In the early afternoon I sat at a picnic table surrounded by
snow. There was no one anywhere around,, although in the summer there would
be colored tents, campfires, families, and dogs. I had
brought some white wine in a plastic instant coffee container.
A plastic wine glass with a red base. After few glasses, the dramatic change
-- from apple blossoms and emerging daffodils in the foothills below, to deep snow
only a few miles up Route 4 towards Ebbetts Pass -- seemed bearable.
It was that contrast I was trying to achieve in the painting.
Monica Lewinski's face as white as the snow. Her hair emerging like the black tree trunks. The
change from girl to women so rapid and abrupt.
It is no good, I thought. I looked at the path my
hiking boots (olive green, ordered from a catalog) had made in the snow.
New boots on my old feet.
The wine was gone. I headed towards to car with only one thing on my mind. Going home and
painting over the work I had done in the morning.
I didn't do it. Yet.
I am writing instead.