We have been in the Pocono Mountains of northeast Pennsylvania for one week, after a successful opening at Agora Gallery in NYC last Thursday. The creeks and rivers here were a complete surprise for a life-long westerner, as I was anticipating something on the order of tamer waters, quiet riffles and shallow pools. These waterways speak with authority in the voice . . . big stone laden. dramatic cataracs everywhere, gorgeous light from now fading fall colors catching reflections off the banks of oak trees that give the water a rich chocolate color mixed with electric blues and greens of every hue in sinuous patterns, just before water plunges into its next downward level.
I learn more about painting for 2 hours at a creek, than can ever be explained. For me, it's simply enough to join this rhythm of water, sound, light, color and explore the anatomy of time and place along these creeks. I often think of the futility, trying to paint the whole motion, but still do it anyway.
The 2 paintings here are works-in-progress from Bushkill and Cranberry Creeks, just north of where we were camped. The very names suggest pure poetry that probably had something to do with ideologies from the late 17th century when they were named by colonists, although I'm sure the native Americans here had an even better vocabulary for names . . . which is still here, speaking loud and clear for all who are willing to listen and see.