Gray morning sky. Eight degrees. A frozen golden mist heavily rambled along the hills. Bare tree limbs festively decorated in icy sparkles…
I stretched my Yaktrax micro spikes over my bold yellow Saucony running shoes knowing the going would be sporty. I navigated my snowy way down the drive. Carefully dodging thick ice patches that would not be particularly kind to this aging body….
Once I reached the road, I scanned the pavement and decided the Yaks would be more of an annoyance than a help so, I tossed them off to the side. Deciding to pick them up on my way back home. My way back home. Feeling a freedom that I had sorely missed as I took those first few steps even as I struggled to rededicate to the sport I love…
No ease of passage just hard work to rebuild. I was ok with that as hard work has never been a deterrent. I was approaching an open field when I noticed that my toes and thumbs were already complaining about the weather. The wind was calm fortunately. An open field in Vermont during winter is a humbling experience as one is required to battle forward while pushing a wall of wind.
Distracted by an interruption in the field of snow. A display resembling a Jackson Pollock abstract painting captured my attention. Twists and swirls. Large, elongated loops cutting through the pristine white. Imprinted by hooves courtesy of a frantic deer.? The chase of a coyote? The elegance of the design was simple and pure…
I continued and shifted my thoughts to the upcoming year. Mentally planning my running and art goals for 2026 while I trotted along. A few walk breaks were planned and to be expected. I needed to build. To rebuild what I have lost may not ever happen. What I manage now will look very different than what I once knew as running but none the less I am determined to try.
Taking my artwork in different directions has always been important to me and I suspect will continue in 2026 as well. A subject matter needs to be explored time and time again. I obsess in wanting to understand more about a subject. To bring a composition somewhere new and unexpected.
To that point I have an increasingly growing inventory of birch tree paintings that I would like to exhibit together. Wanting to share my vision of what it feels like to be surrounded by birch trees in the woods. Albeit my interpretations are bright and contemporary not representational. It is the wonder and magic I want the viewer to experience…
I have been obsessed with painting bold magical images of Vermont birch trees since I was sitting on a small dock at my neighbor and dear friend’s pond. Lining the pond and in a cluster of trees stands some gorgeous white birches. I point them out to her every time we pass them just in case she has forgotten. She doesn’t and never would…
Years ago, my nephew and his family chose to hang my first birch tree painting in their lovely home. The painting displayed substantial birches with vibrant abstract shapes to reinforce the strength of the composition. That painting was one of my first successful pieces where I employed abstract shapes to describe something natural…
It has been many years since I have painted birch trees except for the odd birch to compliment a Vermont inspired landscape. I have wanted to feature birches in varying stages and inspirations. Large compositions that display the power of resilience. New beginnings too…
I began this recent series by painting a single birch that resides behind our house. When we first moved in it was quite spindly yet over the years it has battled many a storm and tall it has grown. A house design and renovation accounted for this birch and we diverted our plans accordingly…
Over the past many months, I have hiked with my dear friend through the hills behind our homes. We stop on pitchy inclines for a moment to catch our breath. Recount a poignant moment in a story we choose to tell. Share a giggle. Shed a tear. Simply look around. The views from our journey leave us both breathless…
Sunlight streaming through the trees highlighting the forest floor. Light bouncing off a cluster of birches. Opulent as pearls. Birches bending and peeling. White birches. Silver birches. Golden leaves dancing. Our path cluttered by a fallen birch crumbled by a storm it could not weather. We clear the path respectfully…
“I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree~ And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, but dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.”—Robert Frost
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