Memory of a place: New Hope Canal Towpath

New Hope Canal Towpath, New Hope, Pennsylvania. Oil on panel, 8 by 6 inches.

Dear Friend,

I hope you are, in the least, doing okay during this pandemic. Don’t be dismayed, all shall be well. Yes, I know, from god’s mouth to my ears. But you know what? It is okay. Find yourself a quiet corner; be still; inhale; exhale; don't try so hard; you are not alone; listen to yourself breath; be patient, all shall be well.

I am working a new series, Memory of Place. It is a series of small paintings. Like postcards, they are reminders of a place — not necessarily of a specific place but a sense of a place. I hope to have more “postcards” in the months ahead. They also will be available when the oil paint has set.

Memories of a Place

Dear friend,

Bob and I like to “lop the road”. When we lived in the Bay Area, we loped the roads; when we moved to Asheville North Carolina, we loped the roads; and when we moved to Kennett Square Pennsylvania, we did the same.

I would take mental notes of the fleeting sceneries zooming by me 25, 35, 45, 55, 65, or 70 miles per hour. Most of the memories have faded and then forgotten. I try to recollect those memories of a time and place, but they are vague. Nothing lasts forever, but I can remember how I felt.

Memories are often vague recollections of a time and place. Ephemeral like an aromatic or unpleasant fragrance that could trigger memories that could trigger a range of emotions and physical sensations — feeling joyful, at peace, safe, sad, repulse, angry, pain or sick in the stomach.

I made this quick sketch soon after loping the roads around Kennett Square. Many of the roads with the sceneries that capture my imagination usually are not safe for Bob to pull over. I do not drive, so I make mental notes of the fleeting sceneries — to note the sense of the place in a fleeting moment in time.

This sketch on paper was made several years ago and I finally made a painting of it based on my vague memories of this place that zoomed by me as we loped the road. I think it was a cool morning and the light was soft or crisp. I think. It felt good to finally make this painting. It gave me joy.

It is not how an artist precisely describes something through a painting but how an artist conveys a sense of a place in a moment in time. It is poetry. It is music.

Memory of a place. Oil on panel, 4.5 by 14 inches. Private collection.