Atop a hill with a winding dirt road leading up to it, was a small house that watched the wind and clouds roll in. The road was lined with Queen Ann’s lace and the woods leaned in from the south. This was a house that I use to go to in the summer with my husband and son. It was off in the Catskill mountains far enough away that it was truly quiet. I no longer own the house or am married, but the memories of the actual geography are still strong. It was a green place in every shade of green you can imagine and some you can’t. It is the only place I’ve ever seen a lunar moth.
The painting is about the memory but also about the structure of the land . It is about the shadows and flurries of the green as dusk washed away the differences between moth, flower and trees, leaving only the warm lights to lead you home.