It could be the edge of any still water, but I saw the bank of the Connecticut River as I crossed it headed to the barn this morning, and it looked a lot like this.
I don't know what I am going to do with March's new black and white landscape theme after the snow melts!
Going south and east into Connecticut yesterday, and coming west and north today, I found myself looking up into continuous hillsides of leafless trees. The snow line was right at the Massachusetts border, and the Holyoke range had ranks of deciduous forest rising along the southern flanks. I love being able to see into the woods in the winter, to see the shape of the land underneath. The trees feel like the pelt of a creature, and the whole landscape seems both living and sleeping.
And here you can see us in our fancy duds, ready to drive away to a night of food, drink and iniquity. It was a good time.
A tree, a crow in a field, a hillside behind.
Al's company's Christmas party is tonight. I have a formal gown, adorable black flats covered with tiny black roses, and some wrist and earring bling, ready to go. I've also packed my black turtle-neck and jeans if I require comfort later on.
What I didn't expect when I laid out my plans for the year in January was a snowstorm on March first, followed by gorgeous atmospheric weather and all the colors I've been thinking about. I'm not one to pass up inspiration when it whacks me on the head and gives everyone a snow day, so for a while you'll be seing small black and white landscapes in circles, inspired by the ones seen above.
And the first of those is here.
The advantage to driving a particular path routinely is watching things change across the seasons. I have a particular fondness for this field – the curve of it into the horizon defined by the woods at the edge, the lines of the rows of corn, as they grown green and are harvested. The cut corn stalks make particularly elegant hash marks against new snow.
Timna helped me think of black and white things and pictures I might want to interpret pieces of. She suggested Edward Weston, and pointed me to the stunning nautilus shell. I used an edge of it yesterday, and the center of it today.
I had thought I wanted to interpret entire images in (more or less overlapping) circles, and then attach them together to make an interrupted version of the original. But I am less sure of that idea. Maybe I just need to experiment with how to get layers of black and white and gray together.
After the snowstorm Thursday, all the world outside was shades of gray and white, and rain-soaked black. The snow was still stuck to everything; tree branches and telephone wires and fences and ponies. It was very beautiful. And made me want to make circles of it.
I like March for a couple foolish reasons: March 4th is the only day of the year that is a command, March 14 is pi(e) day (3/14 = 3.14 which is a decimal approximation of the ratio of the diameter of a circle to its radius) and March 17 is Aerin's birthday.
March is also black and white and shades of gray, and pieces of a larger thing. So the reason this circle doesn't look like anything is because it is out of context. I will show you the context soon.
I am tickled pink!
March starts later tonight…
I was thinking about March already, and how it is going to be black and white and shades of gray, and I remembered that for years when I thought of rods and cones, the light sensing organs in the retina of an eye, I imagined the rods to be black and white. Which is foolish because they see in monochrome, not necessarily black and white. They are not the colors they sense. And cartainly the cones are not the colors they are sensitive to. But there you are, brains are funny places.
We are having a (relatively) late season snow storm, and it has already dropped as much snow as the last three storms. We are snugged up for the night. I love how quiet snowstorms are.
Branching is basic. Fundamental, even.
Trees branch. Rivers do the reverse of branch, with tributaries coming into the main stream, until they get to a delta and branch out into distributaries across a nearly level surface. Veins and capilliaries branch and deliver oxygen to tissues, then regroup to return depleted blood to the lungs.
For todays circle I was thinking about the beautiful curl inside your ears where you actually hear things. Where secrets go. Where music goes. All the other noises go too, like jackhammers and farting buses, but I was trying to be poetical.
I was at an awards dinner last night, which was raucous fun. It was the end-of-year awards for Xenophon Farm, and as well as the high point scorers for various levels of dressage, there were also essays on why the author should get an award even though they didn't ride in three shows and/or get decent scores.
To my astonishment, I won the high point award for Training level Seniors. That was fun. But cheering for the people who were talking about having to halt because the screws in their broken leg were coming unscrewed was better. Or the bold kid who is getting used to a new pony and their scores are dreadful, but they keep on working.
So I did finish this circle yesterday, but then I had to bolt to get to dinner on time. I was thinking about red blood cells, carrying oxygen around so we can move and think, but more of them look like roses than blood cells. I don't know why all these ideas about cells in my body turn into roses. There must be a metaphor in there somewhere. Or a joke.
Lee Thomson 