It's been a long time since I went outdoors to paint, but I have been thinking about it for quite awhile. Sometimes at odd moments, I think of the years I painted outside with Thelma and Betty Lou . I guess it's the season. I've written so many times of how much those times meant to me that I won't reiterate, but I am planning a book on the subject. I have compiled all of my Rockport paintings and put them in a special file on a book making site. I'm going to write about each painting, taking some of my old journal entries as text, as well as thoughts about them that I have now. I think it will be a good way to relive, re-examine, and organize my thoughts.
So today I packed up my stuff and went down to the bottom of the hill to paint what I saw looking back up the hill. I've done the same scene before with limited success. The one I did today is also far short of wonderful, but I am still pleased with it. I think it's pretty good for the first attempt in so long. Of course the whole experience is so different, so much less intense, than the past. I will never have that again. But I thought there might be some way of resurrecting some part of it. I'm not sure there is.