Everyone has one, or desires one, be it modest or grand, simply a place for them to call home, a place to lay their head. Many days, they may leave, travel to and fro, to work or wherever, only to return by a similar path....home. For three years, this was the path leading away from my home in Brooksville, Florida. This viewpoint was from the intersection that connected the long gravel driveway up to our rural home, a ranch home. We had five acres, 1/2 being wooded, 1/2 pristine pasture.
Almost every morning, I walked this earthy, rutted path, often with my dachshunds if they were up for it, traveling a 2-mile loop. If it was hot, I would leave early to beat the oppressive heat. It it was cooler, I would throw on sweats, a sweater, and go! I loved this path. It was primitive, organic in most every meaningful way to me. It was a spiritual path, embracing my entire being of body, mind and soul. This private path knew me, too...my thoughts, wants, dreams...my joys and heartaches. It listened to me, my heart, as much as I listened to what it said, too... its crisp silence, noisy crunching leaves, its soft wind like a butterfuly caressing my cheek, the dewdrop that falls off the tree onto my face in the morning, the scent of wild honeysuckle, its elemental protection of the species that lived there - the gopher turtle seen most often - the fierce Florida downpour where the water is so warm, you just turn your face up to receive it, stick out your tongue to taste it.
This was my first alla prima painting that I did which I actually liked. Working in the sun with glare can be challening in any situation, so I started this painting mid morning, but it was summer, so it was hot. Hot enough to want to work quickly to quell the noise of buzzing insects, and to minimize getting paint all over my face due to constantly wiping dripping sweat. This path runs south, southwest so the sun was traveling diagonally from the upper left -hand corner westward to the lower right-hand corner. The path was illuminated by filtered light dancing through a canopy of dense trees.
This is an earthy painting, very primitive, but as real as many paths everyone sees everywhere if one looks for them. I look at this painting and think, this looks like it could have been painted 100 years ago; but it's not so. It's just as it was when I lived there, just as it is today when I visit, and hopefully just as it will remain for a very long time to come.
The Road to Home