Morning Dawning on the Tallulah

"Morning Dawning on the Tallulah"    16" x 12"    Oil on Canvas
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Mornings are getting my attention lately.  This painting is another winter's morning along the Tallulah River.  I've painted this area of the Tallulah many times, each with a different spirit than the others.

Some of the most magical times I've experienced here have been during the early morning hours, whether because of the light or the season or after a rain or just the quietude that allows our souls to be still.  And when you think about it, mornings are among our strongest metaphors.

Another Early Morning Light

"Another Early Morning Light"   16" x 20"   Oil on Canvas
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Last week as I was pouring my first cup of coffee, I looked out my kitchen window and saw this.  Rain clouds were clearing out as the sun was coming up and the resulting light in my winter woods was breath-taking.  Still in my PJs and postponing that cup of coffee, I grabbed my camera, went out on my deck and began shooting.

Even though I'm beginning to yearn for the greens of springtime, I'm still discovering subtle purples, pinks and oranges in the winter grays that I suspect I'm going to miss when the spring greens actually arrive.  But these fleeting moments remind me of the importance of soaking it all in as it happens.

Early Morning on Windridge

"Early Morning on Windridge"  16" x 20"    Oil on Canvas
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Sometimes the skies here are incredible.  Early Monday morning on my drive into town, I could hardly keep my eyes on the road.  It was about an hour after sunrise and had been raining the night before.  I was so captured by what was going on, I went back home, got my camera and holding it in my right hand as I was steering with the left, I pointed it through the windshield and snapped continuously for four miles and back again.  This scene was just  yards from my driveway looking south on my road, Windridge.

I got lucky.  There's never much traffic on the way to town, but at that time of morning, most of the working folks were already gone and the not many others had begun to stir around yet.  I had the road, the skies and four miles of landscape to myself.  Sometimes things just go your way.

This painting is most likely be beginning of an emerging theme about skies and the landscape I see on my way to town.

Quiet January

"Quiet January"     12" x 18"    Oil on Canvas
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In these north Georgia hills in January, there's no predicting the temperatures or weather.  We'll be outside without jackets one day and bundled up in our winter coats, scarves and gloves the next.  We might have enough snow to bring the entire world to a halt or we might not see a flake all winter.  We make grand plans at our own risks.  But there are a few places in January that most likely will be cold no matter what the temperatures are a few miles downhill.  The Tallulah River is one of those places.  This little painting is done on one of the colder days when other than having to pull out our winter wraps several times, we've not yet seen any snow.

One thing I love about the rivers here is that if you don't stay in the moment, you're likely to miss something.  During these moments, the sun was fully lit one moment, then partially blocked by clouds the next.  I happened to catch my moment at a time when the on a pinpoint of sun was breaking through.

New Book: In Praise of Mountain Waters

Announcing my new book, In Praise of Mountain Waters

Available at Amazon.com

And Happy New Year!

A Wish for Peace

No painting this week, rather a wish for peace and joy to all people everywhere.

A Capella

"A Capella"   16" x 12"   Oil on Canvas

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The point of view is pretty much the same as "Winter's Birth," located just to the left of "Winter Morning on the Tallulah."  This section of the Tallulah has always been my favorite.  Here the river is quiet and serene as it takes a u-turn towards another direction.  And this tree double tree stops me every time I go to the river.  Perhaps I'm caught by its duality:  two distinct trunks growing from the same root system, singing trio with the river, A Capella.

Slight Delay

This week's painting will be a day late.  That's how it goes during the Christmas season.
    Dianne

Winter Morning on Tallulah Road

"Winter Morning on Tallulah Road"     16" x 12"   Oil on Canvas

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Recently I said to a friend, "I'm actually looking forward to winter."  He did a double take.  And I won't stake my life on that attitude lasting until springtime, but the colors I'm seeing in the winter grays are capturing my attention.  Winter as a metaphor suggests cold, gray and scant of life, but this winter I'm seeing a new beginning.  There is an openness that makes the stars visible at night, that lets me see the deer grazing in the deepest parts of my woods--things that are hidden when summer's foliage is in play.

This week's painting is a section of the Tallulah road from a photo shoot I did last January. It was early in the morning at a time when clouds were taking turns diffusing the sunlight.  Shadows across the road were alternating between disappearing and appearing again.  At times when they were clearly defined, the greens of the mountain laurel and rhododendron sparkled and the grays in the woods reflected subtle reds, purples and blues.

And it was so cold ice cycles were hanging from rocks in areas blocked from the sunlight.  But I was so intent on capturing what the light was doing to those grays, I didn't notice my freezing fingers until I was back in the car.

Winter's Birth

"Winter's Birth"    8" x 10"   Oil on Board
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For the first time in ages, I am excited about the grays of winter.  From the time the sun comes up until it sets in the evening, the colors I'm seeing in my leaf-bare woods are nothing short of exhilarating.

This little painting is taken from one of my favorite spots on the Tallulah River where the river takes an S-curve, almost as if it's circling back.  It's one of the few places where the waters are quiet.  At this time of year all the summer's foliage has gone, leaving only scant spots of green from the pines, firs, laurel and rhododendrun.  This absence of greens allows the colors among the grays to become the stars.  Looking more closely and without prejudice, you can see purples, blues, yellows, oranges, reds and yes, greens.

Think about it.  We have a communal notion that grays are drab and depressing.  But isn't that a prejudice that prevents us from seeing all the colors inherent in those grays?  It all makes me wonder how much I have deprived myself from experiencing just because I approached things from an opinion rather than an open mind.