Winter on the Animas

Winter on the Animas
Acrylic on canvas
20" x 16"

I started this painting last summer. After working outside until the heat drove me in, the coolness of my basement studio called to me, as did the subject matter. I’d taken this photo late last winter when we were walking along the Animas River. I didn’t have much time that day, so I barely blocked out the shapes before I had to stop. The canvas sat cold and forlorn in the studio until I picked it up the other day and decided it was worth working on again.

Our river has its own personality that changes with the seasons. In the spring, when the snow melts, it’s a roiling torrent the shade of a latte. As the melt wanes, shades of green come back to it and eventually some blue. By fall, it is a mélange of green and gold, splashes of vibrant yellow and orange where it reflects the fall colors and carries leaves south to New Mexico. In winter, the water transforms to an inky blue-black as the surrounding landscape fades to shades of blue and gray; the branches of the shrubs and trees spare and bare bones along the banks.

This snowy week off has given me plenty of studio time—I've already started another painting, from a photo I took this past fall as we were driving through a section of Capitol Reef on the way to Boulder, Utah...stay tuned.

Fall Flowers

Fall Flowers

Acrylic on canvas

12" x 12" 

 

After the most gorgeous spring ever (even with the June 24^th frost that killed off half the garden), we had a long, dry summer with very little rain. Despite the challenges, we had several garden stars. Two surprises: the gaillardia and cosmos started from seed and lovingly transplanted just before the June frost that somehow survived. The cosmos struggled, yet suddenly shot up in late summer, and by September, towered over the rest of the garden at more than 6 feet tall. The gaillardia became huge and bloomed and bloomed and bloomed. The two were the highlight of the patio garden and were the last remaining signs of summer as the rest of the garden waned. It seemed they would go on forever.

I cut a few of each, and put them into a vase on the dining room table. They were spectacular in the morning sun. Then, I left for a week on a work trip. While I was gone, Jack Frost paid us a serious visit, and I returned to hunched-over stalks with withered blossoms. The vase on the table was still there with the last blooms of summer, which held on for another day or two before their petals dropped and their heads bowed to the coming winter.   

Spud Lake

Spud Lake
Acrylic on Canvas
20″ x 16″

It was a classically beautiful summer day when we packed up our fishing gear and a lunch and hiked out to Spud Lake. Its true name, Potato Lake, was chosen for the prominent ridge along the northwest shore that looks like the gods jammed a giant tater into the earth at an angle.

We nibbled on our lunch and then broke out our fishing poles, flicking flies onto the still surface. However, the fish weren’t interested in what we had to offer, which is why they call it fishing, rather than catching. That didn’t matter…it gave us a chance to practice our casts and enjoy our delightful surroundings for an hour or two. 

As easy as the hike was, the painting was, in contrast, a challenge. I’ve been working on this piece off and on for several months and even broke my rule about not starting something new until I’ve completed what I’ve started. It’s always fun to start something new, while sometimes finishing a piece can be a painful process—that’s where “suffering for your art” comes into the picture.