City Limit, Florence, Kansas, U.S. Highway 50, March 26, 2013

City Limit, Florence, Kansas, U.S. Highway 50, March 26, 2013, 2023
acrylic on a shaped rag board panel, artist-made frame
4 1/8 x 13 3/8 x 1 5/16 inches

Tuesday was my second day of travel. I’d spent the night in Emporia, Kansas. A blizzard swept through the area a few days before I arrive. Piles of plowed up snow still framed the streets and parking lots. The springtime night shimmered in crystalline winter starlight. Taking U.S. Highway 75 north from Dallas, I was going to Utah. This wasn’t the way home. The usual two day of trip became three, just so I could catch the Kansas section of U.S. Highway 50, which goes from Maryland to California. I’d been at Valley House Gallery for the opening of The Dallas Years. The exhibition commemorated my time living in the city through paintings and drawings primarily based on sites I’d photographed while out walking.

 

Based on remaining snowbanks, the blizzard didn’t hit Florence with the same force that assailed  Emporia. As a pedestrian and traveler, I’m limited in what I can say about any place. I seldom know the history. I’m usually not familiar with the streets and alleyways. And even if I happened to be an extrovert, I still wouldn’t know the people. I inhabit an insular world that is encompassing, because seeing is a universal thing. Although I hadn’t been to Florence before, time has a familiar ring. Although no day is ever the same, it is in the repetition of living that we establish the recognition of patterns. At the latitude of Kansas, the progression of March is bound to stall out once in a while, beaten back by the impact of snow. Leafless trees stitch the sky to the horizon. Warehouses, sweeping fields, and highway signage tell me that that I’m skirting the main place of habitation. Familiar things remain new and exciting. The highway is never just a road no matter how many times it has been traveled. This was the first time that I’d driven this bit of highway. Everything was new, and yet it is the similarities to what is known that frequently captivates the imagination. The horizon was reminiscent of the agricultural terrain that I often saw in Texas. Because sight is a major aspect of living, painting any place automatically blends the present with the past.