Ghosts of September

With the senescence of autumn, the landscape takes on a loneliness; a barrenness, despite the skeletal remains of plants and trees dotting the hillsides; a sense of melancholy.  The lush, noisy days of summer are gone.  A quiet settles over the land.  On frosty mornings, the solitude is almost palpable.  

My latest series of sepia-toned portraits in the landscape reflect that sorrow, that isolation, and the loss of something both rare and fine.

November's Child

The Distance From Me to You

The Leaning Tree

If Only

In the Changing Light 

I Remember

The formal gowns in these photos relate a sense of being all dressed up with nowhere to go or of the party being over, a sense of something that was but no longer exists.  The black shawl speaks of protection against the elements.  The gowns contrast in texture and context with the rustic backdrop, whether it be the fluffy heads of dead goldenrods and asters in the meadow or the log siding of my house.

Seasons change, time marches onward, people come and go from our lives.  Birthdays come (mine is next week); we grow older.  These photographs honor those inevitable changes and our ability to not only withstand them, but to persevere with grace and one's sense of self intact.

Happy November.  Happy dio de los muertos.

Until next time...


Black Umbrella

Black umbrellas have long been a favorite theme of mine in both paintings and photography.  The first time I saw the painting Paris Street; Rainy Day by Gustave Caillebotte I was mesmerized.  There is something about the way the light kisses the umbrellas in that painting that captivates me.  

I have always had an affinity for umbrellas anyway.  They embody the romance of a rainy day and seem to be among the most feminine of utilitarian objects, with their sensuous lines; fabric stretched tightly over sheltering ribs, like a corset; the perfect curve of the wooden handle, the elongated tip at the top pulling it all together.

This series of photographs pays homage to the umbrella, to its flirtation with the morning light, and the mystery created beneath its protective arms.

Lady with Black Umbrella I

Lady with Black Umbrella II

Lady with Black Umbrella III

Lady with Black Umbrella IV

The lake in which I am standing in these photographs further adds to the mystery, the whimsy, and the painterly quality of these images.  And the umbrella brings a new element to my Ladies of the Lake Series.  To me, this seems the perfect marriage of light and shadow, of depth and atmosphere, of the practical and the improbable.

Until next time...


Rainy Day Images

Rain fell softly, early that morning.  Mist spilled across the bluff top, rising from the fertile valley below, enveloping the tree canopy in a cloak of wonder.  The ancient bluffs barely took notice.  How many rain showers had they seen during the eons of their existence, gently wearing away their grey sandstone, layer after layer, a geological shedding of the skin? They stood stoically by as the drizzle fell, immune to its magic.  I, on the other hand, rejoiced.  

There is a certain enchantment in the air which I only feel during times of rain.  Perhaps it is the charge of electricity in the air that accompanies a lightening storm, when atmospheric nitrogen becomes available to plants, nourishing them with every flash of light .  Perhaps it is the way that rain is the great sustainer of life as we know it.  After a rain, everything is renewed.  Or perhaps it is the way the light is softer, lacking harsh pockets of sun and shadow that accompany the sunniest of days.  I feel a greater connection to both the rhythms of nature and to my inner world during a rain shower.  Some rainy days are an invitation to stay indoors, to indulge my contemplative side.  Other rainy days beckon me to come out to play.  This particular day was one of those.  





Leaning In


Until next time...



A Change in the Air

As one who lives way out in the country, I am much more deeply connected to the changing seasons than when I lived in town.  Although it is early August, the air already speaks of the coming autumn.  The nights have been cooler, the light more golden.  The meadow that comprises a large part of my yard, my own little wildlife habitat, is preparing itself for the dance of the goldenrods.  When these native plants come out to play, entire fields and hillsides rejoice.  It is the last hurrah before the blaze of autumn and the hush of winter, almost a season in itself.  

These photographs celebrate this slight change in the air as time marches forward and honor a moment of solitude in the natural world.

Until next time...