Lakeside Wood
October, 2009: Bob and I are on a road
trip to Primrose Hill, our rustic country house in the hills of Vermont. I've done
this drive a million times, but we are having so much fun that somehow we miss a turn and find
ourselves lost. I consult the map. Hmmm. Looks like we are now in the
foothills of the Adirondack Mountains. Okay, guess we're on a scenic route. Turn here; this road will get
us over to Route 87.
The road follows the edge of Great
Sacandaga Lake. It is a beautiful sunny day, and the colors happen to
be peaking in this area. Eventually, we catch glimpses
of water to our right, glittering beyond the woods. Sunlight through
the trees makes golden splotches on a beautiful terracotta forest
floor. A little brook winds through the scene.
I start making gasping noises that Bob
correctly interprets as “OMG Honey Stop The Car.” I jump out and
scurry around taking pictures. I jump back in, thank him, and off we
go. Sixteen seconds later, I see another beautiful scene and start
hyperventilating again. Bob shows heroic patience as we repeat the
exercise numerous times.
In the end, my favorite photo from that
day is the first. It becomes the basis for my first edition of
letterpress block prints, “Lakeside Wood” (made in 2010, sold out in 2013).
(I flopped the composition so the
brightest part would be on the right, where your eye lands.)
January, 2015: I've just completed
three new block prints since October, and need a break from
printmaking. “Painting is blessedly direct and non-technical
compared to printmaking,” I say. “I'll be so fun and easy to do
that beautiful Sacandaga scene in oils,” I say.
It has been awhile since I
worked in this medium, and at the beginning, it is slow going. How
the ____do you do this again? After several days of doing and
undoing, wiping away and painting over, I am stuck. I take a break and start a different painting, "Stone Wall." Returning later, the little brook gets painted in, pointing in its original direction. But the lighting is moved so the picture is brightest on the right. I take a lot of
artistic license in order to create a simpler, less cluttered forest.
Best to not paint the photograph of the place, but the memory
of how it felt.
My favorite part is that sun-dappled
forest floor. It beckons you in. Go in and have a rest. Cool your
feet in the water, warm your shoulders in a spot of sun, gaze at the
sparkling lake, hear the gurgling brook and the breeze whispering in
the treetops...
For more info on "Lakeside Wood" oil on canvas, click here
The "Stone Wall" painting
Early August, 2014: It's the annual
family gathering at Primrose Hill. We are about ten to fifteen people, depending on the day,
plus dog. We hike, swim, play volleyball and soccer in the yard, work
on the house, cook, play cards, have bonfires. We cook on a circa
1930s gas stove, and eat together at a long table on the screen
porch. Dishwashing is a group activity, done in a big old porcelain
farm sink.
We don't have TV or internet; our cell phones don't work
at the house. Except for the microwave and the annual pilgrimage to
the Ben & Jerry's factory tour, we try to live like the old days.
Like how Grandma and Grandpa's family spent their summers here
seventy years ago, but with less work. Less work for all, except for
Handyman Bob, who delights in executing ambitious home improvement
projects. Grandma and Grandpa applaud from above.
“Dog” is a black Lab named Hooch: a
sweet, gentle, obedient soul. Hooch has been living the Suburban
Couch Potato life, and is overweight and sluggish. Besides loving his
company, we imported him in hopes that a little Primrose Hill living
will put some spring back into his step.
The first 25-minute walk down the dirt
lane to The View and back is almost too much for him. But within only
a few days, he can go longer, and even runs a little.
He sits out the soccer games but enjoys playing fetch. He's definitely looking livelier, and maybe even a little slimmer.
One day Hooch and I set off for a walk
in the woods. It's a perfect sunny summer day, not too hot or humid.
We venture across the old hayfield and try to follow the old path,
now barely discernible. This path used to be well-worn by Grandma and
Grandpa, who created, cleared and marked this path for a nice hike
through the woods. There were trail markers and even a couple of very
simple handmade benches, where they would rest in their later years.
Very little evidence remains, but I know the terrain, and I have a
destination.
On the way we pass a beautiful old
stone wall. There are stone walls all over the place around here,
made ages ago by farmers, I assume to mark the borders of their land
and keep the livestock from wandering off. But mostly we see them
alongside a road or edging a pasture. Finding one in the middle of
the woods is kind of magical, like archaeology or even time travel.
These woods were perhaps once a
farmer's pasture 150 years ago. And he collected these stones and
stacked them carefully, building this wall to extend along his entire
property. Maybe his wife and kids helped. It must have been a
monstrous job. Their handiwork is still here, and more beautiful than
ever, covered with velvety emerald-green moss and a streak of
sunlight.
On we go, following a downward slope,
to Grandma's favorite place: a bit of a clearing where a little
spring pops out of the ground and runs down the hill. In her 80s, she
had spent several summers laboriously landscaping this spring,
tidying it up, creating little waterfalls, and digging two pools. She
christened it “Teenybrook,” and would sit on a rock amid the
ferns and watch as deer would come have a drink.
With passing years and fallen brush,
it's not the tidy little oasis it used to be, but Hooch
knows what it's for.
He glances at me, has a long drink,
then lowers himself in for a rejuvenating soak in the mud.
Eventually we turn back, in what I
suppose is the general direction of home. Hooch is off the leash,
and wanders around happily sniffing and exploring, never straying too
far away. I realize we may be sort of lost, but it's heaven in here,
so who cares? We are definitely not on any path, but I take note of
the position of the sun, and figure we are probably heading more or
less back toward our lane.
In awhile we come to another stone
wall, slightly crumbled in one place. Probably a tree once fell on
it, knocking some stones off. The tree has long since decomposed.
The
woods beyond is made of mostly skinny young trees and glows
yellow-green in the light. A few rays of sun illuminate spots of
moss, and splash down on the leafy sienna ground. Dang, should've
packed a picnic. Wish we could stay in this spot all day.
Skinny young trees mean new woods, so
we must be nearly out of them. Hooch and I easily find our way home,
but my mind lingers on those glorious woods, and the pictures I took. Must make new art!
January 2015: I'm halfway into the
Lakeside Wood painting, and feeling stuck. Need to get away from it
and come back with fresh perspective. Better start another painting.
I can go back and forth between the two. If I learn something
new with one, I can use it with the other.
As with “Lakeside Wood,” I do not
copy the “Stone Wall” photograph. I change and simplify some
things. The light becomes more golden. I rebuild the wall slightly, using the picture of the first,
more intact stone wall, as a guide. The main thing to capture is that
glowing sunlight, filtering through the trees, and the happiness of
that hike with Hooch.
Epilogue: Hooch passed away in November
2014. We are grateful for all he gave us, and glad he got to be a
country dog for a little while.
For more info on "Stone Wall," click here
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