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When I see an old barn, I feel a sense of nostalgia. It’s as if I’m coming home. I imagine the day when neighbors, family, and friends gathered together. They worked to build the barn which was integral to the survival of a farming family. Like a swarm of bees, they used their cooperative energy to raise the roof and the walls. A barn raising was an important community ritual. When you stand in front of a barn, this beautiful maternal structure welcomes you through her door and into the arms of her walls and her protective roof. I envision all the souls who have entered her doors over the years.
A barn is a temple of sorts; a haven in times of war, a comfort in times of sorrow, a warm place in times of winter storms and pounding rains. A barn is a place of birth and of death, a place to make love, a place to lay down one’s weary head in a bed of straw. Through generations, the barn still stands.
When you close your eyes, and open them, an old barn is a symbol of “a moment in time”.
I paint these barns to cherish and hold on to the nostalgia and this moment in time.
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