Usually when I close my eyes I see the river. These days it’s my little stretch of the Broad River … not the ferocious swelled beast, churned up brown water with whitecaps. Not that one. I see lazy green puddles among huge black boulders — the one I can wade across if I’m wearing the right boots. Lately I walk out into the middle of a shallow patch and stand there. Just stand there. Something about it — standing in the mud, with the water flowing around me, just like I’m one of the rocks. The River — take me to Church.
But there are times I don’t see the river: when starting a new painting … while it’s just beginning to take shape in my mind. For significant pieces, I work in studio-imagination for quite a while, and finally take it to the canvas only when the destination is fixed. I’ve been visiting the unformed “Window” for a couple of years now … with the lovely figure seated on the floor in front of an open window … bright light beaming in and casting darkly informed shadows around her lanky frame.
The sun came out yesterday, and I had to do it. I just HAD TO DO IT. Here’s the first day’s work. I already love her.
