New Impressionist Summer Landscape Paintings

Queen Anne's Lace, 20x20

Painted at Hammonasset State Park, Madison, CT

View from St. Mary's, 30x20

Painted in St. Mary's cemetary, Clinton, CT

McKinney Wildflower Garden, 12x24

Painted at the Stewart B. McKinney Wildlife Refuge, Saltmarsh Unit, Westbrook, CT

I love the months of August, September and October. The frenzy of spring and the burst of growth in summer has peaked and now, nature matures and comes to fruition (this may be a metaphore for my arrival into mid-life, but I'm not sure LOL). But I do just love these three months, they seem so bountiful, and overflowing with good things like wildflowers, tomatoes, zucchini, daylilies, black eyed susans, goldenrod, hickory nuts, peaches, crickets, herons and geese. The days are still very warm but the nights and early mornings already have a tinge of coolness to them anticipating the autumn to come. The air smells different too. All of nature, rather than growing and striving has just begun its slow, steady decline. I love to walk in the park and look over the marshes and meadows and drink in the incredible amount of texture and color that is everywhere. Fullness and completion at its satisfying best.

"In August, the large masses of berries, which, when in flower, had attracted many wild bees, gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, and by their weight again bent down and broke their tender limbs."- Henry David Thoreau

"Fairest of the months! Ripe summer's queenThe hey-day of the yearWith robes that gleam with sunny sheenSweet August doth appear."- R. Combe Miller

"Whilst August yet wears her golden crown, Ripening fields lush- bright with promise;Summer waxes long, then wanes, quietly passing Her fading green glory on to riotous Autumn."- Michelle L. Thieme, August's Crown

"When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and like a dream of beauty glides away."- Sarah Helen Power Whitman

Ah, Sun-flower, weary of time,Who countest the steps of the Sun,Seeking after that sweet golden climeWhere the traveller's journey is done:Where the Youth pined away with desire,And the pale Virgin shrouded in snowArise from their graves, and aspireWhere my Sun-flower wishes to go. - William Blake