Sometimes I will sit beside the Green River and watch water as it moves beneath the ice; forcing its way along the bank; between rocks. I’ve never really understood the phrase “dead of winter”, because winter always seems so alive to me. The sound of popping ice and rushing water beneath the snow-covered river always fascinates me. Here and there, where the snow has fallen away, semi-frozen pools are exposed to sunlight and they sparkle wildly.
I started this painting a couple of winters ago, but stopped because I couldn’t locate a particular paint color I needed to complete it. Now it’s drying and awaiting a final, once-over with clear, waxy, oil bar.