Limits

There are limits to what one person can do, and at the moment my limits seem to be in the realm of taking the photos of my paintings to get into the blog. It's just one thing that doesn't seem to come easily for me: either too much time passes since I last used David's too complicated digital camera, and I can't remember or figure out something important. It even happens with Anna's very simple camera. 

Today I had hoped to post a photo of a sketch of a wad of money that I found the other day, along with a story, but I can't seem to get a photo. That'll have to wait. 

But, since I'm on the topic of limits, I'll post a photo of one of my paintings of our backyard fence. It's a limit of sorts (although after a section got blown down in the wind the other night, it's an even more permeable boundary than before). Sometimes I ignore it completely and paint the trees beyond as if it weren't even there.

Early September. How different the light in the trees is now. When the sun's out, the light is as sharp as it comes, clear and piercing. And then there's the light diffused through yellow, ochre, and orange foliage.

For some reason I remember walking through yellow leaves in college (Trinity, in Hartford), pushing my feet through them, savoring the sound while also marveling at how much light radiated upward from the fallen leaves. As if there were two primary sources of light, one up, one down, and it was hard to decide which one I liked better.