In Northern New Mexico, autumn is a season that stirs melancholy and joy because it is a sharp reminder of the season to come, but it still bears the scent of summer on its skin.
This year, the bittersweetness is cut with an additional ration of foreboding for the future because the virus has not really receded, and our long isolation will now stretch far into the next year, it seems.
No matter how far we build up our woodpile, this winter might end up being the coldest winter on record but I am not talking about temperature. I’m talking about death in numbers, not just from the virus and starvation but all those things we read about in our Boomer sci-fi books.
To counter all this bad news, I’ve been painting. A lot. I’ve been trying to understand the concepts of opposites and how they depend upon each other so much to be what they are. Hot, cold; kind, mean; opaque, and transparent.
The resulting paintings are attempting to come to grips with the warm and hot colors and how they sit next to the cold, thick, and non-see-through.