Wilderness and Snow converged on New England ushering out January with a right-sized storm. It brought brilliant night skies and bright sunny days on the lake. I am a fan of Tom Tompson, the famous Canadian Impressionist, painting the wilderness of northern Ontario. He gave Canada its wilderness myth. I love his work.
It is rugged with no pretense for finery. He does not let himself be known. His soul is represented in the casual and deliberate. He arrived at Algonquin Lake and Region as the self-reliant man, an heir of Emerson, a forward branch of the Transcendentalist. A pantheistic atheist, someone who hears only one voice, listens to one’s heart, and follows curiosity and pursuing pleasure through a less-traveled path through the wilderness or poorly plowed roads of modernity, to where surburbia intersects wilderness.
I admire him and I don’t understand him. He reminds me to love only what I love. True North.
I love to capture the beauty, the beauty that points even to an illusion of a higher self;
Beauty like in Chant, beauty like hearing a spring bird on a warm day in winter.
And, sharing my creations along with the chants and vulnerabilities of human experience, these are a few of my favorite things.
I have diminished my expectations of everything and that has made all the difference