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On Peaches

January 25th, 2011

Today the sun is shining and I can see a swatch of bright blue sky outside my window, above the stand of pine trees. Beneath the trees, the snow has melted and there’s a blanket of reddish brown needles revealed. It’s so nice to see some color, even something so muted, after what felt like weeks of gloomy grey days. The artist in me can see the beauty in the range of greys and browns, the stark black trees and blue shadows on the snow. But my family roots came from California and sometimes I long for bright colors and warm sun.

The other day Eric brought home five peaches. Obviously not local, not in season. Having read Barbara Kingslover’s “Animal, Miracle, Vegetable” I felt a twinge of guilt, but, oh, they smelled so good. Small and fragrant, with soft velvet skin and a blush of color. I was down to two when I decided to get out my paints and set this bit of imported summer down on canvas. A little turquoise bowl, a green placemat, a blue and white vase, and a bit of winter sunshine and my set-up was complete. I worked on the painting for two days, not in any hurry, just enjoying the process and the colors. Those peaches called up a memory from years ago when Eric and I got in the car and with no particular plan in mind we drove south, just like the song. Radio up, windows down, holding hands, my hair swirling in the wind. Long highways, little roads, farms and fields as far as we could see. We stopped at a roadside stand and bought a bag of peaches, the best I’ve ever had. With juice running down my chin and the whole car perfumed with the scent of those peaches, we dipped below the state line to Kentucky, turned around and headed home, the sun lowering on our left. Now just one sniff of a peach takes me back to that day. I stepped back, tilted my head and contemplated my painting. Not perfect, maybe needs some tweaking, but it’ll do. I savored the last two peaches.

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