Mother's Milk

It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see. - Henry David Thoreau

I've been working and working away and have a lot of paintings in progress. I am hoping that this is the time when things will start to pull together. Well, and they kind of need to start pulling together, time is approaching. I do have a few paintings that are done, but I haven't had a chance to post or write about them yet. My time is so stretched these days, that I have had to let that go a bit.

But I do want to start posting some of my new work. So here is one that I have called Mother's Milk. It was probably finished mid May. I was inspired to make this painting by an image I took just a few hours after the foal was born. The mother was very protective, I remember. And the foal, so new and unsure, but already walking. It was a beautiful moment.


Mother's Milk
encaustic mixed media, including copper
20x16 inches

I knew when I had processed the photo that I wanted to make a painting with it one day. As I've mentioned before I am very much influenced by my surroundings and horses are a big part of Maryland. When I was little, we actually had a stable with horses for a while. My neighbors had horses as well. In the dim recesses of my childhood memories, I remember that there was even a horse equipment store by the grocery store that we would shop at. That area store is gone now as is that old market. As are the properties with stables. It's all developed now. Out here around where I am now, a little further out though, there are areas that still areas that cling onto its horse heritage. Did you know that there is even an island off Maryland's shores that is inhabited by wild horses? I've camped there when I was in high school and look forward to returning soon.

One of the things about this piece that brings me joy (see previous post) is that the stripes on the right side are alternating stripes of patinas copper strips nailed in with encaustic.

The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place; from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web. - Pablo Picasso