<- Click here
Here in Pennsylvania, seasons nourish our projects. Regardless of the granular idea or feeling that rustles about in our creative cranial places, it’s the seasons which manipulate the possibilities we face in expressing ourselves. Now I know many visitors to ImageFiction come from places without climate swings. And others live in spots where the oscillations are either small or quite rapid.
Here in South Eastern Pennsylvania I enjoy a full measure of seasonal performances. And regardless of my artistic intention to impose an inspiration upon nature – more often I’m its servant, my hormonal dance gliding to its rhythms and possibilities: How frequently seasons are the dog and my whims its tail.
Yesterday I was beside the Brandywine Creek, which meanders through Chester County just East of me here in Lancaster. It was the sort of afternoon, which would dissolve if you thought about it too much. The sort of Saturday in which June had produced a final magnificent blossom – as if to say with a smirk, “Okay July, top this one, I dare you.” That’s the sort of taunt that sets an artist’s agenda. Facing the full bloom of a boasting month, my charge is to remember it at you. The question’s so simple: can you feel summer on The Brandywine Creek?