On the Reservoir After the Snow
Oil on canvas, 12x36
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The snow comes in quiet and soft this time, a whisper of a storm dancing in overnight, touching the tips of the trees, barely covering the winter-hard earth, marking the branches with a delicate line.
In the morning, the wind puffs up cold and hard, and chases the storm away. I find myself at the edge of the reservoir, reveling in the gorgeous, clear light that follows the snow.
My canvas is large and awkward, a sail in the wind, and it's far too cold to use my clamp system. So I tape the canvas to the easel, hang my bag from the easel's legs, and set to painting.
Before I'm finished, I'm too cold to go on, but I know where I am going with the painting, and I pack it up to finish at home.
I love the way the light spills over the near trees at the left-hand edge, and the way the sky moves from white to blue. I love the brave, scrawny trees that grow along the reservoir's edge, and the way the snow dusts it all.
The rest of the day, I'm cold, chilled to the bone by my hours in the wind. But it's a good feeling, and I'd do it again, any day, to make a painting like this one.