UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Long ago I painted faces, faces with deep lines and passionate living embedded in them; I painted with generous strokes of umbers and ochres and piercing eyes and ruddy skin. Native Americans, old Frenchmen and cowboys now hang on my walls to remind me of that time, a time of youth and patience and warm palettes of paints, when the world stretched out in a long straight line. There were no twists or turns yet, only promises and time.

Today, I paint things form my garden; simple things that grow close to the earth and give life and comfort, vibrant colors and organic shapes that bring me happiness. My kitchen becomes a source of inspiration for me, a place where there is color and warmth and life goes on; in summer, when tomatoes are blushing on the window sill, and cucumbers are carefully packed in pickle jars, and melons and long necked squashes cover my counters and, cadmium colored bell peppers are chopped in chucks on my cutting board waiting to be tossed into a summer salad and there are zinnias that Elizabeth has picked sitting near my sink making me happy, happy to have them and happy to have her. Gardenias scent the air in May and magnolias make June smell like lemons and summer.

I remember these images in winter when I have more time to sit at my easel, when the garden is quiet and the season is still. I mix a different palette from that of my youth, this one is one of cadmiums and thalos and cobalts, it is right for me now. p.s.