Next Year, Rambling Rose
It has been a while since I have taken space to share what is happening in my studio this summer. May, June and July are so full of events that for a couple months, this little newsletter is mainly centered around detailling where you can find me next. It’s fun knowing I’m going to see so many of you in person but to be honest, I would much rather write about creative projects and what has been inspiring my paintings these days…
Most of you know that I paint alongside the seasons. I’m not one to dream about summer lakescapes in January or to start painting golden birch leaves in July. I think one of the most beautiful things about living in a state where we experience such a drastic variance between seasons is the variance itself, the subtle changes that arise week by week and the ability we have as humans to be present with them.
In June I painted the Lupine that fill our field with their fresh and peppery scent each year, and the Buttercups and Hawkweed that fill in the spaces those purple flutes haven’t covered. In July, I admired our rambling rose bush in desperately need of a trellis — currently, she is climbing my lilacs — and for just a short week, the Mock Orange bush outside my studio was in bloom and the scent was absolutely intoxicating.
In past years, during the summer months, my focus is often on lakes and rivers. Though, I love painting them, I felt so enchanted by the blooms beckoning me for walks each day that I wanted to recreate the magic I was experiencing as I traipsed among them.
Now, as I find myself in August, hazy skies, pink moons, and red suns are calling. I have spent the last few days studying the glow of a burnt orange sunset and the way she dances through the white pines to the west at the end of the day.
Yesterday marked our halfway point between the Summer Solstice and the Autumnal Equinox. I always feel a little like mourning the flowers at this time of year. The pretty pinks and purples have come and gone and already I see Goldenrod poking her shining head out of the field.
Seasons have taught me always to embrace what is, that there is a time for all things to bloom and to wither, and there is always something new on the horizon. When life is unpredictable, there is safety in nature’s rhythms. I can always count on the Fireweed to remind me of dwindling warm days in August, for the Tamaracks to blaze in fall, and I know I’ll see the rambling rose again, in a new season for us both.