Sweet Little Highway

Sweet Little Highway (in progress), 4x4"

Sunday morning I was up early, haggard and nervy after a night of very little rest. (I have teenagers. Untroubled rest is a luxury.) Nevertheless, the car was packed and I was ready. I hit the drive-through for coffee, and then I hit the road.

Magic is in the air at such an hour (it wasn't really that early, but it felt early to me), when you are off on an adventure - and I was decidedly pursuing adventure. I'd been invited to the mountain retreat of a collector of my paintings. At one point, I glanced off the highway to my left and saw a painting: gray clouds, strip of aqua sky, red-brown trees, ocher meadow and umber soil. I remembered the layers, one, two, three, four, five. And I drove north.

The deal was, I'd spend five days all alone at the house on the mountain, painting. My host would choose one painting to keep in return for her hospitality. It's a great deal. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

The house was sumptuous and pristine; I determined to live in it with as little impact as possible. I didn't unpack any more than I needed to wear or to use at a time. In the kitchen, I used one cup, one spoon, one knife, cleaning and returning everything to its place as soon as I finished. I found I enjoyed living this way: rootlessly, almost stealthily. All of me was in my painting, walking, eating and sleeping. There was no internet service. I was unconnected. It felt wonderful.

What sort of people trust like this: to allow someone they know so little to live alone in their private sanctuary for five days? Trusting that I wouldn't steal, or set fires, or fall downstairs and sue them? Wonderful people.

My surroundings overawed me at first. I wasn't ready to paint the views of mountains ranging away layer on layer. Instead, the first day, I painted the scene from the highway: gray, aqua, brown, ocher, umber, a tiny glimpse.

What state is so rich in beautiful scenery, that a glance toward the side of the highway is a painting? My wonderful state of Maine.

I sat listening for a while, and heard breeze-stirred leaves, and occasional bird calls. That's all. The mountains changed continually with the weather and the movement of the earth beneath the sun. The morning after the first night, I took a walk. I got out my easel. I painted. The next day I walked again, and painted. That night I heard a wolf howl in the woods. The third day, I saw a moose perhaps a hundred feet in front of me. It moved so silently, and disappeared so quickly, I was astounded. Talk about stealthy. So I walked, and I painted - for five days.

On Friday morning, I packed the car early - truly early this time! - and drove back into my life. I hugged my kids (before they rushed off to their next social events) and kissed my amazingly supportive husband. I set up for my new class cycle, which begins Monday. That night I slept like a baby.

Art and life may seem to imitate each other at times, but really they are the same thing, I think. Either way it's all about perspective.

 

Yellow Trees (working title) (in progress) 18x18"