Back From the Wars~~ I’m Home Again. (New Painting.)


I’m Home Again. 

New Painting. Oil on Canvas.  24 X 18 inches.

This is a new oil painting filled with rich color from the early sunlight hitting land and man.  I guess I’m still a New Yorker at heart, today the 9-11 memorial museum opened on Ground Zero. Apparently they got it right, it’s moving to witness. 

This is for the survivors of wars, and for remembering those who did not.  I’ve been working on it about a month and this is a good day to call up the importance of vibrant life, of plowing in again, and heading for whatever comes next. Thank you American soldiers, firemen, NYPD, all of you on the front lines…..for your service and your sacrifice.

A returning American soldier.  Back From the WarsHe’s come back from the wars, back from far away places to the farm he had been working the years before he left.  Land that is his, and familiar, his friend, his tough enemy, land that he loves and in many ways what he’s been fighting for.

Back From the Wars, Center Detail

Early this morning in the light of dawn the soldier farmer fires up his old tractor.  He plows head-on into land that needs civilizing, that needs him, and filled with the joy of it, he keenly feels his survival. 

Back From the Wars, upper left detail

The house and shop he built get the first rays of sun in the upper left hand corner, daylight pouring through the woods and over the hillside; his pick-up on the road, just emptied from a haul of materials. Center and leading right, his trees, his bridge, still shrouded in mist, lead to his barn and cow. They face his pond in air bright and moist. Bits of blue sky above them signal the beginning of his new day.Back From the Wars, upper right detail

Original Oil Painting on canvas (24 X 18 inches)  



Available for Sale at

The  Hawks  Perch  Gallery  of The Historic Farm Center

Carmel Valley Road at Robinson Canyon Turnoff

5  Miles from the Coast.

Open 11-4 Every Day.

Back From the Wars



4 thoughts on “Back From the Wars~~ I’m Home Again. (New Painting.)

  1. Barb I have your email address, but your cv address and phone are not functional and the card I sent to you came back.Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you and send prayers, hope and courage for your great forward progress. muchly frances Ps I love your art and stories…. 🙂 🙂 : )

    • Thank you so much, John. I had not the idea from start to end but as with so many paintings they create themselves. Originally based on my memories of the log cabin on the Virginia farm at Harpers Ferry where I….what did I after all…languished and suffered and painted, and wrote, the life you so brilliantly describe as your own pursuits…..lost to mountains and rivers and endless acres of Blue Ridge extraordinaire.
      There was a young local farmer who used to come and plow the farm’s fields in exhange for his food crop for his animals and one day found his young bride, the mother of their infant, had hanged herself from a barn beam. He was drawn there in time to cut here down and save her life…22 years of it… and worked his distress against the land. What mysterious lives we lead, good Lord, what mysterious inner turmoil. They were lovely people, both remarkably beautiful, but no~~there is less innocense to the woodlands of America than we prefer to think. Oh God but I pray that we surmount our histories and begin at long last to recognize ourselves as human, struggling and joy-filled against such impossible odds every one of us despite our beginnings..

      At any rate his presence was the initial reference but not the unbearable pain. And then the museum was getting readied at Ground Zero, and I’ve thought so much about our soldiers. It’s a lie that they’re universally sick and incapacitated and suicidal. No. A handful perhaps but not all. And the ones who knew themselves and their job and mission and what to make of life, they come back too. And here is such a fellow, who knows life is for living and that is what I painted. Thank you again, and always.

      Thanks for your gentle comment.

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