I know it's not quite fall yet, but the loud crickets say otherwise, as does the waning light. The end of summer finds me painting nearby, here and there, and working on my memoir about a decade of painting weeks on Bear Island, in Penobscot Bay. It's coming along, and I hope to call it done sometime soon. Meanwhile, an unexpected opportunity has arisen. Two years ago I applied for a residency at Monson Arts, to draw and paint in the woods and around the mountains, lakes, and rivers of northwestern Maine. I was not accepted but was put on a waiting list, and managed to accomplish some of what I'd hoped to do, on my own. But now it seems my time has come, because I was asked to fill in at short notice, since someone else can't make it to the next residency.
At first I thought, No, it's a pandemic, I can't go anywhere or do anything, but after talking it over with Ryan and the program director, I came to my senses. I'll be as safe as possible, with my own house and studio, take-out meals, and distance from the other residents. In short, I'll be in even more solitude than I currently am. Which is conducive to painting, to say the least. The bottom line is this: if I didn't go, I'd be home, anxiety-laden, wishing I was painting the mountains. So I'll go paint the mountains! I leave in a few days, and will be at the residency for about a month, with a brief break in the middle for a visit back at home to be on hand for some construction we had already scheduled. The break will also give me a chance to pick up any more supplies I might need, along with cold-weather clothing. Of course I will also want to hug my husband, and Hodge the cat, who already suspects that I'm going away and is unpleased. I'm hoping for weeks of good weather, so I can be out painting as much as possible, and Hodge can sleep in warm sun-patches until I return home, and it's woodstove season once again.
Wish me luck! I've stretched canvases and gessoed them, and sanded and gessoed panels, and am packing my supplies: new brushes, lots of paint, my watercolor kit too, and diary. I'll be busy, I know, but I would also welcome some quiet time in the woods, doing not much of anything except looking, listening, and just being. Stay well, friends, talk with you when I return.
At first I thought, No, it's a pandemic, I can't go anywhere or do anything, but after talking it over with Ryan and the program director, I came to my senses. I'll be as safe as possible, with my own house and studio, take-out meals, and distance from the other residents. In short, I'll be in even more solitude than I currently am. Which is conducive to painting, to say the least. The bottom line is this: if I didn't go, I'd be home, anxiety-laden, wishing I was painting the mountains. So I'll go paint the mountains! I leave in a few days, and will be at the residency for about a month, with a brief break in the middle for a visit back at home to be on hand for some construction we had already scheduled. The break will also give me a chance to pick up any more supplies I might need, along with cold-weather clothing. Of course I will also want to hug my husband, and Hodge the cat, who already suspects that I'm going away and is unpleased. I'm hoping for weeks of good weather, so I can be out painting as much as possible, and Hodge can sleep in warm sun-patches until I return home, and it's woodstove season once again.
Wish me luck! I've stretched canvases and gessoed them, and sanded and gessoed panels, and am packing my supplies: new brushes, lots of paint, my watercolor kit too, and diary. I'll be busy, I know, but I would also welcome some quiet time in the woods, doing not much of anything except looking, listening, and just being. Stay well, friends, talk with you when I return.
downstream, barrows falls, monson, maine - oil/panel, 8 x 10", 2018.
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