I Cede

Like an angler that returns to his favorite spot,I will always hew to the reliable pages of the sketchbook when inspiration is scant .

Days of Rendering

Starting to grow more at ease in a new work area.Outside,the winter tears along and there are sporadic taps on the roof and the walk as the remaining pecans are shaken from the limbs. I hope to get outside with a sketchbook when this cold front breaks . I was startled when running through the wood yesterday by a coyote .

Salt and Light

 Still getting matters in order, was able to map out an idea for this panel,and hope to get cracking in the morning.Slowly adjusting to another time zone and the light of a very different sky .

Somewhere South

Hurdled through the carved hillside of Virginia and Tennesee , miles of fence and field,the truck stops and weigh stations,the mobile homes of Arkansas,and crossing the border under the staggering colors of the vast Texas skyline .I arrive and begin to unpack in what appears will be home and studio for the next few years .

A pervasive sense of optimism in the transition - a new region,new customs,new challenges,and for the time being,the solitude to compose.

Man and Land

In December , I will be making a major regional shift , leaving behind the familiarity (and comforts ? ) of the Mid - Atlantic for an undefined period in the south . I will be very curious about the impact this might have on both visual and musical work . Will there be  inspiration among new people and new terrain ? Will new surroundings sever thematic currents and stir in other directions ?

The Periphery of Solace

My alluring piano . A slow Sunday is never complete without an hour's interlude .There are panels to complete , blocks to be cut , but I am always diverted . Now back to some mill grinding , with renewed vigor .

Not Dark Yet

If there is a distinct day that divides the seasons , the first of November seems to be that day for me . . . Work is slowing , self - questioning in approach ,  (exhausting an idea or more to be done . . . ? ) a momentary pause before the next lift . Shorter days , less hours of sun . But it's not dark yet . . .

A Different Hue

  Morning. 6:37 am , and I am the waterfront's sole occupant . The cold and steady drizzle has likely frightened away most of the normally intrepid day-greeters . The water is the color of the day old puddings you used to see behind the glass in London take-away shops .

 But should the sun come into view , the water turns a different hue ...

A recent panel , from "The Deserters"  . . .                                                        

Coming Near

Like a boat approaching the sound after a long journey , on a long river ....

Lord I feel it ....

A recent panel from "The Deserters " .

The Arrow Moves

After many years of city living I recognize my tendency , however vigilant , to have my senses deadened by the familiar . Perhaps it is the surroundings of concrete and automobiles , the inevitable urban decay , or perhaps it is simply due to an accelerated pace of living . I am trying to train my mind to seek and observe what I may be missing . To uncover something new in the midst of what has grown unremarkable . . .

Mind in Exile

The onslaught of subtle autumn sounding , rendering the natural results .

Hiraeth

A few days of subdued summer , the beginning of September , and you might somehow forgive one for allowing a wistful nostalgia to permeate the mind . The Welsh have a word for it , Hiraeth , which the English can offer only a rough and pale translation - a longing and yearning for home .

Yet another (detail ) from a piece for The Deserters . . .