I grew up in an orange grove.
That sounds weird. Until I was about 11 years old, we lived in a house in an orange grove, not under a tree with the jackrabbits. After that, we moved to a house in an olive grove. Although picturesque, olive trees are not as appealing to me as oranges trees. That opinion has to do with the scent of orange blossoms, along with the ready availability of food. (Don’t try to eat an olive directly from the tree. You’re welcome.)
A year or two (probably three—you know how time flies) ago, I developed a strong desire to paint orange groves with foothills and mountains in the background. This isn’t my best selling subject (that would currently be Sawtooth and before that Farewell Gap or the Honeymoon Cabin), but it sells steadily.
We saw this painting in progress a week or two ago:
Here are a few more stages of development:
It is lacking oranges on the right side, a wind machine, and maybe some blossoms. They might be too small at this scale. I was very careful to get the mountains accurate, so if you know the middle fork of the Kaweah, you will recognize Alta Peak and Castle Rocks.
Why do I love this subject so much?
Prolly need some counseling.
Definitely need some counseling, but it prolly doesn’t have anything to do with this particular obsession.
“Prolly.” I love this non-word.