Once, when I was in London, a young woman sat next to me at a theatre as we were about to watch a new play. The girl was a beauty from Southern Italy with a heavy exotic accent. "Why are you visiting London?" I asked. She theatrically took a deep breath, and made a grand motion with her arm. "Because I need to breathe different air sometimes," she said. Exactly.
Simple. Profound. You just need to get away. Different air is exhilarating.
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| "Skiff" (c) Mary Hubley |
I recently made a pilgrimage to my old lake house in New Jersey. It had been 10 years since I'd been home. The house now sits empty, and I'll be selling it soon. I went back to breathe the old air. I cried a bit as I looked through ancient photos of loved ones long gone. I walked breathless outside to experience the misty presence of the new morning air at the dock.
This is where I had my beginnings as an artist. Painting at the kitchen table. Getting ready for shows. My mother and I would venture into the dark pine barrens to paint old haunted places hidden in the woods.
The air was a memory, yet because of distance and time, it was new and exuberant. I so wanted to stay. But after a few days, I had to get back to things. A breath, and then go.
I'll head back again a few more times before it sells. I'll take my paints to do some plein air work. Gladly. I plan to bask in the memories. And paint with new air that I welcome into into my soul.
