Organic growth

As yet untitled acrylic canvas 22" x 28"

Movement interests me. Color is intriguing. I like organic growth; it keeps me in the painting.

Again

Untitled View, acrylic/canvas/ 22 x 28 2005

I don't always have an answer. No sophisticated theory—the why of what I do. Sometimes it's just instinct placing colors, adding lines or shapes. No esoteric concept. Just a love of painting.

Carnival Nights

Carnival Acrylic/ canvas 22" x 28"

It rolls into town every summer. Ferris wheel and merry-go-round are still there but they've added Twisted Torture Death Ride and the behemoth Try-Not-To-Puke-Your-Guts-Out. Good for the cotton candy and hot dog concessionaires. Load up, empty, then reload. A night at the carnnival. Ya gotta love it!

From the past

West of Middlebury Toward Lake Champlain, acrylic/ canvas 36"x60"

An emotional attachment to the landscape of Vermont near Lake Champlain. Dairy farmland rolling toward the lake. Abruptly the Adirondacks rise beyond. Crisp, sharp, undaunted.

Stories

To revisit an image and reconstruct it with the language of words reinforces experience. Reading invigorates the imagination. I can't imagine a life without reading. And writing is, like painting, a struggle to organize and clarify.

I enjoy wiritng that presents new images—redefines and affords room for exploration.

Another hot night in the city

Red Nights, Acrylic on canvas 40 x 30

I'm sitting here enjoying a cool seabreeze remembering the hot and humid nights in the city. Sweaty, lustful nights. Maybe not all that bad.

Hot and humid

MINGUS - acrylic on canvas, 30" x 40"

From whence this came I know not but I've been remembering nights in Manhattan listening to good jazz and sponging energy. Been storing it for a while, I guess. Writers inspire me to paint. So, too, jazz musicians. I call this painting MINGUS.

What color is your day?

This red landscape says winter to me. Read "Synesthesia" by Kay Sexton, a UK writer with a brilliant aspect. "Synesthesia" was published in Lit Pot.

Another day

Gorgeous morning. Temperature has dropped twenty degrees. The humidity level is bearable and all of the dogs seem content.
The sun has breeched the horizon and billowing clouds out over the Atlantic are less ominous. Offshore winds drive them away.

Fresh coffee and a behemoth of a yacht, a helicopter secure on the stern landing pad, cruises offshore. Succulent seems appropriate for such a morning. The day will get busier. The drone of compressors cooling the freezers will mix with the racket of boats plying the harbor. Screeching tires will pierce the air. Maybe an ear-battering jack hammer will tear up another street. But for now it's just the chirping of songbirds. That's enough.

Dogtown Painting

An expressionist look at Gloucester's Dogtown. (Subtitled Tom Saunders in honor of a great writer.)