Grey tree frogs singing: my enduring memory
of fading days and summer evenings while in residence. I was artist-in-residence at Weir Farm National Historic Site in Connecticut for
the turning of spring, when everything burst in optimistic green. The trees
exuded leaves that grew darker daily.
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| The Pond Path, Weir Farm |
I live in an urban environment,
being in rural Connecticut was both challenging and a reminder of what is
really important: the sun, the rain, trees and wild plants creating chaos and
disorder. There is something incredibly special about waking early and walking
out where the deer have just left their marks, becoming aware that the
landscape around me is shared, the rotund groundhog owns it as much as I do.
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| the pond at Weir Farm |
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| Studio Weir Farm National Historic Site |
It felt like a bucolic rural idyll of
deepest greenness. Of course there were the mosquitos and deer ticks, my own difficulties
adjusting to life without the city, the huge MacMansions around me posing as
cottages- the park is a little island surrounded by seriously expensive real
estate. Being a temporary part of a national park is a privileged position. The
park was my own out-of-hours and I had the feeling of being in a museum with no
guards. I had three weeks of constant drawing while leaving the preoccupations
of home: my art focus sharpened and I felt new again.
