Frequently, the most compelling images to paint are the most fleeting: the clouds that quickly morph and dissolve, the light that briefly transforms the everyday, the moments that are glorious but transient. Frustration at falling short, of failing to capture complexity, is inevitable, but perhaps pinning it down is besides the point, contrary to the magic. Perhaps a vestige of it is enough.
A different moment in time, is the derelict barn. I have watched it deteriorate for nine years, but on this particular Sunday it’s slow demise seemed particularly poignant and beautiful.