Letter from Macpherson's Studio Letter from Macpherson's Studio Light is rare, remote, giving only a hint of reality through a nighttime window. A dark towering tree blocks the source, the moon and stars. The eye is jumpy, trying to distinguish what is real, what is solid. This story, in paint, has occupied me this fall.
Night is only half the story.
Bright daylight is clouded. The storms continue. I stretch my canvas for a portrait of a dance, the dance of the rain in the wind. There is motion and rhythm in the storm. The lines once straight, now curve.