Along with my dogged perseverance and determination, there are sweet perks to this genre. One is being outdoors and becoming very cognizant of surrounding sounds and movement. Rustling woods behind me (always gets my attention), tones of bird calls and the light whisper of a breeze in the grasses. I go out alone - a gift I give myself.
|Set up in a cornfield. It has since been plowed under.|
|Spook Hollow Road, oil on panel, 8"x10" plein air.|
|Baker Farm, oil on panel, 8"x10", plein air|
|Dairy Farm, oil on panel, 8"x10", plein air.|
Pondering all this, a hawk flew overhead with two crows in angry pursuit. As one crow dive bombed the hawk, the hawk spun a complete 360 to thwart the antagonist. Was this some type of metaphor for this disappearing aspect of American life?
I'm no philosopher,