Frosted Gingerbread

"Frosted Gingerbread"

24" x 14"

Acrylic on a reclaimed cabinet door

It was January, and we were heading to Salt Lake City. It was snowing like hell as we drove up the hill to Hesperus, cars spinning like ballerinas in slow motion despite their cautious creeping. It was a white-knuckler, for sure. 

That was the worst of it. Eventually the road got better and the snow lightened up. By the time we crossed into Utah, our shoulders were less bunched, our breathing more calm, and I finally let go of the "oh shit" handle as we drove out of the back end of the storm that was moving east.

The clouds seemed to break suddenly, erupting in blue sky and silvery bright sunshine that heightened the contrast of the red rocks iced in a thick layer of snow. It looked like frosted gingerbread.

I guess I was missing the cooler temperatures when I began this painting over the summer just before we moved. It was sweltering in that hot box we called home. Looking for respite, I took myself back to that cold day in January.

Corn Maiden Moon

Corn Maiden Moon

Acrylic on an old cabinet door

14" X 10.5"

 

A showery day—late summer, creeping into fall—and I was headed home for the day. The sky was a cornucopia of cloud shapes: billowy towers, veils of purple and gray, and swathes of white, slate, and lavender—all layered across the deepening blue. One of the bands shifted and there was a brilliant pearl of a fat, full moon.  

I gasped and fumbled for my phone, hoping to snap a photo out the side window of the car. Of course, there was not one single red light to be had when I needed one, so at great peril and much scrabbling, one hand juggling my phone, the other steering the car, I managed to get a lopsided, blurry shot of the sky without crashing into anyone on the highway. Yes, art can be dangerous.

Can you guess why I called it Corn Maiden Moon?

Coming Soon: Art

Really! Moving has been consuming, but the studio is finally in workable condition.
Stay tuned!

A New Year’s Snow

 

A New Year's Snow

12" X 9"

Watercolor

Last year, we didn’t have a white Christmas. Instead, we had a white New Years. So, early that morning, having gone to bed well before midnight, off we went to explore our new home blanketed in snow. It was clear, cold, and very quiet. The smart folks were still at home snuggled up to a cup of coffee. The world was ours and it was beautiful: snow banners billowing off the La Plata peaks, showers of sparkle coming off the trees, and an intense blue sky emerging as the storm blew out. 

We felt the joy of a hopeful year ahead of us— filled with anticipation of change and good things to come—our unfolding move, finding our place in a new town, perhaps starting to build a home in the spring. We had no hint of the challenges we would face in the coming year. 

Come this December, it snowed and snowed, giving us the white Christmas we all hoped for. I watched the snow and worked on this painting—thinking about how we would say a resounding farewell to the trials of 2015 and pin our hearts to a new year with fresh hopes and dreams.