Sunset, Tuesday, 9 March 2010

William Theodore Van Doren. Sunset from Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va. Oil on watercolor block, 16 x 20.

Fever and chills and I didn’t want to paint or do anything else, but felt absolutely fine while painting this, just for the duration. I witnessed the sunset in the company of two guys from rural Madison County who had delivered firewood and may have wondered why I kept looking over at the horizon. At that point we were out at the edge of a field evaluating a big red oak I’d been trying to cut down for at least five years, and they were good-naturedly giving me a hard time about my failure to do so. Apparently I did the right things but in the wrong order, and now any attempt to continue could kill one of us. They allowed as to how, although it would be quite an involved operation, it would be possible to climb to the top, lasso the tree with a rope, and pull it down with their truck. I noticed them thoughtfully scratching their chins as they contemplated the degree of difficulty of the procedure. I did not ask for a quote, at least not today.

Sunset, Sunday, 13 December 2009

William Theodore Van Doren. Painted at Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va. Oil on watercolor block, 16 x 20.

Mist and fog everywhere at sunset, after heavy rains.

I’m a fan of small mountains – perhaps because I like to imagine living within the world they create, a varied but accessible landscape. My favorite small mountain, I’ve finally just learned, in Madison County, Virginia, is named Thorofare. (Not the much higher and larger Thorofare Mountain up on the Blue Ridge and also, as it happens, in Madison.) The sight of it from Route 29 – I think if I lived with that as my view I might not be able to stop painting it. And having said this much, I guess I now owe you at least a sketch, as soon as I can get back there.

The other day on my trip up to Great Falls, I was passing near Thorofare Mountain while the radio was playing something I ordinarily find dull – and I even felt that way when I was 12 and it was #1 – Connie Francis, “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool.” This time it struck me in a new way, and made me think about how the original emotional meaning of a song can become transposed, over the years, from personal romance to something much bigger. I realized, looking at the mountain, what a fool somebody can be for this world.

Sunset, Sunday, 21 June 2009

Locust Dale, Madison County, Va. Oil on paper, 16 x 20.

Our destination (see previous post) offered an amazing vista, with Old Rag about smack in the center. This of course is a much longer view than the one in the painting from early afternoon – these mountains are around three times higher than those on our eastern horizon.

A friend I’d worked with in L.A. and then lost touch with decided to build a house in Virginia; I rediscovered him living one mile down the road from me. When he first got here he made a common westerner’s mistake and called the Blue Ridge mere “hills” – no doubt because, on the horizon, they bear a superficial resemblance to the Santa Monica Mountains, or, as they’re known in one section, the Hollywood Hills. 

Once you get up there, in the Blue Ridge, you realize you’re in a seriously massive territory all its own.

Twelve years ago, Laura and I traveled to the wonderful city of Montréal for our honeymoon. We had no idea that June 21st was also the anniversary of the hanging of Marie-Joseph Angélique, a Portuguese-born African slave convicted – on shaky evidence – of deliberately starting a fire that burned much of the city in 1734.

If you go to the linked article, I can save you a little time by noting that the research controversies mentioned at the beginning don’t have much to do with the major facts of the case. Also, I don’t always mean to refer people to Wikipedia, but sometimes that’s a natural place to start. Encyclopedia Britannica, for example, is available only by subscription – I subscribe for the sake of my research for editorial clients – and, in any case, seems too conservative or hidebound to include many subjects like the unfortunate Angélique.

Come to think of it, I have a literally hidebound set of Britannica on my shelf, and she’s not in there, either.