"Autumn Retreats from the Chugach"
Oil on Belgian linen panel, 18x24
2024
Honorable Mention- 11th Annual Landscape—Teravarna - August 2024
3rd Place- Back to Nature - Blue Koi Art Gallery - January 2024
5th Place (Traditional)- 26th Quarterly Land, Sea, & Sky–Fusion Art Gallery –January 2024
Buy a print
Inquire about the original
Oil on Belgian linen panel, 18x24
2024
Honorable Mention- 11th Annual Landscape—Teravarna - August 2024
3rd Place- Back to Nature - Blue Koi Art Gallery - January 2024
5th Place (Traditional)- 26th Quarterly Land, Sea, & Sky–Fusion Art Gallery –January 2024
Buy a print
Inquire about the original
There is nothing as motivating as the impending arrival of winter in Alaska. Marked by the arrival of "termination dust" in the mountains, the last of the fireweed "flying", or the brisk smell of ice in the air one morning--the season shift unifies everyone in a sense of urgency. Outdoor projects have to be hurried in the quickly cooling temperatures and darkening nights. Gardens must be put to rest, hoses drained, and herbs dug up and brought inside. Cars are scheduled weeks out for their pre-winter maintenance and studded tires. Lawnmowers and rakes move aside in the garage for snowblowers and shovels, headlamps and handwarmers replace sunscreen and bug-spray in the hall closet. Everything seems like it must happen at once, and there is never enough time to feel ready. But when the first snow falls, it brings a sudden sense of finality and peace to the chaos--as if nature saying, that's enough for one year. Now it's time to rest.
This painting comes from a memory of such a time when I had first moved to Alaska. I was eagerly training our rescue mutt, Sam, to mush from a mountain bike that autumn--and the arrival of this first snow gave me the renewed hope of a lifelong dream: my very own dogsled. The hand-cut and hand-tied ash sled I bought that winter is still the one I use to this day. (Literally this day. Two hours ago to be exact).
Of course, the moose also find winter motivating: the snow drives them from the mountains in search of food and passable land, and they often come into conflict with us on narrow trails. As winters drag on, they become hungrier, more irritable, and much more dangerous. But early in the winter, Sam and I would still wind through this thick spruce forest and over frozen swamp at night, barely seeing anything, just letting her guide me. I would hold my breath and pray none of the spruce trees or shadows would turn into moose. As time went on, this began to feel like less and less of a good idea, and I abandoned these trails--but what is life without a little adventure?
This painting comes from a memory of such a time when I had first moved to Alaska. I was eagerly training our rescue mutt, Sam, to mush from a mountain bike that autumn--and the arrival of this first snow gave me the renewed hope of a lifelong dream: my very own dogsled. The hand-cut and hand-tied ash sled I bought that winter is still the one I use to this day. (Literally this day. Two hours ago to be exact).
Of course, the moose also find winter motivating: the snow drives them from the mountains in search of food and passable land, and they often come into conflict with us on narrow trails. As winters drag on, they become hungrier, more irritable, and much more dangerous. But early in the winter, Sam and I would still wind through this thick spruce forest and over frozen swamp at night, barely seeing anything, just letting her guide me. I would hold my breath and pray none of the spruce trees or shadows would turn into moose. As time went on, this began to feel like less and less of a good idea, and I abandoned these trails--but what is life without a little adventure?
