A number of years ago, I began painting "horizon paintings," simplified oil (and occasionally acrylic) paintings of earth and sky or water and sky. My main inspiration for a year or two was the scene outside my window in Duluth, Minnesota, of awesome Lake Superior, a body of water nearly impossible to capture as an image. Horizon lines took on a bigger symbolic meaning for me, the meeting place of dualities (good and bad, large and small, heaven and earth, etc.) At times I explored this visual image in imagined horizons, and sometimes in real ones (Lake Superior or Lake Champlain, mostly.) Many of these paintings have made their way into the homes of friends and family, and I had forgotten how many of them my Dad and brother have out here in Montana. The English landscape has inspired me to start painting again, and it will be interesting to see whether I retain the stark simplicity of these early paintings or take on a new style.
Walking yesterday from my Dad's rehab center back to downtown Helena, the mountains (as expected) were my focus. New snowfall made them brightly visible, and the Montana color palette revealed itself as usual to be as utterly different from England (or even the US East Coast) as can possibly be imagined: browns, blues and whites, mostly. When I lived here four years ago, this almost alien landscape (for me) served an important purpose. It almost forced me to "remember" my passion for the opposite color palette and opposite quality of light. I felt lost and disoriented in the mountains, and wasn't able to even temporarily feel at home. Time has done its healing thing, and I feel more centered in myself, so I can stay in the present and respect -- even love -- this dramatically beautiful place.
My Dad's horizons are permanently changed by medical events that might, a few decades ago, have killed him. He's still here, but the circle is closing in. Horizons that were once "out there" are now just as far away as the reach of his hand or the oxygen tank. As I walked out of his facility into the bright Montana sun, I was perhaps even more grateful for feet to walk the mile and a half, the eyes to see distant peaks, and the heart to love it all. Dad's situation is a reminder that these things must be cherished as long as possible.
