which will take a couple days. Oil and pastel demand different approaches.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Greylock Hopper View


Greylock Hopper is not the long lost brother of Edward. Herman Melville knew the mountain as Saddleback. He wrote Moby Dick in Pittsfield, MA. The window above his writing desk has a direct view of "Saddleback" from a different angle. From that perspective people have suggested that it looks like a whale.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Greylock
Friday, January 7, 2011
Working On



The top two are stix and conte crayon drawings made to help determine what to paint next.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Roughing it
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Jersey Oils and the Tree with the Lights


One final quote from the magnificent Annie Dillard book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek: "Then one day I was walking along Tinker Creek thinking of nothing at all and I saw the tree with the lights in it. I saw the backyard cedar where the mourning doves roost charged and transfigured, each cell buzzing with flame. I stood on the grass with the lights in it, grass that was wholly fire, utterly focused and utterly dreamed. It was less like seeing than like being for the first time seen, knocked breathless by a powerful glance. Gradually the lights went out in the cedar, the colors died, the cells unflamed and disappeared. I was still ringing. I had been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck. I have since only very rarely seen the tree with the lights in it. The vision comes and goes, mostly goes, but I live for it, for the moment when the mountains open and a new light roars in spate through the crack, and the mountains slam."
This is why I paint and draw, to see the tree with the lights in it, though I seldom see it.
Berkshire Drawings
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