There is a story behind this painting. Long, long ago, and far, far away, back when I was growing up in Wareham, Massachusetts, I had a friend named Donnie. He lived about half a mile away, on Gibbs Ave, right where it meets up with High Street, which was my street. Behind Donnie's house were the woods, literally 20 steps from his back door, and it was in these woods that Donnie and I spent many a spring, summer, and fall afternoon, running around, hiking (we didn't call it that then), crossing over the fire road, with its ever-present bed of pine needles, back along the different trails there, sometimes forging our own trails, and a couple of times following an old road way, way back into the woods until it dead-ended at a house, a house we would sneak up on oh so carefully, from tree to tree, because we knew for sure -- the way kids know stuff -- that it was a house where witches lived. To this day I still have a long scar on my right leg that I got when I tried to balance, unsuccessfully, on a row of barbed wire -- some 55 years ago.
Into my new adventure as an abstract artist I brought all these feelings and memories when I approached the canvas. Often I don't know what a painting will be titled until it's finished, and it speaks its name to me. But this painting, before the first drop of ultramarine blue, was going to be my best effort at honoring the place and time behind Donnie's house. The different colors of paint went on where they went on, the canvas and my memories guiding my way.