Cherry Tomatoes on the Vine

 

Cherry Tomatoes On the Vine

6 in. x 6 in., acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

$100 unframed (no frame needed)

I enjoyed this dynamic still life using the reference from Instagram's #foodpaintchallenge by Dennis Pfeil.  I pushed the color of the backdrop toward a cool green-blue so I could get a nice complementary sizzle from the red-orange cherry tomatoes.  This increases the perceived intensity of color interplay, which I like very much, and seems effective here.  A particular favorite area for me was pulling the half-dried, curled and gnarled tomato leaves on each little tomato. With all the roundness of the fruit, it felt good to lay in some sharp corners and angles in the dark green vine and leaf tendrils.  I hope you like it!

Reference photo for this piece courtesy Dennis Pfeil, Instagram: @dennispfeil.art

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One-Pie Squash (Study)

One-Pie Squash (Study)

6 in. x 6 in., acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

NFS (Small study for a planned larger painting)

This is indeed, as a friend put it, my childhood in a painting.  Or certainly part of it.  One-Pie began in New England, in the area called Winslows Falls in Waldoboro, Maine as Medomak Canning Company.  They became One-Pie Canning Company and used to pack their squash and pumpkin from their facility in West Paris, Maine. Alas, some outfit in Illinois (Illinois... really???) now cooks and packs their pumpkin (unsure about the squash... and YES, squash pie is DIFFERENT than pumpkin) but it's still distributed from West Paris, Maine. At least that's something. If you're a New Englander, it's One-Pie, baby.

This little study is a first-run before committing to a larger, more precise painting. 

 

Simplicity

 

Simplicity

6 in. x 6 in., acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

$100 unframed (no frame needed)

This was a fun little still life with clean lines, distinct shapes and complementary colors. Simplicity seemed to best describe the feel of this one.  This could be a simple lunch on a linen napkin to go with a bit of sharp cheddar.  Or perhaps if I'd added a paring knife, this could be a test specimen of a old heirloom apple variety from a successful orchard graft, sliced and ready to be sampled.  Whatever memory or feeling this one gives to you, simplicity feels right.

Reference photo for this piece courtesy Sarah Sedwick, Instagram: @sedwickstudio

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Provision

Provision

8 in. x 10 in., acrylic and gold metallic on Masonite panel

Prints of this piece are available at my online print shop:

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/shawne/

(Original not yet priced)

In 1 Kings 17:1-6, Elijah delivers his prophetic word to King Ahab of a multi-year drought on the land in response to his propagation of idolatry and wickedness.  God tells him to go to a desolate ravine by a brook whose Hebrew name, Kerith, means "cut off." Not only was Israel being cut off from God's blessing, but Elijah would be cut off, so to speak, from being found. God was protecting him, hiding him there beside a fresh water source, telling him He would supply his need for sustenance by sending ravens to bring him bread and meat, not once, but twice daily.  Jewish law classifies ravens as ritually unclean, unsuitable to eat, being scavengers, whose diet consists largely of carrion: dead things. Everything about them smacked of death: if you saw a cluster of ravens circling, you'd be right to think something dead or dying was nearby. Ravens usually feed right where they find their meat, and regurgitate their carrion meals from their own mouths at the nest to feed their young. They don't tend to bring whole pieces of fresh meat anywhere. Yet, God called on them to nourish Elijah with fresh meat and bread.  Daily.  Without fail.  We're not even told for how long.  But it would be for a good while.

And they did.  

And where did they get the bread? Daily bread?

The same God who provided daily manna to His people in the wilderness after the exodus from Egypt reprised His provisional performance through unclean death-birds to provide for Elijah after sending him to bring a message of not peace, but a sword, to Israel.  

Like Elijah's provision-carrying ravens, the raven in this piece, Provision, carries also. Here, rather than physical food, it's carrying a thorny branch, a symbol of Jesus Christ. Christ, who is our spiritual food, our daily bread, was torn for us on the cross, tortured with the accursed thorns and willingly embraced the death we deserve. 2nd Corinthians 5:21 says that "God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God." And in Galatians 3:6, we are told plainly that, "Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.'" In doing so, He became like the raven, an unclean thing.  He who was life became death for us; He who was clean became unclean for our sake to provide for us the Bread of Life, Himself, so that we may have life. 

We might read 1 Kings 17: 1-6 and see the lesson of God providing for the bodily needs of Elijah, and by extension, us, through unlikely and often less-than-holy sources (and certainly, that'll preach, as they say). But look more closely at this supernaturalist painting, at this Old Testament story, and let it preach deeper.  See the hiding of the life of Elijah in a desolate place of death, see that which is reckoned as unclean being his constant companion, accomplishing his deliverance, supplying his total sustenance, his daily bread. His provision.

 

Lemons on Blue

Lemons on Blue

6 in. x 6 in., acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

$100 unframed (no frame needed)

Another little still life painted from a #foodpaintchallenge prompt from Instagram.  This was a fun little exercise in citrus peel texture and light moving through the translucent fruit flesh of the lemons.  To be honest, it makes me feel like a cocktail is in order!

 

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Violet Eventide at Wells

Violet Eventide at Wells

7 in. x 14 in., acrylic on canvas

$200 unframed

I have spent so much time at Wells Beach, enjoying the waves and sunshine, but some of the most magical hours have been in the time when the sun is setting or has just gone down. The skies and the surface of the ocean are changing color rapidly, darkening to violets, sapphires and deep teals.  When a burst of the last reflected light breaks through the percolating cloud cover, or the moon rises, there are silver reflections dancing in the sky and the water and across the beach. This painting tries to capture this window of waning evening light.

 

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Haze Over Harpswell

Haze Over Harpswell

8 in. x 10 in., acrylic on masonite panel

$200 framed

A friend visited friends in Harpswell, Maine in August and took in a concert at the bandstand down by the water.  He captured a photo of the hazy afternoon sky, made more intense by wildfire smoke in the atmosphere from Canada. I enjoyed teasing out subtle color and value shifts in the sky and water, quite a feat with acrylic paint, which tends to dry quickly and resist tonal blending.  I used no slow-drying medium to extend the workable window of the acrylic with this painting; instead I mixed my tones beforehand, used a soft brush and worked quickly across the sky.  This piece is quite soft, serious and peaceful in person.  I hope you like it.

 

Reference photo courtesy David Denis.  Follow his photography on Instagram: @near.sight.ed and find prints of his work on INPRNT.com

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Summertime in Exeter

 

Summertime in Exeter

6 in. x 6 in., acrylic on cradled wood panel

$150 unframed (no frame necessary)

On a trip to the Seacoast Artists Association this summer to drop off some art, I took a few snapshots up Water Street after our "let's get an ice cream at Stillwell's" ritual across the street.  I love the way the street through downtown curves down and around and up through the bustling little center of Exeter.  This piece was painted specifically for the "Keeping in Local" theme show at the SAA this fall.

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Goodness

Goodness

8 in. x 8 in., acrylic on cradled wood panel

$180 unframed

These figs in a pottery bowl were painted from a wonderful photo from Instagram's @foodpaintchallenge.  If you've never enjoyed fresh figs, I can tell you that you are indeed missing something uniquely wonderful. I hope you forget you ever met "the Newton" and simply enjoy soft dried or fresh figs in season.  They truly are a symbol of God's goodness.

 

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Poppies!

Poppies!

5 in. x 7 in., Soft pastel on sanded paper

$150 matted and framed

I grew a miniature thicket of bright, orange-red poppies in the lamp post garden.  This soft pastel sketch takes the grassroots view of these papery, hot scarlet beauties against the blue of the sky, the light filtering subtly through the thin, rippled petals.  The thick application of the brightest highlights feel rich and delicious on the sanded paper, setting off areas of warm and cool colors in this prim little portrait of these delicate flowers.

Happy Heliopsis

Happy Heliopsis

5 in. x 7 in., Soft pastel on sanded paper

$150 matted and framed

I broke out the pastels once the perennial garden achieved "full swing" status.  Swaying Heliopsis happily waves over the heads of almost all my other flowers, bobbing up and down in the breeze on multitudinous stiff stems.  This little sketch captures the crowd of bright golden blooms with creamy thick strokes of the lightest creamy yellows on the petals, and cool, restful aqua highlights among the constantly undulating sea of deep green foliage.  

French Breakfast Radishes

French Breakfast Radishes

8 in. x 10 in., acrylic on canvas

$190 unframed

To be honest, they tasted like any other radish.  I was excited; the seed catalog said they were prolific and mild.  I found their germination rate to be average and their flavor to be just like any other common garden radish.  And for sure, they were crunchy and peppery like, well, radishes are, and a gorgeous reddish pink with white bottoms.  But the NAME!  I'm not impressed with much but this was a fabulous feat of marketing genius.  When it came time to buy a packet of $3.95 seeds and the choice was between Scarlet Globe (yeah, I can SEE that), or French Breakfast... how could anyone resist?  The radishes in the painting above grew in my garden and were delicious, and deserved a portrait.  I hope you like it.

 

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Mount Cardigan Alpenglow

Mount Cardigan Alpenglow

8 in. x 10 in., acrylic on canvas

$190 unframed

Prescott Hill Road in Grafton, NH, just up from Robinson's Corner and opposite Kinsman Highway, is where my people are buried.  My Morrill family ancestors lie awaiting the resurrection in the cemetery there in the back corner under moss and clover.  If you drive straight up the hill beyond them and get to the crest, the skies open up beyond the trees and a farmhouse field along the side of the road, and you can see this incredible view of Mount Cardigan over in Orange. It's a view you just can't get down on Rte. 4 through Canaan. No, the ridge across the way in humble and backwoods Grafton is the most glorious view of Cardigan you'll find, I guarantee.  Here, the mountain is spread fully across your line of vision reclining west, as the setting sun sheds pink light across the sky, bathing Cardigan's rocky, bald head in the fading light.

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Pulled Over in Amish Country

 

Pulled Over

in Amish Country

7 in. x 14 in., acrylic on 

traditional-depth canvas

$180 unframed 

Last March we had a chance to visit dear friends who had moved last year to Ohio.  They took us on a little day trip out to Amish country where the gently rolling hills and farmland as far as the eye can see felt so different from our native New England.  We still have working farms, livestock and cropland in New Hampshire, but everywhere we are hemmed in by Appalachian mountains, granite outcroppings, maples and tall white pine.  There is no "as far as the eye can see" in New Hampshire (unless you climb one of those mountains) because you can only see as far as the next stand of pine.  This painting is Mount Hope, Ohio, where, after a feast at Mrs. Yoder's Kitchen (oh, that pressure-fried chicken!) I insisted our friend John pull off to the side so I could get some shots of the landscape... as the clip-clop of a buggy approached!

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Legion

Legion

12 in. x 24 in., acrylic on canvas

$650 unframed

Prints of this piece are available at my online print shop:

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/shawne/

A deliverance icon.  Imagine being Jesus in Luke 8, who, being confronted by a demoniac (who knew exactly who He was), finds Himself being bargained with by the demonic powers.  They know what He is capable of, and began pleading for more lenient terms of their dismissal.  It's apparent they desperately want to be embodied and be go inhabit the herd of pigs on the hillside.  He give them the left hand of (dis)fellowship, and allows them to do so, but the pigs aren't having it.  In our animal-exalting society, isn't a breath of fresh air to see Jesus reckoning the worth of a man as being of much more value than a herd of pigs.  In this icon, you'll see the chaos pigs represented as three groups of six as they disappear from the rocky cliff where the poor oppressed man found shards with which to cut himself.  Away they fall, into the waters of Galilee, funneling down over the edge as through the neck of an hourglass, because they know their time is short.

Rainy Laconia Morning

Rainy Laconia Morning

8 in. x 8 in., acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

$200 unframed (no frame necessary)

I see this intersection several times a week. The intersection of Court Street, Union Ave and Main Street come together in a perfectly symmetrical intersection entering or exiting downtown Laconia, New Hampshire. The dueling spires of the courthouse and South Baptist Church stand opposite each other in the middle distance. It was very early on this particular morning in late March. All the snow had melted, and the still-dim sky was darkened further by low, thick clouds and heavy rain.  Headlights, traffic signals, and signs glow brightly, casting skewed and distorted reflections everywhere in the puddles and wet atmosphere.

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Bay View Summer - SOLD

 

Bay View Summer  ~ SOLD!  Somebody liked this!

11 in. x 14 in., acrylic on cradled Masonite

$240 unframed (no frame necessary)

This painting began as a lovely photo taken by a fellow member of a Facebook interest group to which I belong.  She posted it and it and the row of colorful kayaks caught my eye and I thought, gosh, I'd love to paint that.  I commented on her post and asked her permission, and she graciously granted my request.  I found out this is a very special place on Lake Superior where her family goes every summer: Bay View Campground in Hiawatha National Forest. I painted the underpainting bright magenta to warm up the very cool greens and blues of the trees, sky and water, and to keep the sandy shore glowing and sun-kissed.    

Photo reference courtesy Carolyn Steenrod

Roses on Royal Albert - SOLD

 

Roses on Royal Albert

6 in. x 6 in., acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

$100 unframed  ~ SOLD! Somebody Liked This!

This piece originated as a fun little prompt from Instagram's #foodpaintchallenge and I had never painted a fussy china cup like this one.  I really wasn't sure I was going to enjoy it, but it was tremendously fun and I loved every stage of the process, which you can see if you follow me on Insta at @shawnemorrillrandlettart where you'll see some still shots and video of me painting this one.  I looked up this china pattern, because, well, I'm a curious girl.  It's a Royal Albert pattern called American Beauty, with it's lovely large roses and leaves swirled all over it.  I hope you like it!

Photo reference courtesy Dennis Pfeil @dennispfeil.art

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Emmaus Heart

Emmaus Heart

16 in. x 20 in., acrylic on canvas

Prints of this piece are available at my online print shop:

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/shawne/

(Original not yet priced; unframed)

You might be familiar with the oft-seen "sacred heart of Jesus" image, on fire, wounded, topped with a cross and surrounded by thorns, popularized chiefly in the painting by artist Pompeo Batoni (1708 -1787). Batoni's painting is based on a supposed apparition of Jesus to Catholic nun Margaret Mary Alacoque in France in 1673.

This is not that.  Quite the opposite.

While the flaming "sacred heart" imagery is supposed to be a depiction of the love that Jesus has for mankind, frankly, I'm a Biblicist.  And the only reference explicitly describing a burning heart in the scriptures is in Luke 24:32.  And the heart doesn't belong to Jesus.  It belongs to His disciples.  

His disciples, who have just experienced the presence of the living, resurrected Jesus, Himself.

This painting uses iconography elements and is based on a stunning incident from Luke 24:13-35. 

On Easter evening, Jesus, after his resurrection, catches up with two disciples walking the seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus where they live.  They don't recognize Him, and He doesn't immediately reveal Himself. He asks what they are talking about, and they tell Him about "all the things that have happened as of late" in Jerusalem over the Passover weekend.  He plays dumb and asks, "What things?"  They are incredulous and remark that He has to be the only person who hasn't heard all the news.  They express their great grief over the murder of their Rabbi by crucifixion, their dashed hopes that He was the promised Messiah, and their perplexity that they've heard rumors of His resurrection... and they don't know what to think.  Jesus chides them that they don't know the scriptures well enough, because if they did, they'd understand that the Messiah was foretold to suffer in like manner.  For the rest of the walk to Emmaus, He explains the scriptures to them to put together the puzzle pieces they aren't seeing. Upon arriving at their house, they invite Him in, and as He breaks the bread for supper with them, suddenly, they recognize Him!  

And then He just... vanishes.

This piece is an illumination of their wild exclamation to each other, right before they put their sandals back on and ran back to Jerusalem to tell the others:

"Did not our hearts burn within us while He talked to us on the road, while He opened to us the scriptures?"

The hand in the icon is Christ's.  Is the heart yours? 

For those who may be unfamiliar with Greek icons, allow me to decode what you're looking at. The IX XC inscription is a Christogram: the iconographical shorthand for Jesus Christ.  The Greek inscription Εμμαύς Καρδιά is Emmaus Heart.  The circular nimbus around the hand holding the heart with the cruciform elements around the outside edge denotes Christ and the Greek letters contained there Ὁ Ὤ Ν means "He who is."

Protest Art

 

Protest Art

8 in. x 8 in., acrylic on cradled wood

$170 unframed (no frame necessary)

Ubiquitous in gardens across the UK and Europe, tasty gooseberries of many varieties, used in jams, pies and sauces, or eaten out of hand, are found everywhere.  Everywhere over there. 

Let me explain.  When I was a little girl, I started life picking these wonderful sweet-tart, vaguely grape-like berries every summer from the sprawling, thickety, green bushes, careful not to catch my fat little fingers on the thorns.  My parents had them on their property when they bought their house in the 1950s.  I was born in 1969 and relished the cool pop of gooseberries on my tongue every July.  I remember my dad, an avid gardener, wanting to add to the ones we had, and browsing the Miller Seed Catalog from Canandaigua, NY, discovering other varieties, purply-red ones, golden ones, and other kinds of green ones like these.  He mailed in his order and that was that.  A week later, he received a call from the nursery at Miller's.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Morrill.  I'm afraid we can't ship you the gooseberry bushes you ordered."  The nurseryman explained that in the early 1900s, a federal ban was issued on all Ribes family fruiting shrubs, because they could carry a blister that harmed white pines.  Mainly aimed at black and red currant varieties, the family also included, unfortunately, gooseberries. They pulled them up wherever they could find them, and burned them, nearly eradicating them.  That's why most Americans now have never heard of them.  And until the day of the phone call from Miller's, dad had never heard of the ban.  Apparently, the bushes we owned had been missed during the gooseberry and currant holocaust, and dad had no idea.  The plethora of big white pines crowding the driveway by the woods never seemed to care about our little bushes way over on the other side.

He dug them up and took them when we moved to a different house in second grade.  The bushes were looking pretty ragged, weathered and old by the time I left home and got married, probably getting punky with old age.  The pines there never once even had the sniffles.

The rest of the story goes like this:  In 1966, about 55 years after decimating Ribes in this country, the US lifted the federal ban and now you can grow them in the US.  Yay!  However, a handful of states still have them on the banned list or tightly regulated.  My state is one of them.  

I'm mad about it, and this is my protest art.  I can walk down the street and catch the whiff of a skunky cloud of smoldering marijuana that muddles the brain and stunts the spirit and no one does a thing about it. But I never smell gooseberries on anyone's breath.  If I did, I'd have to call the Agricultural Schutzstaffel with the shovels and blowtorches. 

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Winter at Portland Head Light - SOLD

Winter at Portland Head Light ~ SOLD!  (Somebody liked this!)

12 in. x 24 in., acrylic on canvas

$300 unframed

I love the coast in winter, at least to paint from.  The mood, landscape and colors are often more interesting than summertime, which can often appear bleached and muted by the full summer sun.  We were on our little annual winter trip to Portland this year and it had been a while since we pulled in to Portland Head Light in Cape Elizabeth.  This lighthouse is one of the most photographed places in America.  Even Edward Hopper gave it his treatment.  It's hard to get a unique view of this lovely place, but the view from the cliff walk, with the ragged, rocky cliff wall, the dead grasses, and the fickle winter sky was enough for me.  I hope you like it.

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The Work of Your Fingers

Psalm 8

O LORD, our Lord, 

how majestic is Your name in all the earth!  

You have set Your glory above the heavens.   

Out of the mouth of babies and infants, 

You have established Your strength because of Your foes, 

to still the enemy and the avenger.  

When I look at Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, 

the moon and the stars, which You have set in place, 

what is man that You are mindful of him, 

and the son of man that You care for him?  

Yet You have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.  

You have given him dominion over the 

works of Your hands; 

You have put all things under his feet, 

all sheep and oxen, 

and also the beasts of the field, 

the birds of the heavens, 

and the fish of the sea, 

whatever passes along the paths of the seas.  

O LORD, our Lord, 

how majestic is Your name in all the earth!

The Work of Your Fingers 

(An Illumination of Psalm 8)

7 in. x 15 in., acrylic and gold metallic on canvas

Prints of this piece are available at my online print shop:

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/shawne/

$250 unframed (no frame necessary)

While reading in the Psalms, the imagery of the eighth psalm filled my mind with idea of the fingerprint of God.  I thought of the whorled pattern of galaxies and neurons, of suns and moons tracing their predictable paths, of planetary movement, our own system a labyrinth of ellipses.  The whirlpool of air currents and waters, the striated rows of both waves and plant cells and the helix of plant growth and DNA. All of these bear the characteristics of the divine fingerprint; the poetry rebounds from metaphor and surprises us with the nearly-literal.  This offends our sensibilities.  There's a certain amount of safety in keeping God cloaked in symbolism and simile.  We can play about with metaphysical wordplay, impress each other with our profound-sounding platitudes.  And while it is true that God is mysterious and beyond our ability to fathom, He also puts Himself right. in. your. face.  He writes His name with a child's fat-fisted scrawl; He pushes His signatory crayon hard into the pulp of His creation, watching you to see if you will be willing to notice the deep trenches of his patterned marks, or else turning aside to be preoccupied with the randomness of the errant wax flakes.  In all these things, everything lives and moves and has its being, from divine creatures and stars and angels to people and animals and plants and microbes and cells and elements.  And in the center, a single red blood cell, signifying the One who took on flesh and poured Himself out for humanity and creation.

Also, I dig groovy fonts.

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Tuckerman Ravine Trail - SOLD

Tuckerman Ravine Trail ~ SOLD!  (Somebody liked this!)

6 in. x 6 in., acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

$150 unframed (no frame necessary)

A four-plus mile trail to the Mount Washington summit, the Tuckerman Ravine Trail isn't quite as steep as one might think, thanks to several switchbacks on the way up.  Some trail reviews, however, say things like, "wandering off the trail could have devastating results."  So, while there's definitely a way up the bowl-like ravine carved into the side of the Mount Washington rock pile, there's one SAFE way up.  In this painting, the clouds at the top aren't sky clouds.  It's mist surrounding the area above the tree line.  Welcome to New Hampshire.

Photo reference courtesy Mick Haupt @mickhaupt102085

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Acadia

 

Acadia

 20 in. x 20 in., acrylic on canvas

$650 framed

This is a fairly large piece.  It needed to be.

Unless I'm in the White Mountains, Maine always feels so much more wild than New Hampshire.  Yet, because I've spent so much time there, it's so much like home.  In fact, geologically, it's much closer to New Hampshire than Vermont, which is made of very different stuff.  That's obvious just by crossing to the Shire-esque west bank of the Connecticut River.  No, Maine is largely made of great slabs and piles of igneous granite just like New Hampshire, along with pine needles and sand banks and brushy barrens and swamp maples and oak groves and clover-covered fields.  But the interaction of granite cliffs and salt water is what makes Maine so different from New Hampshire.  We've ruined our meager 18 miles of coastline with ugly traffic tangles, shops and arcades and sidewalks with parking meters that would steal one of your kidneys for payment if they could (I won't apologize for excoriating whatever leaders of state and coastal towns for overdeveloping it into abject ugliness... fight me, shameful scoundrels).  But Maine has managed to keep bit and bridle firmly attached to the would-be ravishers of much of its coastal natural spaces, and for that I'm thankful. 

I hope you like this piece of coastal Maine, with its tenacious, weathered conifer trees, its wildly changing skies and unrelenting tides.  A dear friend camped near here with her family and graciously allowed me to paint from what she captured while she was in Acadia National Park.  

Photo reference courtesy Kate Goodin

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Sunny Side Up

Sunny Side Up

8 in. x 8 in., acrylic on cradled panel 

$200 unframed 

Last year I painted bacon.  At the time, it didn't occur to me to move on to the obvious eggy follow-up.  When I paint, one thing does not automatically lead to another.  But of course, now I'm thinking about toast... anyway.  This wonderful fried egg was a fun and interesting challenge to paint, from the crispy golden edges to the scattered salt and pepper.  There's not actually a lot of pure, straight-from-the-tube white in this piece; the subtle pale colors swirling in the cooked egg white are surprisingly convincing and I was able to reserve the white for the few highlights. 

 

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Moonrise

Moonrise

8 in. x 10 in., acrylic on canvas 

$160 unframed

The moon rising in the inky darkness over water. As it peeks over the horizon, it casts a complementary glow up into the cloud cover and across the surface of the lake.  It faintly illuminates the grasses and earth on the near embankment between the trees. There's something cozy in a nocturnal landscape, and I aimed for looser, expressionistic brushwork here in an effort to capture the fleeting moments of cresting moon and the rapidly changing turbulence of the clouds.  Photo reference Jill Hatfield.

 

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