Blog

The Pine Forest  (The Tree of Life Series)

Original 2003__ Oil on Canvas__ 60 in. x 36 in. 

. . . a place deep in the Woods where I used to go as a small child 

The Pine Forest was my 'special place.'  It was where I went to hide to play to dream to imagine to think deep thoughts and occasionally,  to escape.  I'm guessing that my parents had no idea that that's where I was,  when I went out back to play.  The property was quite large and I could just as easily have scurried past my mother's beloved Japanese maple down the wooden railroad ties and been hanging by the pool reading a book by Portugese author Abrantes,  or flying across our very own makeshift skating rink on my white skates with my red pom poms and tiny silver bells  - the rink that my father had built  - or warming up in the small wooden hut with the old-fashioned stove that stood adjacent (he also built that hut).  My father was a very handy man with many hidden talents. (How did he learn to build things like that from scratch in just a few hours one afternoon?  And then even more questions ~  How did he develop a facility in so many Asian tongues when he'd never been out of the country?  Or snow ski so well when growing up a poor kid in Brooklyn?  Alas,  I  digress Dear Reader . . . .)  But I wasn't in any of those 'expected' places.  

In fact, I had disappeared into this land of wonder I called the 'Pine Forest.'  I was able to access it because my childhood home bordered the Nassau County Greenbelt in New York.  A locked gate separated our property from the equestrian trails that ran behind,  and I used to climb to the top of the links then hop that fence - or when I could get my hands on the key,  because doing so would be easier than that climb - open the gate and then I could also take Donnegal Shamrock our Irish Setter along with me.  We called her Shani.  (In recalling all this just here and now,  I'm not sure this is the kind of thing that you'd want your young daughter barely in her teens doing today -- walking alone through the woods in the late afternoons after school - exploring -- but back then it was still okay - or maybe I was just lucky or some higher force was watching over. . .  I can't really say for sure)

The equestrian trails ran parallel to the property line and I would head left,  down along that trail as it disappeared into the woods.  The trees made an archway above where they met and blocked out the sky and so for a short distance it was dark.  And the vegetation was thick and you could see nothing to the left or the right as you moved forward towards whatever lay ahead.  And I don't remember ever being afraid or thinking that there was anything to be afraid of -- such is the great wonder of being a child!  But then the trails magically opened up and the sky flowed in in huge beams of brightness and there was a straight stretch of trail with leaves strewn across it that crackled underfoot as I'd head farther and farther along towards the bend to the left leading to my also much belovedPine Forest. There,   the path would suddenly widen to the size of a full one way road though no cars ever passed.  And to my right was a wide open meadow.  Wild flowers spilled forth in bountiful color exploding against the blue of the sky and only a low picket fence separated me from the field.  I never did cross that fence.  It looked like Heaven. And it stretched as far as a young girl's eye could see into oblivion without end. And a light washed over and enveloped everything everywhere all the entire meadow and beckoned you to come hither. . . 

But to the left of me was the Collection.  And I was drawn in that direction.  The story I'd heard was that some wealthy man who lived in the huge main estate had had specimens of pine trees flown in from all over the world.  They were all shapes and sizes and colors.  And each had a small little sign at its base identifying it by its scientific official name.  My feet went crunch crunch crunch over the bed of pine needles that layered around to make the soft bed of the trail and I veered left off the main path and into the Pine Forest.  

Pinus monticola,  Lambertiana, Resinosa, Sabiniana, . . . and so it went.  I marveled at the colors - not greens but the blues and the reds and the yellows -- and yes,  the greens too,  but all different shades of green not one. There was lime as well as hunter and sage and it was all so so beautiful.   I really loved the blues especially the ones that looked like winter wreaths in summertime.  That one special shade of blue that always caught my eye and held it for more than a moment.  I've never been able to catch it -- but I can see it clear as day when I close my eyes.  Some of the pines were towering way over and heading towards the Heavens and others were quieter and not reaching at all and curved over and winding and bowed.  I'd wander trying to remember all the names -- I could not --- but I do remember what they all looked like every one.  I picture them sometimes in my mind I see them and I am transported back back back in time. . . . but that was not all that caught my attention.  There too was the small pond with its muddy bank and toads hopping.  And if you knelt down beside the water and cupped your hand you could catch those wriggling little things -- the tadpoles -- stare at them in wonder -- and of course put them back where they belonged.  There was a little island in the middle of the pond.  An outpost of sorts.  And a small land bridge that led to that small piece of real estate with its one lone tree smack dab in the center and its huge canopy above that bowed over creating a wall which you could step inside of and be inside the tree -- inside its branches -- and hide!  WOW!  That was really great.  Nobody could see you there at all.  You could stay there for hours and disappear entirely. Sometimes I'd do that, if several riders were coming by down the trail that led past the Meadow.  I'd go inside the tree and hide for a moment.  A little girl inside a little tree on a little island hiding from the mares.   

Also in the Pine Forest was a miniature house.  It wasn't really a house.  It was for the children from the Big Estate to come and play.  A life-sized doll house painted white with small red shutters and a tiny picket fence all around. I never went inside but I did peer inside the windows. Do you know what I saw inside of that tiny house? 

And then,  as dark descended on my forest,  I'd head back to the trails.  Sometimes taking a different trail that looped around and joined the main one.  On this trail was a log cabin.  And there was a shotgun over the portal and a funny looking cap that hung on a hook by the door.  Something always gave me the creeps about that place.  Secretly I thought that someone scary may be living there.  So I'd tiptoe like a little mouse and try to get past it quickly before the boogie man came out and grabbed me and prevented me from returning home.  That never happened.  HERE I AM! 

I returned up the same path that I'd gone down,  arriving late at the locked gate to scale the fence and scurry past the skating rink and heating hut with its old-fashioned stove, up past the pool and my mom's beloved Japanese Maple tree,  till finally I'd cross the threshold back to the place I called home.  

I don't know if the Pine Forest is still there,  linked to a Museum just inside the Nassau County Greenbelt that bordered our property.  Physically, that is.  For it's a place that will always exist,  if nowhere else but in my mind.   

PROVENANCE:  

2003:   The San Bernardino Museum,  Redlands, California:  National Juried Museum Show,  Award (Color) 

*   Small Archival Prints Now Available   *

*   Large Archival Prints COMING 2023   *

*   Original Not Available At This Time   (Although the Original oil painting has never been sold by the Artist,  its location and the status is unknown to the Artist at this time,  but is thought to be somewhere in New York City vicinity or thereabouts)  *