When I was a child, we used to drive from Montreal to our home in Vermont, most weekends. I remember the tree-lined highways: tall poplars that my father used to tell us were planted by Quebec's early settlers, to be cut down used to repair one's chariot, should it break down during one's travels. It always amazed me that there were still so many trees standing, and I often wondered about the empty spaces in the lines of trees, wondering what fate those trees had experienced. The story stayed with me, and I every time I drive down a highway lined with poplars, I'm brought back to sitting in the back seat, listening to my father tell me that story. Was it based in truth? I don't know. But I believed it for many years to come.
Original abstract painting Acrylics on Canvas 36 x 36 x 1.5 2025
