Sometime 100 – 120 or so years ago, a pin oak and a willow oak were planted in my yard. I think a lot about the way they catch the evening light, especially in winter.
I revisit this note to myself:
They hold so much poeticism and meaning to me, it’s difficult to know where to even start.
On an emotional level, I feel both awe and fear.
Maybe that’s where I’ll start.
Because abstraction doesn’t act as metaphor for me but a thing unto itself, framing them this way feels like a new way of thinking. Perhaps I need to depict them literally first? I should look at Mondrian’s tree paintings again.
Here they are in all their summer glory.
