SNOW SCRIM

Monday, January 21, 2013.  A scrim of falling mist, turning to snow in front of my eyes.  It was so cold and the snow makers were making snow, not the heavens, but men snow makers.  This entire section of the park was blanketed with a fine mist that fell as snow, and the trees and the brightening sky were hidden behind this lovely shifting pattern of frozen mist.

HALF CIRCLES

Monday, January 21, 2013.  Early morning in the park, the half moon of the reservoir pointing to the brilliant red of dawn.  Everything was circular for me, the water, the tree line, the duck's wake, the coming sun.

MIXED MEDIA

Sunday, January 20, 2013.  How long had this escaped my attention?  29 years?  This tree, and some unknown Parks worker, started this piece many years and the tree has engulfed the stranger that came to be pressed against its mighty and growing trunk.  Now I see this all along my walk and I recognize the shape and I recognize the tree and its unyielding need to grow.  Life will always find a way.

KITE IN FLIGHT

Sunday, January 6, 2013.  What random act of man and nature created this scene of  a bird of prey against a winter sky, flying high over the mountains?  Walking, walking, walking, I turn my head to the earth, not skyward, and I pass this image by, but I returned to it.  What a perfect reflection of what I did see that day, as red-tailed hawks soared over the park on a hunt or maybe just a territory review.  Would some Department of Transportation road painter be pleased that this was the result of her work?  This pebbly bubble of white, rough-edged for the mountains and textured snowy white for the sky, might not be what she had in mind.

THE MISTS OF NOVEMBER

Monday, November 12, 2012.  There is so much mystery in the mist.  What is coming?  Is it hopeful, dangerous, prowling or wonderful?  I can imagine I am in many places, least of all where I really am.  I can see the distant shapes of something, I can see the far expanse of nothing.  And yet I will walk on into it, expectant and eager as to what lies ahead.

SHELTER FROM THE STORM

Monday, October 29, 2012.  Even the fallen leaves have sought shelter, glistening in the corner of ramp.  Every color of them has come together, tossed about and blown asunder.  In the darkness, only the flash of my camera illuminates the red and the orange and shines on the yellow. They rest a bit, before they will be called again into the swirling pull of the next gust.

SUMAC COLORS

Saturday, October 27, 2012.  My own fall color tour through Central Park, along the Reservoir.  I could see them in the distance, the brilliant red, the golden yellow, orange, the soft salmon and the green not willing to go quite yet.  It was just a patch, just a spot, that wanted to focus the attention of anyone passing by, only for a second - just long enough to marvel at the perfect melding of hues.  It will now be gone in the rush of the hurricane, but I beheld it just that once.

GOLDEN CITY

Sunday, September 16, 2012.  I was doing nothing.  Sitting in bed, reading, watching, waiting.  And then the sun blazed in my windows.  The City of Gold appeared, across the vast space of green, beconing me, and all who saw it, to come and find it.  To try to find it, like some leprechaun's pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Fruitless.

PEAS IN A POD

Sunday, July 22, 2012.  Shiny green pods hanging on a tree along the path I walk have caught my attention.  It could be the abundance of them.  It could be the construction - each side of the triangular shape segmented and rippled to reflect sunlight.  Little puffs, which then burst to reveal the seeds inside - one mystery after another.

NOW I LAY ME DOWN

April 23, 2012.  Cherry petals covered the ground, illuminated by the soft morning sun.  I couldn't pass them by, and wanted to put my head to the ground.  New green grass poked up, wood chips from the path were erased, and the colors were radiant - all of them.  The trees were shedding their petals, and every breadth of wind sent more of them floating to the ground.  It is one of my favorite things in springtime New York.

WOODWORK

March 18, 2012.  Uncovered only by a wrenching storm that blew through the Park, this tree has held its secret art for a long time.  A universe lives here, eating its way through the living material, creating pattern and void.

NUTS AND CAPS

January 29, 2012.  I like how the lines of the pavers and the round nuts of the acorn play off each other, bisected by twigs creating corrals of nuts and caps and errant leaf scraps.  By some chance the tarnished rock in the left corner invites the acorns to inhabit the space around it, warmed by the color, contrasting itself to the other rocks.  It seems to signal that there is a way out of the confinement.

CAUGHT

January 26, 2012.  Dirt and frost.  A chilly morning walk and in exactly 3 places I found these isolated patches of frost.  I wondered about it, what could explain that particular spot and the events that brought this out.  And then I looked at the lines, tracks dragging through the icy surface, not substantial enough to deflect the breaking of the surface to reveal the moist cold mud beneath.  The criss-cross of the tire tracks was testament to coming and going, even at this early hour.  If I were a tracker, I would love mud, and frost.

LATTICEWORK

January 21, 2012.  It took the first snow of the season to make me see this - how easily an early designer could develop a lattice pattern.  The white powder overlaying the deep green on a background of white snow, has probably caught observers eyes for as long as we could see and think about what we saw.  There are so many times when I don't see because I think I am just too busy.

And how could an image like this not have inspired weavers and painters alike?  Fine, tiny branches carrying little circles of surprises up to the sky.  The sky itself was so gray, holding the sun at bay, and the branches were so dark against it.  My mind wove the fabric and colored it as I set out on my walk.

BURNISHED LEAVES AND TALL TREES

November 12, 2011.  I was walking.  The wind was moving the remaining leaves northward, and the sun was shining from its new southern slant.  It was a crisp morning.  And then I saw these Sumac leaves - red, orange, yellow, green and brown - they were being whipped by the wind.  So slight and crinkled, hanging on by a thread, pliable in the wind.  The sun highlighted their color, dappled by shadow in the early morning.  I stopped, others stopped too, curious as to what I was looking at.  And then they saw it.

GRASS HUT

July 22, 2011.  Twigs, grass, twine, leaves green and dried.  These pieces combined to build a nest, a hut, a home.  It was surrounded about with wooden flats laid on the ground, a forest fence.  For what?  The roof opens to the sun and elements and to allow me a glimpse in.  What is life like in this hut?  Who are the inhabitants of this little world, this bower?  The morning light gives a purple hue to the wood and softness to the setting.

WOOD SNAKE

April 14, 2010. In the early morning light the grasses and moss have an electric edge to them and their colors shimmer in the indirect rays of the coming sun. The moss wraps and caresses this old root, the edges soft and rounded from exposure and wear. It curves across this space where it is exposed, like a snake before it disappears again below the dank earth. I want to remove it, take it with me, retain the beauty that it is, outside of its setting. I don't.

GLOVE CAMOUFLAGE

February 19, 2011. There is little snow to hide this lost mitten, and so it is evolving, gathering bits of leaves and grass to cover itself and ensure its ability to survive. All is lost if someone picks it up and tames it. Then it will stop evolving and live a comfortable life in someones drawer, with other gloves, safe and comfortable, but never challenged. What will it become if left alone. How deep will it go to become one with its surroundings and stay to see another day in Central Park.

THE WEIGHT OF IT ALL

January 30, 2011. Sometimes a burden can be 19 inches of snow, and sometimes it can be love. In either case, it seems, we learn to bend, and maybe with time we stand straight and tall again. In the spring I will visit this site again and see what has become of this tree, and me.

ABSTRACT

January 29, 2011. The snow causes everyday images to suddenly take on new dimensions and the usual twists and turns of branches are suddenly made all the more vivid and stark. What seemed so natural and perhaps unremarkable before the snow, is now wholly spectacular and riveting. This stand of trees, maybe because of the direction I was traveling, and the coming of the morning light, was enthralling to me.