When I was a kid, like so many others, I often accompanied my mother to all of the places mothers go when they are doing their “errands”. You know: grocery shopping, the drug store, the cleaners, the beauty parlor (the worst!), and the bank. In the branch office of the bank we visited, there hung a painting on the wall behind a yellow vinyl couch, that always mesmerized me. It was of a scene in a forest, in the fall, with all of the reds and oranges and golds that define autumn. But to my eye, the magic of the painting were the birch trees that stood straight and tall from foreground to back, their white, scarred skin in sharp contrast to the rich colors that surrounded them. It was finely detailed, with realistic perspective, as the trees gradually faded into the distance. And it drew me right in, every single time we stopped by.
I’ve never forgotten that painting, and have searched for it since, without success. But I also find myself search for birch trees, thinking (hoping) I might photograph an image as captivating as the painting in the bank.
These two photos of the same birch trees were taken in New Hampshire and don’t come close to achieving my goal. But I thought I’d share them just the same.
The search continues…