I think all of us who live in the Northeastern US can relate - this winter has been particularly trying and the change of seasons cannot arrive quickly enough! Aside from three foot snow banks, biting winds and icy roadways, we’re facing intense domestic and global unrest as well. No wonder some of us are crawling the walls. That’s why when I came across the quote above from the naturalist Hal Borland, it gave me a sense of comfort. It reminded me that, in the words of Sir George, “All Things Must Pass.” We cannot become complacent, of course, but we must remember that history has shown us that the world operates in cycles, and there are usually better days ahead. Spring will come, in all manners of speaking. In the meantime we all strive to cope as best we can and look to our personal methods to strengthen ourselves and gain inner peace.

For me, that has always been making art. Whether it was crafting a birthday card for my mom or dad, fashioning a flag for my Boy Scout patrol, decorating the back of a fatigue jacket with a peace sign or the Rolling Stone logo (I’m dating myself here), or drawing in the margins of my textbooks. And then later, hearing the siren call of oil paint, pastels and charcoal, clay and carving knives, I learned that this making of pictures, telling of stories and making visual that which provided me joy, was my main source of self-identification. It placed me firmly in the world I was comfortable in. During this long, hard winter, I’ve leaned on that source, either in practice or study, and let it warm my soul. There has been little actual output so far - just a few small, peaceful winterscapes - but there is much gestation ready to be realized as the weather warms. Just have to be patient. We all do.

Across Hurley Flats, 2026 - Gouache on Board

Freebies

As I completed my transition to the Hudson Valley, one perplexing part of the physical move became apparent. That is, what to do with the few hundred paintings, drawings and other art that was piled in my Massachusetts studio. Like most artists I know, I’m a bit of a pack rat and have saved most everything, good or bad, that I made since high school. And, to be honest, most of it was not worth saving for posterity. The bulk of any working artist’s output is not showable. It is the means to GET to the showable. It is work that must be done to grow and develop.

So, I spent a bit of time ruthlessly curating, sorting the piles. Some work would travel with me and become the foundation of my continuing body of successful artwork. The remainder needed to be disposed of somehow. Now, some of these pieces were truly awful and went directly into the bin, but many became gifts to family and friends, and some were panels slated to be repurposed - sanded down and re-grounded. This left a collection of pieces that were fine, but not important to ME. What to do with them?

I took inspiration from one of my good friends, an artist and a shaman, who once made replicas of Native American arrows – beautifully crafted and authentic-looking – and then left them out in the woods during his weekly hikes for someone to happen upon. It was an anonymous, generous, conceptual performance piece in his mind.

So, following his lead, I earmarked a number of paintings to be “donated” to the universe. I wrapped them in plain brown paper, slapped a “Free Art” sticker on them, and have begun leaving them out and about. I call them “Freebies” and have left about thirty so far. I feel like an artistic Johnny Appleseed, sowing something to (hopefully) make someone smile.

My Collection - Victor Lawson

The painting above is a piece that was given to me by my grandmother back in the 1980’s. It hung in her home throughout my youth and depicted a neighborhood in the Campello section of Brockton, MA that I was well familiar with, so it has always been sentimental to me. However, other than his name, I knew nothing of the artist, Victor Lawson. A bit of research was in order.

Mr. Lawson, it turns out, was the sexton at the original Swedish-American church in Brockton (later to become First Evangelical Lutheran Church, of which I was a member most of my life.) He was a former shoe worker who took up painting in his retirement - entirely self-taught. He made mostly landscapes of his little piece of the world - southeastern Massachusetts and Cape Cod, and was widely collected in his lifetime.

Though this is a winter scene, I like the slight tinge of yellow-green on the trees on the right hand side of the panel. Harbinger of spring, perhaps? Or is it just wishful thinking on my part?

Pax vobiscum.