Shedding the Props of Painting

For the past four years as September approaches I anticipate my arrival at a singular spot on the Rhode Island coast. Each year my awe has been renewed by expansive striations of of land, ocean, sky; the yipping ruckus of coyotes in the brambles around the house; multitudes of deep violet hydrangea bushes; morning deer traveling the invisible thoroughfare that transverses our yard; wave bobbing in the ocean (without a wet suit) into October; the impeccable and the long-abandoned stone walls that surround the fields. I never tire of yelling out —Hey Girls!—every time I pass the free range chickens in the corner field we nicknamed Clucker Junction.

I have been lucky to come to a place where the sensuous experience is completely different from home. This seasonal change has been an unexpected gift to my creative life.

And if all the stimuli weren’t enough, for two glorious seasons here I painted in the ample, stripped down studio on the property. This city girl relished the morning barefoot commute over a dewy grass lawn.

Sadly, the studio experience has come to an end.  This year ongoing construction to convert the building into a small house relegated me to painting on the screened-in porch off the kitchen … at least for a week before the fall storms started. A bout of Covid and subsequent bike accident sidelined me for a couple more weeks. My painting discipline and decision making ability were severely challenged. I moped over the loss of the studio and worried that there wouldn’t be a place to work here. I painted half-heartedly at best and never really felt I had momentum.

Soon this year’s stay will be behind me. This year I go reflecting on the attachment I have developed over the years to the props and equipment of painting—a specific space, specific tools, must-have accessories.  In a world of change, flexibility remains a cornerstone of creativity. .