T.S. Eliot wrote in The Waste Land “April is the cruellest month…” and in Boston this month it has proved true. The Boston Marathon bombings, which occurred three blocks from my home, shook our building and our lives. A joyous day and time of year turned into our worst nightmare. Everything was turned upside down and off, except our imaginations and at times, the television or radio updates. Sirens and helicopters screamed. Most of us tried to carry on, though the gray mood in the city was overwhelming.
In the studio, I tried to paint, but only succeeded in ruining two large paintings in progress. So be it. I’ve spent much time thinking about the violence around me this week, and the certainty that spring is still working its way here. What I love and can do is paint. What I can provide is a kind of solace that is found in nature. Quiet. Balm for the senses. I went back to the studio and began more paintings of April – its gray palette matching my mood. A few false starts, but eventually Gentle April at the Pond evolved. An overcast day, trees standing together, and the promise of spring is still there. I present it to you with gratitude for the world’s embrace of Boston, my hometown. And I look forward to May.