Walking for me is as much a part of painting a landscape as the paints themselves. Exercise sure, but also a local adventure, departure from the logistics of daily living, arrival to a flourishing fragmented natural bounty.

An encounter with a stretch of road snaking through a shock of Clausland Mountain’s autumn palette is a reminder that human enterprise is not the only game in town. I feel some relief discovering that a startlingly beautiful, and perhaps no less dangerous world than the ingenious Lego version built by people can flourish without our managerial skill set - though that may be the only thing that can sustain the natural wonder in our presence.  

Still, I am strongly drawn to the corrupt, compromised, exquisitely hopeful beauty of a guard rail girdling a dwindling swath of forest, or a set of car lights journeying through the day’s last glimmer of light to a destination unknown, yet somehow familiar.

Painting a landscape is my response to discovering local natural treasures. It is a bit like writing a valentine to the party responsible for providing the bounty of land, leaf, stone, earth and water. In painting a scene encountered, I try to honor a sense of connection to the exquisite unsupervisable roulette of nature, the miracle of its being, and my desire to share the results with you.

​

Stephen