|
| Creative Process, Painting | |
I drove up to Maine from Rhode Island in a rental car over Thanksgiving. It was fun watching the landscape change. From the soft brown deciduous trees in southern New England to the tall, spiky evergreens of Maine. Route 1 in Massachusetts plastered (as always) with billboards and businesses. A cardboard canyon of advertising bordering the highway. So much to look at! The Hilltop Steakhouse, Pizzeria Uno, that old diner on the east side of Route 1 (closed down for renovations), funeral homes, wedding stores, shoe stores, nightclubs. Trashy, crowded, noisy and ugly-beautiful. It was a relief to cross over into New Hampshire. And then Maine where all you see from the highway are trees punctuated by an occasional low-lying structure off in the woods to the left or right (the trees are always taller). No billboards. No come-ons. Just brown and green. The isolation I felt growing up in Maine was depressing. In the past, when I’ve visited, I’ve been reminded of all the reasons I left. This time I saw only beauty. The landscape seemed unusually inviting, special. A little dark (as always) but enchanting too. On Colorado’s Front Range, and in other places I’ve lived, humans dominate the landscape. There are buildings, roads and people over every horizon. In Maine nature dominates. Sure, there are buildings and roads there too. But the trees grow in so thick they seem inexorable. Inevitable. Ready to take over the world the very moment someone stops clearing brush. A great subject for painting. | |
The Maine landscape around where I grew up is endlessly inspiring. The thickness of the trees. The prickers & briars. The way in the winter you rarely see the sun overhead. How the sunlight’s always filtered by tree trunks and branches. Always over there. Far away. A little lonely feeling.
