Wind. QP

The Wind at Music on the Hill

The wind and weather of the day

Playing music and memories

On the grass


But no rain...

The wind blew. Sheltering from the gusty wind, grasping belongings, blankets, and things the audience clung tight to the field. I ducked and pulled my hat down tight. Billowing, building monsoon clouds passing by dwarfing Sun Mountain. The music played on. As I surveyed the scene, I felt transported to some familiar yet strange place. The Greeting by Bill Viola was playing out some how between me. The subjects, separated and never meeting in this play - non-greeting.

On either side of me, raising above their crowd, two women caught my imagination. To my right a dark haired younger weighted woman stood, arms pressed to chest, her bright red-orange, long skirt flowing in the wind behind her. A sail, her train fluttered in slow motion in the face of the wind and music. To my left a older, fair haired (gray or blond) woman with arms crossed held tightly a pale teal sweater over a flowing pale summer dress. Thin and statuesque towering above her companions who laid sprawled upon their blanket, knees up. I captured these moments in my mind and camera. And later, when called upon to paint the wind I referred to them.

Music on the Hill is a free summer concert series at St.John’s College, Santa Fe campus held on soccer fields. Every Wednesday evening 6 - 8 pm mid June thru July, a broad cross section of locals gather picnic style on grass to hear jazz, rhythm and blues, or world music - and dance.

The paintings. My first attempt, red skirt, seemed over worked and unresolved. I spent too much time on the tree. I worked past the two hours on the figures. Second attempt, blue sweater, was surprisingly fresh and oddly finished yet without much detail. I hadn’t painted people in a long, long time.

The Wind

by Christina Rossetti

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.


From my sketchbook:

Red Flag

Already underway




very dry

fire growing




will linger.

Poor humidity




Two watercolor paintings, Wind:

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