I often catch myself envying artists who live in the western states. How wonderful to capture pounding surfs on boulder-strewn coastlines, open plains set against snow-capped peaks, towering canyon walls that glow in golden light. The lot I have drawn, the environment in which I paint, however, has a beauty of its own, one that is of equal loveliness. Nothing is quite as lovely as a damp, foggy West Virginia hollow in the early morning, meandering country roads winding through steep mountains, faded old barns and outbuildings, and railroad tracks winding through forgotten places. Beauty is all around. The art is learning to see.
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