It was a long winter. My beloved Dad died, after a difficult final battle. The weather was atypically cold and dreary. The eldercare for both of my parents was, at times, exhausting. During that time, I would look through my photo library for inspiration; any kind of inspiration. I did find inspiration there, in old photos of more lighthearted times, photos of our children when they were young and carefree, bucolic summer vacations, and photos of the wildlife I love so much. There was one particular photo, though, that stood out and I knew it was time to paint my version of it. The photograph depicted an old hand and his horse, at the end of a hard day. Both were weary and ready for rest. The long light of late afternoon shafted across a meadow and illuminated both of them in soft, bright warmth. Their quiet, trusting relationship was evident. At the end of a long, hard day, they had each other.
It was a long winter. My beloved Dad died, after a difficult final battle. The weather was atypically cold and dreary. The eldercare for both of my parents was, at times, exhausting. During that time, I would look through my photo library for inspiration; any kind of inspiration. I did find inspiration there, in old photos of more lighthearted times, photos of our children when they were young and carefree, bucolic summer vacations, and photos of the wildlife I love so much. There was one particular photo, though, that stood out and I knew it was time to paint my version of it. The photograph depicted an old hand and his horse, at the end of a hard day. Both were weary and ready for rest. The long light of late afternoon shafted across a meadow and illuminated both of them in soft, bright warmth. Their quiet, trusting relationship was evident. At the end of a long, hard day, they had each other.
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