In the Greek myth, Daphne fled from Apollo’s unwelcome advances but as he ran her down, she transformed into a tree. I painted her at this oddly chaotic moment, her strong feet and legs suddenly useless.
As I painted a magnificent green Luna Moth tapped at my window in the otherwise silent June night. The deep steady comfort nature offered stood in contrast to the painful human realities of the times.
As the pandemic has grown more wearisome and increasingly appalling, it locks me down in a small house on a tiny patch of ground. At least I am on a hillside surrounded by trees and I can marvel at a Luna Moth, or as the leaves and branches toss in the wind, but I realize that I too, like Daphne, have become rooted by circumstance.