Powersources - and collaboration!

Powersource, the final version. I made very slight adjustments to the foreground and distant ground.

And as happens from time to time, a connection via internet brought me to the blog of Stu Hatton, an English poet, writer, editor living in Australia. And there I came across this perfect poem. Stu graciously gave me permission to post his words with my image - and in January 2010 to post A train, outbound (2007), next to the painting in my show as featured artist at the Sautee-Nacoochee Gallery.

A train, outbound (2007)

It takes minutes to leave the city. But to leave the city, mentally…
There are always nervous questions prior to departure. You must peel these off.
See this industrial district? It has fled nature.
Likewise I sometimes believe writing is an avoidance; you opt
for a conversation with yourself. Living very far apart.
The houses have satellite dishes as standard; ears to the wind.
Powerline towers, like posts of an enormous fence. These are and are not life-conductors.
Fields in which to expand, cease? As if cities were centres of forgetting.
Gazing out the window, I swim the wild grass.
- Stu Hatton Published in Shadowtrain #23, October 2009.

Powersource 24 x 24 acrylic on deep cradle panel

I'm thinking rain. I'm wishing rain. We're needing rain. If I paint it, will it come?

Apparently so... After nearly six weeks - and with rain all around me - finally a few showers overhead. It's tough to see anvil clouds, hear the thunder and drive through rain within a mile or so - only to arrive home to the same old dust and dusty drab brown, brown grass in one's own yard and pasture. But it began to rain here yesterday not long after I finished this painting...

My photo above sort of cut off the bottom so here's a "fisheye" shot with the entire panel. The tilting of the pole in the distance is a trick of the camera. I swear it's not like that on the actual painting. I'd love to get a better digital camera - one that can do close-up and details and not cause so much distortion. It's on my wish-list along with a new van, a trip to the beach, and enough treated lumber to build a pergola. (heh)

I'd love to hear whether anyone thinks I need "stuff" in the distant landscape. The artists at the gallery were giving me a lot of grief about that vast empty horizon. I'm unsure. This one will cure while I contemplate.

Any suggestions?