February 21st, 2016
Lake of the Woods
Painted in Gloucester, MA
Oil on Canvas, 16 x 20 in
I went to Essex to paint today, and according to my phone I walked 1.35 miles with my 30lb paint bag, easel and palette box and found not one thing that was strong enough to pull me out of a storm cloud in my head. This time of year, when there is no snow, is my least favorite time to paint. I don’t like the colors of all the masses of naked deciduous trees huddled against one another in the cold, the pale dead grass, the dirt and sand every where and even the cedars a strange burntout orange-green. The problem with being a painter, or perhaps the problem with being me, is that whatever I am feeling inside is often all I see outside. I have been able to overcome this sort of mood at other times by focusing on the light – because no matter how dreary and dead the husks of exhausted vegetation appear, one stray shaft of light in the right place or moment can make everything come to an almost beatific life. I didn’t find it today outside. So I made my way home in frustration. I made myself paint anyway, choosing a favorite subject (doubly, 1.water 2.Lake of the Woods) and Cracked ON until it was done. Tomorrow when my fog has cleared I might try to straighten the wobbly horizon but in the meantime, it’s a good example of what I’m starting to think of as expressive impressionism, where what I’m looking at is both a reflection of the place and the emotional state of the person painting it at that moment in time.
