Gleaning

Back in Rochester, back to my studio. Seven hours of travel brings me back to my painting studio. It is a gift of my sabbatical—a new home, a new place to create.

Compared to my home or office it is completely different as if belonging to another person. No luxuries, sparse, concentrated, no large monitors, or ringing phones, a space for one.

Looking out one of my studio windows.

From Rochester's prime days—they just don't design backs of buildings the way the used to.

My favorite view.

It is located far from my beloved forest and mountains in the heart of a mid-western city not quite to its Rennaissance. Sitting above an art gallery and lying in the shadow of an old cathedral, it should not be surprising that it is where my heart soars and my soul becomes paint. Here my deepest spirit rises above my daily concerns and sings "home".

The completed painting from my last visit. I need 4 more small canvases for the next in this series.

The painting I'm working on today is not what I was planning. I was about to start a new "pixelated" tree portrait only to discover I'd left many of my small canvasses in Rochester. Off to the art supply store I must go but time is precious.

Other images dance in my head—the beauty of my drives to and fro. Last night driving in and then again this morning, the light of the setting and rising sun, the moon, and of Jupiter were magical. The sky had an unnatural cast of cerulean blue and the earth ablaze in gold. This morning a gift on the gritty side walk—a single feather and in my bag, this poem:

This morning's gift.

Gleaning

"Winnowing fear,

restless, feral winds

surge in my mind,
shifting directions,

gathering force.

I mistake it all 
for chaff —
husks of failure
and deprecation. 

But this wind resounds

from the ancient world
and release has always
been gleaned
from grains of doubt."

—Nancy Compton Williams 

New start "The Wind Resounds—Leaving Addison".

Like a spring garden, the under-painting always brings me joy.