It's the second day of fall and it's a beautiful, bright sunny day and 28 degrees (that's 82 for my American friends), so a painting with an ice jam might surprise you. Why on Earth would I be thinking about winter, especially since I've been known to vocally, and repeatedly, express my displeasure with the season? Well, in fairness, this painting is more about the end of winter isn't it? One of my favourite and in my opinion, one of the most romantic things in the world is going for a stroll on that first kind of warm day in early spring. You know what I mean, after the long, cold, snowy winter, it's that first day, late afternoon, right before supper, where the sun is beginning to set, and the brilliant hues of the sunset are beginning to come out, but, the warmth is still there. You can feel the sun on your face, it has a hint of warmth in it, a preview of it's coming strength. And it's been working it's magic all day, melting winter's gifts.
Where I live, there's a walking bridge that spans the river, connecting the north and south sides of the city. People use it all year round, but on that day, it's as if everyone comes out of hiding. The air somehow smells and feels different. As we walk, we peer over the railing and see the ice, a solid sheet across the river only a day before, now broken into thick asymmetrical chunks of white and yellow, drifting along slowly. There's something about that sight that makes me feel alive and excited; and it makes me smile.