I traveled 3400 miles and fantasized about painting all the lovely vistas. I settled for photography and sometimes right out the window. From dry waves of grain to the tallest trees of the Redwoods, arched bridges over rivers, pebbles in a stream. My heart leapt at so many visual pleasures. I dreamt of being Maynards wife, a partner who relishes the details of a landscape, enough to work it out in paint till it's magnificence is caught. Second to painting is swimming in it. A book I read years ago - a couple who toured Europe collecting swimming holes, naked of coarse. So much to take in and so little time.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
What I did on my summer holiday.
I traveled 3400 miles and fantasized about painting all the lovely vistas. I settled for photography and sometimes right out the window. From dry waves of grain to the tallest trees of the Redwoods, arched bridges over rivers, pebbles in a stream. My heart leapt at so many visual pleasures. I dreamt of being Maynards wife, a partner who relishes the details of a landscape, enough to work it out in paint till it's magnificence is caught. Second to painting is swimming in it. A book I read years ago - a couple who toured Europe collecting swimming holes, naked of coarse. So much to take in and so little time.
