I turned off the March Road one cold December day onto the Peter Robinson Road to check out the heritage buildings on the west side. Nothing grabbed me. However, turning around, I gazed at the ancient creek, dusted with snow and frozen over, the broken sky reflecting on the clear ice. It was a peaceful scene yet disquieting to think that the creek and low area are in a state of transition. Just as we are, I suppose. I discovered that the creek is called Coody Creek.
On country roads I see large tracks of farmland being taken for new development. This meandering creek, part of the natural drainage system flowing northward to the Ottawa River for thousands of years, will eventually succumb to the Big Plan. “That’s life”, I tell myself – ever more conscious of the fragility of my own time here.
So, let’s capture the momentary beauty of this amazing old creek frozen in time, I decide.
The weather is too cold for acrylics outside - and for me too - and there is no safe place to park my vehicle and paint from inside. So, after four trips back to the area on days with varying weather patterns, and several accumulated photographs, I decide to make a stab at the painting in my studio. A 20 x 40 canvas is unwrapped and placed on my studio easel.
Two weeks later, after many adjustments and another drive-by, I feel that I have accomplished what I set out to do. The painting speaks to me. And it feels very satisfying. I call it Transition.
January 3rd, 2021