Buried

Beyond the vinyl siding lay the remarkable. Where planters don’t require satellites and crops are small enough to avoid the call of migrant workers. Dyed diesel is a myth, but my wood shingled roof has a fresh coat of paint infused with linseed oil.

The red jammers are full though the road curves to dreams of avalanche. I imagine they’re playing golf again not far from where I picnicked amid a ruptured flock of aspen. A forest is waiting.

I hear stories of the huckleberries falling off the bush before ripening. The hinterland looms within reach of the curious. Milk and honey live in legend. Brush and grouse and wolves live in here. - North

“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”
- Matsuo Basho

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

W.B. Yates

The Jesus Year

I’m halfway through my 33rd year. My old friend, Vin, calls it my Jesus year. While I'm not saying it compared to crucifixion; I must admit that sometimes… it has felt like an extra rough time. I’ll be home, in Montana, by the end of the month and my mind is already flush with questions of which direction I should attack the new batch of paintings that will inevitably follow. I’m interested in pushing my explorations of the human figure back to the forefront of my work. While I’ve never let a month pass-by without drawing or painting from life, I’ve been lax in allowing it to step forward from the landscape during these past six years of unending movement. When I look at art, I’m typically drawn to figurative works, it’s only natural that I should return to that vein, myself.

The last few sporadic posts have alluded to my interest in functional painting. The details of such a venture have been less than exact. I’m not precisely sure where I’m going with that idea – I suppose that one could call it my own little growth industry. Not unlike the two unfinished novels bouncing around my mind. – North