There is a meadow near my house that I visit often, usually a couple times a week. I have started to refer to it as “My Meadow” even though I know it does not belong to me, but rather, I belong to it. It is my favorite spot, maybe in the entire world. When I first visited a few years ago it felt like an exciting discovery, a good place to take Tulip for a walk. But through the seasons, through the many days visiting, it has grown to feel like home. In many ways it is so familiar, and still different every time I visit. They say you never step in the same river twice, and that holds true for the meadow. Every day I visit, a new batch of flowers have bloomed, I hear a new bird sing, the sun sits a little differently in the sky. And it does not matter how many times I walk the same route, I will never tire of my meadow.
In the meadow I watch the seasons change, watch the meadow fill with snow, watch the snow melt and create a soggy ground that squishes beneath my feet. I watch the grass grow, then the flowers, first the mule's ears bloom, then the lupine, and then the paint brush almost neon in its orange hue. Right now the meadow is filled with these tiny white flowers.
The light filters through the trees revealing sun spots that illuminate new plants, new spaces depending on the time of day I visit. It is a space that holds me like I have never been held before. I often speak to the meadow, to the trees, to the flowers and grasses, telling them how much I love them, and I hear them tell me they love me back. And as I walk down the trail my mind repeats “This is so good, this is so good, this is so good” over and over again. I have cried many tears of joy in this meadow, many tears of sadness, many tears of awe. I often write poems about this meadow, create art inspired by its beauty. “Blanket of Dew” is such an artwork. Inspired by the way that the meadow holds light, and the way it holds me. Like a quilt of color it offers comfort and warmth, even in the winter. Its open sky allows the sun to shine down on me. The meadow I am sure was once full of trees, burned years ago in a fire. It's a symbol of resilience, of transformation, of the creation that inevitably sprouts from destruction.
Watercolor and Handmade Paper
16” × 20”
There is a meadow near my house that I visit often, usually a couple times a week. I have started to refer to it as “My Meadow” even though I know it does not belong to me, but rather, I belong to it. It is my favorite spot, maybe in the entire world. When I first visited a few years ago it felt like an exciting discovery, a good place to take Tulip for a walk. But through the seasons, through the many days visiting, it has grown to feel like home. In many ways it is so familiar, and still different every time I visit. They say you never step in the same river twice, and that holds true for the meadow. Every day I visit, a new batch of flowers have bloomed, I hear a new bird sing, the sun sits a little differently in the sky. And it does not matter how many times I walk the same route, I will never tire of my meadow.
In the meadow I watch the seasons change, watch the meadow fill with snow, watch the snow melt and create a soggy ground that squishes beneath my feet. I watch the grass grow, then the flowers, first the mule's ears bloom, then the lupine, and then the paint brush almost neon in its orange hue. Right now the meadow is filled with these tiny white flowers.
The light filters through the trees revealing sun spots that illuminate new plants, new spaces depending on the time of day I visit. It is a space that holds me like I have never been held before. I often speak to the meadow, to the trees, to the flowers and grasses, telling them how much I love them, and I hear them tell me they love me back. And as I walk down the trail my mind repeats “This is so good, this is so good, this is so good” over and over again. I have cried many tears of joy in this meadow, many tears of sadness, many tears of awe. I often write poems about this meadow, create art inspired by its beauty. “Blanket of Dew” is such an artwork. Inspired by the way that the meadow holds light, and the way it holds me. Like a quilt of color it offers comfort and warmth, even in the winter. Its open sky allows the sun to shine down on me. The meadow I am sure was once full of trees, burned years ago in a fire. It's a symbol of resilience, of transformation, of the creation that inevitably sprouts from destruction.
Watercolor and Handmade Paper
16” × 20”
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