Iced Storm, 11×14, $100 matted
The last two winters in our corner of Vermont have been unusually warm, with ice storms rather than good old fashioned blizzards punctuating the season. Did I mention missing the blizzards?
The ice storms are fascinating too. I don’t know why, but I hear the wind better without the foot or two of snow on the roof acting as a buffer, and Mother Nature is howling angry about something these days.
Questions or to buy any of my work email me at rachel@rachelbarlow.com
Minimalist Winter
Last fall T1 was diagnosed with an auto immune disorder that will require him to be on medication for the rest of his life. we weren’t jumping for joy, but we have good health insurance, and we knew that he could stay on until he was 26 or, until he was a job that offered coverage. it was a disorder, but it was manageable, and, for all its faults, the Affordable Care Act insured that his pre-existing condition would not prevent him from getting insurance in the future.
The last few days, as executive orders have been flying fast and furious, a vaguely worded repeal of the Affordable Care Act threatens to jeopardize both of T1’s future lifelines, and I have struggled to keep my thoughts on anything but how to protect my son’s health now and over the next few years as he takes the next steps towards adulthood.
I’ve always been sympathetic towards others with chronic illnesses or conditions that used to keep them from being insurable and grateful for the insurance we do have, but I don’t think I have ever truly empathized with what the constant strategizing must be like, and I’m ashamed of having not fought harder for T1 and for others. It’s something I intend to change.
Tonight may not be the moment to fight, but it seemed like a good night to tackle something I can control – a paint brush. Creating is such a little thing, and yet, right now it’s everything.
Dust Devils, 9×12, Watercolor
These are dust devils in eastern Washington. They rise up from the dusty Palouse and wheat fields especially after the wheat has just been harvested.
I love them because they are proof that, even though, on the surface, the land has been thoroughly tamed by humans, there are some things we can’t control.
Each time I see them they inspire awe. Also, the recognition of dust bunnies … I mean Devils … as something that can’t be controlled is a great metaphor for the way I keep my house.
The highway to the volcano Hekkla, once known as the gateway to hell, was closed when we were in Iceland in the fall, as an increase in seismic activity had the geologists concerned that the eruption which had been overdue should be upgraded to status imminent.
We didn’t get to see any eruptions, but we did get a look at Hekkla’s sister, Eyjafjallajökull, which had been slightly hellish just a few years ago. From where we stood, however, the road to hell was gorgeous.
I found myself painting this a few times in my watercolor journal and again when I got home, and the results were always similar. The paintings were never faithful copied of my photographs but, rather interpretations of the vivid beauty and vastness of land that had been ravaged but then recovered.
I kept coming back to that theme of land and people recovering and digging out from the ashes, stronger than before. I go back to it even now, months later, and it helps me to temper my fears.
So my 16 and 10-year-old would be ashamed to admit it, but their pudgy middle-age mom dances when she paints landscapes. The more abstract the pic and wild the beat of the music, the more energetic and embarrassing –for the kids anyway — the dancing. My dancing is so bad that the only time I can really get away with it is in the middle of the night, which is how this painting happened.
WItching hour has become the painting hour for me. When there’s a full moon, it’s bark at the moon time for the dog. That’s how I ended up outside in the yard, keeping the dog on a leash and getting off of mine.
It’s a crystal clear night, and there are a large patches of muddy grass. There’s still a bit of snow, however. I waited for the dog to do her business without waking up the neighborhood, and was forced to take the time to really look at A moonlit winters night for the first time in a long time.
Seeing the variations in color different reflections made me realize how much depth there is to the night, and I started thinking of late night drives through the rolling countryside in Vermont and Washington county in New York State. The dog caught the scent of something, and I let her sniff at the end of the leash for a few minutes why drink in scenery.
And that’s how I ended up dancing in studio under the moonlight at 1 AM this morning. I highly recommend it.
It’s just barely past witching hour, and I’ve been chasing on paper one of those Lake Michigan days when it’s too rough to swim past your knees and too wild to stay cooped up inside away from the beach.
This is my favorite so far, but I’m still not sure if it’s a frog or a prince. But there’s a few hours before the sun come up, so I still have time to kiss a few more toads. And the hunt is a satisfying as the catch.
The warm winter here means the little snow we get doesn’t stay on the branches long and the thin layer on the ground evaporates into fog as quickly as it melts. On cloudy days it makes a different kind of winter wondering land.
For a ready-made science fair project, geysers manage to make a lot of magic. You do have to be willing to see it, however.
When storms come across the lake to our place in Michigan, they do give you fair warning. When they’re on the horizon, it always looks like magic on the way.
Land of Imagination, 12 x 16, Watercolor, $75
I’m getting paintings together for an exhibition at the Spiral Press Cafe in Manchester, Vermont, and, I’ll be honest, I was having trouble getting into the mood to paint landscapes. The glow of Iceland has receded — a symptom of having read too many political posts in the intervening months, and the Vermont landscape isn’t turning me on the same way it normally does at this time of year.
Wrapped up in finishing and publishing my first illustrated book, I was much more hungry to get to work on the illustrations for the next one. That’s when my favorite Élly — Élly’s the star of my next book, The Truth about Trolls, tapped me on the shoulder and reminded me that she needs at least one place to live in during the course of her story, and would I mind getting inspired so she can have some place magical to look at?
So I looked at my car window and found some magic yesterday. Then I remembered some magic we’d seen in Iceland and in Michigan. Now it seems I’m seeing magic everywhere.
Trolls are surprisingly logical.
Prints can be purchased on Etsy here.
Ironically, in an age when digital publishing makes everything easier and faster, getting the Kindle edition of this book out was the toughest part of being a new publisher. Because “A is for All-Nighter” is illustrated on every page, converting it to an iPad-friendly format was not as straightforward as I would have thought. In publishing, as in life, however, there is little you can’t teach yourself with some persistent googling.
The Kindle edition of “A is for All-Nighter” is $1.99 or $.99 if you already purchased the print edition on Amazon.
This is the second year in a row where the Snow totals for our part of Vermont are significantly below average. it doesn’t make for really good skiing or snowshoeing, but it does make for excellent daydreaming on a winters day.
Picking My Battles 