Fields and Fog

Fields and Fog
Oil on canvas, 12x36
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Fields and Fog, detail

It seems to me that there was more fog when I was growing up. Sure there was, figuratively - but I mean really and truly - in the weather sense of things. Maybe that's just my admittedly foggy memory - but now, it seems there's fog only on rare autumn mornings, when the fog is over the rivers, the night's cool dreams meeting the morning's promise of heat.

When I was a kid, we had whole days of fog. Whole weeks, it seems, even. The fog would roll in off the water and blanket the area, and it was a regular thing, as regular as sunny mornings or rainy ones. 

I remember living in Idaho and longing for the fog. Longing for days of rain, too. Longing for those gray New England stretches that of course, as a kid, I couldn't stand. Spend a year in a place where it's always sunny, and you'd be surprised what weather you'd yearn for. 

At any rate, I had a great time painting the wavy, curling swells of fog and grass in this painting. I feel like I've been freed - and I didn't even know I was locked up.