I could feel the presence of coyotes somewhere in the woods around me. I walked onward photographing trees resonating within me along the way. Unexpectedly I came across thee tree that screamed out to me yesterday on my walk. I knew I had to paint it. The subtle fog created a slight feeling of tension around me as I began outlining the shape of the tree onto the cardboard with my crimson red paint tube. Next came the ultramarine blue I coaxed into the bloody red paint. A smudge of burnt sienna followed the raw umber.
After adding some yellows and whites, in the very near distance I heard the howl of a coyote. One single call. I knew I had to move. Unsure of whether I was in its territory or if it was calling to its pack, my natural instincts immediatley forced me to the get up, grab my painting, paints, and bags in the matter of half a second and start walking back towards my house. I wasn't too deep into the woods but far enough where if the coyote wanted to chase me he or she could have. Walking up I instinctively grabbed the nearest branch and immediatley held it in a defensive position. I held in it front of and beside myself rotating in a circle as I walked. My nerves wouldn't allow me to catch my breath but I was determined to get back without a confrontation.
When I got back safely I looked at my painting. There is a real presence to it, you can feel the tension of my concern of my surroundings as I was painting it as well as the last stroke before my abrupt stop. This is the beauty of painting in the woods, you're alone with nature, and the only thing in your control are the strokes you make on the canvas.
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| Womb |
