About the Work
I have been attracted to Nantucket landscapes for as long as I can remember. For many people Nantucket means bright summer days, warm beaches, and sparkling waves. But winter reveals a more subtle beauty.
On a wet and foggy weekend in January I visited the porch of a boarded-up house where the summer owner was not there to see Brant Point light shining through the fog, or a solitary loon feeding off his dock in the shelter of the marshes.
As I walked through the graveyard where my parents are buried, the rain and had blackened the slate gravestones, and brightened the yellow lichen on the marble ones - a scene easy to pass by in the bleaching summer sun.
The moors were magical – beautifully formed oak tress would appear, separated from one another by layers of misty air, and the saturated grasses were unbelievably red. Older trees, glowing green with moss, showed the ravages of wind-storms by their broken branches, even as they stood their ground.
This is a Nantucket winter as it has always been, and I love it.