Mud Season

“Mud Season,” oil on linen panel, 12×16

The view from our front door is so familiar to me, I sometimes forget how remarkable it is. That’s why I think it’s important to paint it as often as possible.

The muscular shapes of the mountain change and shift so often with the light, sometimes we gasp when we come outside, thinking we’ll just glance at it, but we’re bowled over by its beauty. We’re being allowed to see this one more time.

It doesn’t matter that the houses we can see from our door are humble cement block dwellings, trailers, and modular homes. We know, secretly, inside, each of those homes feels it is made of adobe. I will paint them as I know them, not how they really are.

In early spring, before the grass has committed itself to come back in all its green force, we have the colors of winter holding space for what is to come.

Even if we say we hate the mud and all the problems it creates, we know, behind it are the beautiful last days of spring and the endless summer is not far behind.