I’m finally back to the great white north, after a week cruising through the endless highways and backroads of the deep south. For the most part it was a series of family visits, but the trek ultimately culminated with us exhibiting at the Naples National Art Festival. Aside from what seemed like an endless comedy of errors, it was good to be back in public after a long winter of isolation. It was also nice to be able to sit back and see my paintings hanging as a somewhat cohesive body of work.

When I’m miles away from my tools, I tend to be fairly critical of my own work, and everything winds up looking like little more than tricks done with pieces of paint. I have a hard time getting lost in the illusions I tried so hard to complete, and everything looks pale and shallow, both in execution and concept. I have a few more things to consider on the giant study of twelve apple that’s still on the easel (and still surprisingly wet), and then I’ll dive into another adventure.

It’s nice to be home, and Frank seemed especially thrilled to run through the snow again.