This is Stratton Road in Williamstown, MA after the snow has disappeared and before the snow will reappear tomorrow. The poet Seamus Heaney wrote, " Here is the great paradox of poetry and of the imaginative arts in general. Faced with the brutality of the historical onslaught, they are practically useless. Yet they verify our singularity, they strike and stake out the ore of self which lies at the base of every individuated life. In one sense the efficacy of poetry is nil--no lyric has ever stopped a tank. In another sense, it is unlimited. It is like the writing in the sand in the face of which accusers and accused are left speechless and renewed." Doesn't sound like much, but I'll keep painting despite the brutality. 6x8 inches, gouache and watercolor on multimedia paper.
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