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the song of grey tree frogs
Grey tree frogs singing: my enduring memory of fading days and summer evenings while in residence. I was artist-in-residence at Weir Farm National Historic Site in Connecticut for the turning of spring, when everything burst in optimistic green. The trees exuded leaves that grew darker daily.
|The Pond Path, Weir Farm|
I live in an urban environment, being in rural Connecticut was both challenging and a reminder of what is really important: the sun, the rain, trees and wild plants creating chaos and disorder. There is something incredibly special about waking early and walking out where the deer have just left their marks, becoming aware that the landscape around me is shared, the rotund groundhog owns it as much as I do.
|the pond at Weir Farm |
|Studio Weir Farm National Historic Site|
It felt like a bucolic rural idyll of deepest greenness. Of course there were the mosquitos and deer ticks, my own difficulties adjusting to life without the city, the huge MacMansions around me posing as cottages- the park is a little island surrounded by seriously expensive real estate. Being a temporary part of a national park is a privileged position. The park was my own out-of-hours and I had the feeling of being in a museum with no guards. I had three weeks of constant drawing while leaving the preoccupations of home: my art focus sharpened and I felt new again.
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