Sonoita Hillside. Oil on stretched canvas, 8x8, $75I am home, and it's spring, and there's joy for me in both of those statements. And yet, I find I already miss the power and the bulk and the colors of the Southwest.
Sure, there's color here, but it's spare, sprinkled through the spring landscape. The cherry trees and dogwoods showed their pretty, lacy, dancing clothes for a few days, and I nearly drove off the road, staring. But those colors are already gone. Forsythia bloomed and passed while I was traveling. Lilacs and azaleas have yet to blossom - and anyways, these colors all are transient.
What I find pulling at me now is the very earth out there in Arizona. The colors in the ground itself are all that any painter ever could want - and that's before you even think of sky or wheat or grasses or trees or flowers or mountains.
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