This is probably not finished, but it's close, I think. I have to make some adjustments to the closer sycamore - too speckley. And I may change some of the other shapes after I live with it a bit.
But this captures some of the feeling of the memories and the imagined place, the excitment of passing between these two trees. In reality they were young and straight and without much character - but in my imagination at the time, and certainly in my memory, they grew. Striding through them was a symbol for me of passing beyond daily cares, beyond recall, as I was then too far away to hear a call or a bell from home, passing into a place without constraints other than the end of the light and the strength of our six legs. It was the door into a private world I shared with no one but the dog. And I brought home treasures... walnuts, fern fronds, seed pods, large pine cones, pearly everlasting, oak galls, stones polished orange by a half century's rusty rain water falling from old barn roofs.
And this piece is getting back to the way landscapes FEEL to me - the way trees and other things break the world into separate panes, like stained glass windows, but with nothing to restrain the light. I've painted this in other pieces - I've missed it, and I'm glad to come back.
There will be more. I have a number of these landscapes to pull out into the light; they do enable me to pursue my father, and they make me feel free. This one is my usual 19 x 19 inches - watercolor on Arches hot press.