Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Wood in Winter - progress shots

oil on 20x24 canvas
I keep looking for the face inside the hood, argh, back to the easel...

Painted with the inspiration of Willa Cather's poem, "I Sought the Wood in Winter"
I sought the wood in summer
When every twig was green;
The rudest boughs were tender
And buds were pink between.
Light-fingered aspens trembled
In fitful sun and shade,
And daffodils were golden
In every starry glade.
The brook sang like a robin -
My hand could check him where
The lissome maiden willows
Shook out their yellow hair.

"How frail a thing is Beauty,"
I said, "when every breath
She gives the vagrant summer
But swifter woos her death.
For his the star dust troubles,
For this have ages rolled;
To deck the wood for bridal
And slay her with the cold."

I sought the wood in winter
When every leaf was dead;
Behind the wind-whipped branches
The winter sun set red.
The coldest star was rising
To greet that bitter air,

The oaks were writhen giants;
Nor bud nor bloom was there.
The birches, white and slender,
In deathless marble stood,
The brook, a white immortal,
Slept silent in the wood.

"How sure a thing is Beauty,"
I cried. "No bolt can slay,
No wave nor shock despoil her,
No ravishers dismay.
Her warriors are the angels
That cherish from afar,
Her warders people Heaven
And watch from every star.
The granite hills are slighter,
The sea more like to fail;
Behind the rose the planet,
The Law behind the veil."

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