Art Is… by Bev Jackson Cotter

It’s a mellow February morning on Bancroft Bay. The excitement and color of young people and weekend snowmobiles and sleds is behind, and now a couple of crows and two frisky squirrels are the only movement. Even the branches of the weeping willows are still.

If you were to define the color palette out there this morning, you would use white, black, and a tan or sienna color and maybe a touch of deep green. Out of those four colors, you will blend thousands of different shades and tints, and the tracks in the snow, the bark on the trees, the dried leaves and grasses along the shoreline, the pine needles, the crows and squirrels, and even the occasional chickadees at the bird feeder will appear on your painting.

It’s an almost monochromatic world, and it is beautiful.

A friend once described this winter scene when he was young, and it sounded dreary and almost scary. Where I saw the world resting and storing up energy for spring, he saw only the dead-looking trees and black, barren soil touched by dirty snow drifts. I prefer my version.

And a gal, this one from California who was visiting Minnesota one of those Januarys when we had several inches of snow cover, asked, “How do you know what is under there?” I’m afraid that I gave her one of those “What a dumb question is that?” looks, and then as graciously as I could, I responded, “Spring is there, waiting.” I don’t think she got it.

While I can certainly understand the thousands of people who flee Minnesota this time of year and spend their days meandering through warm sunshine, I cannot imagine not watching the seasons arrive on their schedule, not mine.

On the little island in the bay, there is a tree that tipped over some time ago. At first when I saw it, I couldn’t figure out why there was a fence post standing there. It looked like a thick post or a tall stump with a sawed off top. When the leaves were gone in the fall the horizontal trunk finally showed through the underbrush, and I could see that the “post’ was really a maze of roots that didn’t need to reach far into the earth for water. They only needed to spread out for nourishment. Of course, the eventual weight and height of the tree could not be sustained by that thin layer of roots, and the wind tipped it completely over.

One winter day, I walked across the snow-covered ice and photographed the root structure. When I enlarged and framed it, it proved to be one of those pictures that people would stand by and puzzle over for a while. Fun — for them and for me watching their faces.

Of course, there are times — times when the driveway needs shoveling, when sidewalks are icy, when the wind almost blows your breath away, when the road salt and sand bore holes in the garage floor, when the car is constantly dirty from sprayed slush, and when I am concerned about family members out on dangerous highways. That’s when I forget about the beauty of the winter season, and color palettes are the furthest thing from my mind.

Recently, I’ve been perusing the book, “Don’t Know Much About History,” by Kenneth C. Davis, and I’ve been surprised by the number of significant incidents that have taken place in the winter. Did you know that Tom Paine’s pamphlet “Common Sense” was published in January 1776 persuasively arguing for our independence from Great Britain? Did you know that in spite of the incredibly difficult Valley Forge winter of 1777-78 when George Washington lost 2,500 soldiers out of his army of 10,000, his remaining men continued training and by the end of February they became the cohesive, disciplined force that eventually defeated the British. And did you know that it was Feb. 4, 1783, that Great Britain officially declared an end to hostilities in America?

It’s winter. It’s beautiful. It’s cold. It’s dreary. It’s historic. It’s now.

I hope you are enjoying.

 

Bev Jackson Cotter is a member of the Albert Lea Art Center where the annual All Member show will be on display through March 28.