tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-223514122024-02-20T01:27:51.256-05:00Liminal Words, Music, and ImageA journal by composer and writer Kevin Macneil Brown, detailing the creative process.Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comBlogger243125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-9081951962417439932023-05-21T07:06:00.005-04:002023-05-21T07:18:10.468-04:00river wind mountain sky- new music<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHoOTtlsnZ1ISPTVnShGWVz5KQypSV2cRxIe2b7zXqm8fVG22NcBQ98yBqPw4SBDUd8Fx425L9vZGOQ-CqQ0s2wai6l2TWWoI32hyDVBMgsrzQo6F1Y9yNQyTeg3qx72Ys3ixDkNxK-jefoEuJ3M3alw8rDp2iwhzLTBc37J_tGld0MTgkw/s700/a0032811874_16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHoOTtlsnZ1ISPTVnShGWVz5KQypSV2cRxIe2b7zXqm8fVG22NcBQ98yBqPw4SBDUd8Fx425L9vZGOQ-CqQ0s2wai6l2TWWoI32hyDVBMgsrzQo6F1Y9yNQyTeg3qx72Ys3ixDkNxK-jefoEuJ3M3alw8rDp2iwhzLTBc37J_tGld0MTgkw/s320/a0032811874_16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">For decades now, I have been making music that comes from places— from mountains, waters, and sky; places outside, around, and inside me. I don’t only hear this music; I see it, and feel it: texture, color, proportion, vibration; distance, scale, spaciousness.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1a0ccd59-7fff-b4c4-0aa8-492ea19ce91c"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have used magnetic tape, field recordings, guitars, steel guitars, and digital processing to make these pieces, and it has been interesting to find, over the years, that despite the changes in tools and technologies the music has had a consistent sound and sense to it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the past two years I have become interested in expressing this music with orchestral string sounds, and with the help of string synth sounds–played on guitar– have realized a long work in four movements, RIVER WIND MOUNTAIN SKY.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The four movements were composed and recorded during the winter of 2022-23. The music was conceived as consisting of two orchestral string ensembles, each located in space along a resonant horizon. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> -KMB</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div></span>
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=930685980/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="https://kevinmacneilbrown.bandcamp.com/album/river-wind-mountain-sky-2">river wind mountain sky by Kevin Macneil Brown</a></iframe>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-7391020610707368492023-04-24T09:12:00.001-04:002023-04-24T11:27:54.960-04:00Morning Snow (High Country Wrangler)<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXqSTkBAz7zo0E9NjDuyOwkUZjlJCNbu4oOz-geKIsobDy0XDFm1jpait9iuezrmhVEwEZqygUYMgsbJoSvpos1SVfzUecXQ1UZSoYYWfsHA1_DlJXh5s9aP1ANC9tA3ITTah-ltXlfVoRxp8tUQdCHx3aJQveAWMLa4pz2fbCzn7Xwmuzg/s1755/img671%20(1755%20x%201275).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1755" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXqSTkBAz7zo0E9NjDuyOwkUZjlJCNbu4oOz-geKIsobDy0XDFm1jpait9iuezrmhVEwEZqygUYMgsbJoSvpos1SVfzUecXQ1UZSoYYWfsHA1_DlJXh5s9aP1ANC9tA3ITTah-ltXlfVoRxp8tUQdCHx3aJQveAWMLa4pz2fbCzn7Xwmuzg/s320/img671%20(1755%20x%201275).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I paint and draw in part because I often need to get beyond words: to a feeling, a yearning; a resonant mystery thrumming in my heart. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-aa64ac4e-7fff-f553-e821-4aaeca85d91a"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> That said, I have been trying to find the words to express what is at the root of my journey into the contemplative cowgirl paintings and drawings. It is becoming clear to me that I have a deep need to express a certain divine feminine energy as it finds confluence with the power of western landscape, weather, sky; to celebrate the toughness and relentless beauty of the natural world and the human heart. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Morning Snow 3” took three months to make. Each version and iteration of the image seemed to ask for more: more snow, a fiercer storm, a more resolute and proud protagonist. As I approached that vision with colored pencils and paint on paper, I was surprised to find a streak of blue sky arriving and opening– even as the heavy snow swirled. That was when I knew I had found the story in my heart.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwpmfnAGQ7RHQq_4ic0RCG8pA-QkCAUSDKCfOejHKq-dtZStOnEz2ERuB8o8Hp74yfc1FgWpwunth5SdWOZdonvRDT0BerDCF_vhdHizh_xYjx9w8p7ZbediramsUjWtu4JdJCtydOFkSjCpX3PcIp8StTjc1xtfdR-tih_vdvhjLo5HR_yA/s1755/Morning%20Snow%203%20%20final%20Enhanced%20(1275%20x%201755).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1755" data-original-width="1275" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwpmfnAGQ7RHQq_4ic0RCG8pA-QkCAUSDKCfOejHKq-dtZStOnEz2ERuB8o8Hp74yfc1FgWpwunth5SdWOZdonvRDT0BerDCF_vhdHizh_xYjx9w8p7ZbediramsUjWtu4JdJCtydOFkSjCpX3PcIp8StTjc1xtfdR-tih_vdvhjLo5HR_yA/s320/Morning%20Snow%203%20%20final%20Enhanced%20(1275%20x%201755).jpg" width="232" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor, graphite, colored pencils, and gouache on toned paper, winter 2022-2023.<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-78883248154549834442022-07-15T07:52:00.003-04:002022-07-15T07:52:53.413-04:00Twilight sky- poem and paintings<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMEjufPoTF5xvUAFkqhQWoGeMejhAF8gOCBxHLOqMwGN0TxkQrI7okxuuF_nwZaVIkJsz0mBKBRyc689_9q7v4uzfSO-HKO0A7tTnfbCNRRFrRzROicbNt4iViyg1O73MC42TbNM3VKJAcYd_Es_HCmuTxS_YFakpzq-3K1Wh5FmPKBVVx2A/s1755/img498%20(1755%20x%201275).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1755" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMEjufPoTF5xvUAFkqhQWoGeMejhAF8gOCBxHLOqMwGN0TxkQrI7okxuuF_nwZaVIkJsz0mBKBRyc689_9q7v4uzfSO-HKO0A7tTnfbCNRRFrRzROicbNt4iViyg1O73MC42TbNM3VKJAcYd_Es_HCmuTxS_YFakpzq-3K1Wh5FmPKBVVx2A/s320/img498%20(1755%20x%201275).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bring the</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">twilight sky:</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">rose-cold silent</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">distances to</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">dream</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">tomorrow, clouds</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">might gather</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">billowing, bringing</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">singing wind</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">strong enough</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">to knock us down</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">or</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">fill our sails.</p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEVNFd-eOM43UzjacS6pwdKSa1zqCXRvNXLJP0r4X1TgxfXJ7J6N_PiYfnG9HoMqlkWAINRKURk-Kr2DtOs1A9XSGEt4VoQ3blb0rPVHoqsjSKpv71bLuxv8gGXNtcvI9EeYJuKE3kVU0qKvKXPe14xAmrZ0ZQs90fJGidXQ04GeNrfgeWg/s1714/img536%20(1245%20x%201714).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1714" data-original-width="1245" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEVNFd-eOM43UzjacS6pwdKSa1zqCXRvNXLJP0r4X1TgxfXJ7J6N_PiYfnG9HoMqlkWAINRKURk-Kr2DtOs1A9XSGEt4VoQ3blb0rPVHoqsjSKpv71bLuxv8gGXNtcvI9EeYJuKE3kVU0qKvKXPe14xAmrZ0ZQs90fJGidXQ04GeNrfgeWg/s320/img536%20(1245%20x%201714).jpg" width="232" /></a></div><br /><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> -Poem and paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown, 2022.</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-57727537168222627442022-06-20T07:24:00.003-04:002022-06-20T07:24:56.512-04:00Only the River- poem and painting<p> </p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">only the river</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">this morning</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">cold waters viridian
and silver</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">over black rock</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">shoreline</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">silent pines</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">breathing</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">only this morning</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">this river</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">this</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">gold-green light</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">singing</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">black shadows</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">cold waters</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">silent pines</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">this river</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">only</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">more than</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">enough.</p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">-Kevin Macneil Brown</p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzq2FEKKv_fxLoB2BMO1TsKWT6notTdzAjnGK2S5VpjkZEt8e6rcAD27Yv0OCWpkZI4WcxOLLXVo5ssZKXNAP40TZj1Pp4WaJxNgJxw5NJrHWZZCRC3l-nsUVa9vxRGgBlox-miB33xdU0Jc8xIlwNoDuNlmGNnh8Zox5G-60vo4DT0IZ1HA/s1754/img556%20(1275%20x%201754).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1754" data-original-width="1275" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzq2FEKKv_fxLoB2BMO1TsKWT6notTdzAjnGK2S5VpjkZEt8e6rcAD27Yv0OCWpkZI4WcxOLLXVo5ssZKXNAP40TZj1Pp4WaJxNgJxw5NJrHWZZCRC3l-nsUVa9vxRGgBlox-miB33xdU0Jc8xIlwNoDuNlmGNnh8Zox5G-60vo4DT0IZ1HA/s320/img556%20(1275%20x%201754).jpg" width="233" /></a></div><br /><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">(Only River- painting by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor and gouache on paper, 2022.)</p>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-17368454536234831662021-11-24T13:01:00.005-05:002021-11-24T13:06:15.507-05:00late season (poem and paintings)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrq4KHgYslnFLcwa2Jwdn23rNAmB10GkDSv2Dv1bxnqLsUTINsTLY2t9catLAenp-lptxwyTTeAfx338c48oo0p_nhXkVkOHLJ6_khj-1_e-jPBfZJmCEtSaZTtJDQblAgeCbg/s1669/img440+%25281669+x+1099%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1099" data-original-width="1669" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrq4KHgYslnFLcwa2Jwdn23rNAmB10GkDSv2Dv1bxnqLsUTINsTLY2t9catLAenp-lptxwyTTeAfx338c48oo0p_nhXkVkOHLJ6_khj-1_e-jPBfZJmCEtSaZTtJDQblAgeCbg/s320/img440+%25281669+x+1099%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNHU8P7LGn_jCuf6m9ik6s73kUUz8UafYbZEY757uDRifde3RvZ6sS0ZTNwpUlRW6JxfrkmvbbhHYTvEWpue8GJ0RWUw9FpxL0KqL8-1Hb561doFjSfzHrcOB5EVyhWNPegXM/s1732/img428+%25281732+x+1153%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="1732" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNHU8P7LGn_jCuf6m9ik6s73kUUz8UafYbZEY757uDRifde3RvZ6sS0ZTNwpUlRW6JxfrkmvbbhHYTvEWpue8GJ0RWUw9FpxL0KqL8-1Hb561doFjSfzHrcOB5EVyhWNPegXM/s320/img428+%25281732+x+1153%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wandering, drifting;</span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-54cf41ca-7fff-2aaf-b758-325cd6494900"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But really--</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Picking at the hem,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pulling threads of </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bare color</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Bold, muted)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Letting structure come</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Undone</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Living now in space </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Between</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Flowing downstream</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fluttering in rustfall</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of autumn leaves:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These branches now </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Vibrating stillness,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bare to blue sky.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Poem and paintings by </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kevin Macneil Brown</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">fall 2021</span></span></p></span><br /></div><p></p><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="animation-name: none; background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; transition-property: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit; transition-property: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></div></div>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-17977857787416924492021-08-05T09:05:00.003-04:002021-08-05T09:05:30.740-04:00Moving Waters ( 3 New Watercolors)<p> In times of anxiety and uncertainty, I seek out places where water moves and sings. I find the places inside that resonate with stillness, movement, power, and mystery. </p><p>Later, with paint and brush and paper, I might bring myself back to those places, feeling the grace of healing and the return of balance.- KMB</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Y9vzrEs-vk1zy-dbDLfWk-BCvnv1CDTSHKgo6cxXxIMUorFLVsSWGmbNLAaNgqu8H63f1tMGpQ0ZugY9C9D2PH7o8lPpat1xVh5R7xLTHWpni8_fK9vxFCBo3Uf-uH6Hghz7/s1748/img321+%25281748+x+1093%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="1748" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Y9vzrEs-vk1zy-dbDLfWk-BCvnv1CDTSHKgo6cxXxIMUorFLVsSWGmbNLAaNgqu8H63f1tMGpQ0ZugY9C9D2PH7o8lPpat1xVh5R7xLTHWpni8_fK9vxFCBo3Uf-uH6Hghz7/s320/img321+%25281748+x+1093%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A Secret Cove- watercolor on paper</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFUB7Ab2AQ9sScpTYTXxXDmlr-JE3n-ExnNksLwgI6FQTym5go0NeNgbbcCw42hGxxGfqYjB38NdeR_A_wKc-KgghdhWfkK1kzW0gL-3iizmARkMVbA3H7xXo7jneKhZ7QP1_/s1595/img375+%25281595+x+1252%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1252" data-original-width="1595" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFUB7Ab2AQ9sScpTYTXxXDmlr-JE3n-ExnNksLwgI6FQTym5go0NeNgbbcCw42hGxxGfqYjB38NdeR_A_wKc-KgghdhWfkK1kzW0gL-3iizmARkMVbA3H7xXo7jneKhZ7QP1_/s320/img375+%25281595+x+1252%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div> Elk River and Continental Divide<div><br /></div><div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUB4Ez7haQk0mxKOH5jrNrvhARV9vHyqS7OhayEVnvArCoGqF5LsJ-GUcpTmwdiFCkKwt_nMjE0nWmJXJhyGXWp5TBKhaR8rFCk6Ds_cUHmf9H9_Y2EDHBAG4cTB8X2C9nI64I/s1715/img362+%25281715+x+1256%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1256" data-original-width="1715" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUB4Ez7haQk0mxKOH5jrNrvhARV9vHyqS7OhayEVnvArCoGqF5LsJ-GUcpTmwdiFCkKwt_nMjE0nWmJXJhyGXWp5TBKhaR8rFCk6Ds_cUHmf9H9_Y2EDHBAG4cTB8X2C9nI64I/s320/img362+%25281715+x+1256%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p> Three Sisters, North Branch Cascades</p><p><br /></p><p> Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor on paper, summer 2021.</p></div>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-8084932314088745742021-05-24T07:30:00.003-04:002021-05-24T07:54:27.314-04:00The Country Beyond Words<p> This week brings the publication of my eleventh novel, the seventh in the Liam Dutra New England mystery series. This book--which I hope will be the only one I write during a pandemic,--grew from daily trail runs in a place that was new to me, though very close to home. Watching, close-up, the same locus of woods and meadows transition from spring to summer was a gift for which I am grateful, as is the story that came with it.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32p1kDtjkwvaFz1HSs98pcMf2fuxElTeqOfeuy2Ejv7l023yQ921Myji0ng7t1P-r4ijw6I6V_CVE52IbYWzZCx8VlTuurLLtvDWBMoeq8PYJFL43Q2mRNXiL6Vem2lpwhEpR/s850/135874437_10220537423960583_7553923023517257573_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32p1kDtjkwvaFz1HSs98pcMf2fuxElTeqOfeuy2Ejv7l023yQ921Myji0ng7t1P-r4ijw6I6V_CVE52IbYWzZCx8VlTuurLLtvDWBMoeq8PYJFL43Q2mRNXiL6Vem2lpwhEpR/s320/135874437_10220537423960583_7553923023517257573_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here, if you would like to explore further, are a description and the opening chapters:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-29c2be32-7fff-4990-9126-5c819649a85d"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Becca Oakley, a brilliant Vermont naturalist recovering from a traumatic incident, seeks help when her wooded land in the shadow of the Green Mountains-- home to Abenaki people for many, many generations-- is vandalized and desecrated. Liam Dutra, with his reputation for finding lost objects and ancient stories, and Shawn Donahue, partner in Becca’s field work, are willing to assist.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> But there are many layers to the situation: layers of time, landscape, geology, and local history. And it isn’t long before Liam and Shawn realize that they are in way over their heads, as deeper mysteries are unearthed in a remote place that resonates with power, beauty--and danger.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-cd5a4077-7fff-11e0-cf64-58d987a7d7c6"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Prologue</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The light at dawn on that August morning ripped my heart wide open. It arrived, rust-suffused and hollow, glowing as brightly in the second floor windows of the house next door as it did over the pine and spruce clad hills of the eastern horizon.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I sat on the back deck with a mug of dark coffee. I felt just a few sprinkles of rain. Over to the west, for just a couple of seconds, the arc of a rainbow appeared, directly across from the rising gold of the sun clearing the dark hills.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then the clouds closed in, the world turned a luminous gray, and the rain began to fall.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It rained all day on that late summer Sunday in Vermont: more rain than I had ever seen in one day. By late afternoon the steep street outside our house in the tiny city of Montpelier had become a new river, fast making its brown and foaming way to the swollen Winooski across Route 2 at the bottom of the hill.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By dusk the big old sugar maples in the backyard were swaying in storm winds, bent with the weight of water, their lush summer foliage a shiny dark green that seemed other-wordly.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And after dark, after dinner, after story time for our daughter Rose, after she and, eventually, Shawn had been long asleep, it was still raining hard with no sign of letting up.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I sat in my study with the old AM radio tuned to nearby WDEV in Waterbury. It was coming on to midnight, and the familiar, usually smooth baritone of the announcer was beginning to fray and rasp. He was alone in the station, he explained, in a second-story studio, while the dark streets outside ran with floodwater. He relayed every piece of information he could get, letting the airwaves fill with reports of road closures, washed out culverts, places where what had been dry and solid land was now water in dangerous motion.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the power went out, he switched to generator.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the internet went down, he worked the data and battery of his personal cell phone to the limits.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I listened, trying to stay calm and centered; trying to build inside me a map of what was happening as the tropical storm called Irene hammered Vermont. I was trying to avoid thoughts of those big maples, root structures sodden, ripping from rain-softened earth, falling and crashing through the roof of our old house.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eventually I dozed, then woke groggy and confused. The radio was sending out only static and clicks as I stirred myself to lumber still half-asleep down the dark hallway into bed beside Shawn’s warmth and snores. It was still raining, but maybe not as hard…</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I fell asleep again, I had a sudden thought. We were on an island now, drifting on huge dark rivers. Not just us, our little family, but people all over Vermont. Our world, our maps, would be different now.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the light-- if it came --of a new day, we would only begin to know what had changed.</span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chapter 1</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The baby turtles,” Rose said, grinning as she shook her head,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That’s what I remember most about Irene. I remember that my teacher had been telling us that first week of school about how the snapping turtle eggs were hatching along the rivers, ponds, and lakes. And with all that flooding, I was so worried about the little baby turtles...”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had just sliced the pizzas-- hot off my charcoal grill, on a scarred and battered long-handled wooden peel-- and placed them on the picnic table beneath the big maples. The aromas of melted cheese, wood smoke, and singed pepperoni rose into the spring evening.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was the only person present who was not a scientist. At the table, already grabbing slices, were my life-partner Shawn-- a biochemist-- and our daughter, Rose, who was as accomplished a 6</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 0.6em; vertical-align: super;">th</span></span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Grade backyard naturalist as could be found. The other woman, tall, with a cascade of silver-hair, and politely waiting her turn at the pizzas, was Rebecca Oakley, a herpetologist who was a colleague of Shawn at the Echo Center at Lake Champlain.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I could get you that data, Rose.” The lowering sunlight caught a glint in the wire-framed glasses that made Rebecca look only a little old-fashioned, a slight accent against her outdoorsy, windswept look. “My focus has been on the Spiny-shelled turtles, of course, but we’ve also done some work with snappers.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rose grinned wider. It was a lopsided grin that she’d gotten from her mother, along with the dark curls and mocha-colored eyes of the Donahue women. “I’ve never seen a spiny,” she said, “But I read that some places on Lake Champlain are the only New England habitat they can be found in.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shawn, having just finished loading her slices with red pepper flakes and Parmesan cheese, grinned her own grin. “Yep,” she said. “I always thought they looked like swimming dinner plates. Or big green Frisbees. I worked up some water profiles up in Swanton as part of Rebecca’s project a couple of years back.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, let’s take you up to see some, Rose,” Rebecca said.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rose nodded with enthusiasm, then bounced up from the table. “I’ve got some really cool nature books by Sy Montgomery, if you want to take a look, later. Mom, can I be excused?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sure,” Shawn said.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I knew that Becca had come tonight because she wanted to ask for our help with something; something of great importance to her. Shawn had invited her over, knowing full well that whatever that something was, it had been eating at her friend and colleague. The question of just what it might be had been hanging with the charcoal-smoke in the air all evening.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We all waited quietly until Rose had gone inside and pattered up the stairs, and then Shawn spoke, her voice softer now. “Anyway, Becca, you had been talking about what happened after Irene.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Becca nodded slowly. She swirled red wine in her glass, then took a long deep breath.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Okay,” she said, “First off, let me be clear. I’m not going to talk about how it feels to...kill another human being.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The evening suddenly felt heavier by a factor of ten, and I felt a veined and stony chill twist its way through the splash of stark evening sunlight.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But here,” Becca said, “Let me show you something.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Becca reached over to the tablet she’d had beside her, swiped the screen open. After a couple more swipes she moved the tablet further into a patch of leaf-shade, positioned it so both Shawn and I could see it.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first photo showed what seemed to be a woodland floor: green moss, brown leaf-litter, some rocks and the blue-gray shadows that they cast.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And a human skull. The skull was dull gray, flecked with brown splotches. Another swipe of Becca’s long fingers brought more bones, and some objects that looked like tarnished metal. A bracelet, perhaps; a rusted blade. A closer look revealed six stone arrowheads laid out carefully on a bed of moss. The cool softness of the moss seemed to accentuate the flinty sharpness of the arrowheads.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That chill I had felt was getting stronger. I glanced up at Shawn, caught a fleck of light in the brown eyes beneath her tousled, almost-black hair. Her tendoned hand was wrapped tightly around the tall green can of Genny Cream Ale. She was biting her lip in concentration, and after all these years with her, I could feel the curiosity, excitement—and jolt of fear—that was likely rising inside her. I had a current of my own flowing inside.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I had the sudden feeling that Shawn and I would be saying yes to whatever it was that Becca was about to ask of us.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Becca’s matter-of-fact phrasing pulled me back from the current.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m Abenaki. Indian,” she said. “I don’t make a big deal of it. Maybe I should.” she shrugged, reached for the bottle and poured another half-glass of Shiraz. “The land-- the place where all that had been buried until the brook changed course in the storm-- has been in my family for six generations-- according to the deed, that is. I always knew that the land was sacred, that our ancestors from long, long before rested there.” She shook her head, swirled wine in her glass. “But those bones, the other objects --I reburied them carefully, just days after I found them-- are gone now. Dug up again. Has to have been in the past two weeks. And I need to get them back. They belong there, at rest. At home...”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I knew now why Becca was here. I am good at finding things. In particular </span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">old </span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">things, lost trails; sometimes even lost people. I’ve made at least part of my living doing just that, along with writing articles about history and, until a couple of years ago, teaching high school students. I have worked as a consultant for the Vermont state police a few times as well, exploring events from the past to find lost things, missing people. And as a result of all my past experience, I knew that the undertaking described was most definitely illegal. In more ways than one.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shawn must have been reading my mind.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And you’ve not called the...authorities... about any of this?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No.” Becca’s gray eyes flashed, hard flint for a moment behind the glasses. “That’s not the right thing here. Bringing in law enforcement, archaeologists. That wouldn’t honor my real responsibility.” She sighed, and her glare softened again. “Look, maybe I’ve taken a big chance here, trusting Shawn, trusting both of you.” She stood up, and I could see her shoulders tightening. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m praying that, if nothing else, you’ll keep all this just among us.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shawn shot a quick look my way, one that I could not quite decode.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t know what I… what we...can do to help, Becca. But, yes, this will stay among just us,” I said.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Absolutely,” Shawn said, her voice quiet but burred with iron.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Okay. I respect that.” Becca said. “I’ve prayed for help. And whatever you might think, I believe it’s going to come, at least partly, from you.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">None of us spoke for a while. After all that it was going to be pretty hard to go back to beer and wine and small talk. Nonetheless Becca did her best. “Okay if I check in with Rose before I go, take a look at those books she wanted to show me?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course,” I said. I looked up from the table, saw the white-gold orb of the sun as it settled into a picket of bare April trees on the ridgeline to the west. The low light smeared and spread, formless now behind the dark trees. A robin bubbled out a song, even as the evening air lost its warmth. I began to wonder if the conversation shared just minutes ago had actually happened at all.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">- </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Excerpt from THE COUNTRY BEYOND WORDS, by Kevin Macneil Brown, 2021.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Country-Beyond-Words-Kevin-Macneil/dp/B094SXTJJL/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=kevin+macneil+brown&qid=1621855684&sr=8-1" style="font-family: "EB Garamond", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;">Purchase a copy</a></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-fe66bb65-7fff-b5ca-977d-de8a4b2d37bb"></span></p><p> </p>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-87490334065636225772020-10-24T11:07:00.015-04:002020-10-24T12:08:32.493-04:00Harvest Home, Part Three: Missisquoi Horizon<p> </p><p><br /></p><p>The Missisquoi River meets Lake Champlain in northern Vermont. In this place, sky and water make big horizons and a sense of open space unlike any other part of Vermont.</p><p>This country is more than essential to the Abenaki; a rich and fecund homeland. </p><p>The long, spacious composition below, made in the summer of 2020, is intended as a sonic land, sky, and waterscape: an elemental imagining in sound of this powerful and beautiful place. The slow, swelling glissandos, played on steel guitar, are analogue to the shapes, forms, and motions I perceive in this liminal locus. -KMB</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoDrUb7HGQ2Yi_pTZ3b18FMFWaQi3A0aPpO4YbVODTxj4jPnsfSj08KC8yPHy_f8WSlH2yGVYk-DRBKd_d2RCsBcRojYCbDVFB47Eg5ZBTFGx3-uZo-HnfGBeH5R6U7wVhiZw/s4718/DSC03591.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3242" data-original-width="4718" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoDrUb7HGQ2Yi_pTZ3b18FMFWaQi3A0aPpO4YbVODTxj4jPnsfSj08KC8yPHy_f8WSlH2yGVYk-DRBKd_d2RCsBcRojYCbDVFB47Eg5ZBTFGx3-uZo-HnfGBeH5R6U7wVhiZw/s320/DSC03591.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p> <b> Missisquoi Horizon 1</b></p><p> Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown,</p><p> watercolor and gouache on toned paper, June 2020.</p>
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/track=2342430175/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 442px; width: 350px;"><a href="https://kevinmacneilbrown.bandcamp.com/track/missisquoi-horizon">missisquoi horizon by Kevin Macneil Brown</a></iframe>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-88212147332201589572020-10-16T16:40:00.004-04:002020-10-17T10:18:19.911-04:00Harvest Home, Part Two : Let's Saddle Up and Ride<p> </p><p>One of the many positive things about playing western swing with Big Hat, No Cattle has been finding my songwriting muse headed not only west but back into my own past. I've found myself delving into memories of old records, long-ago girlfriends, old journeys, yard sale fiddles, and a homemade steel guitar. In New Hampshire back in the 1970s, barn dances still happened. I remember one in particular, a harvest dance. Between sets, outside, was a jug of hard cider. The more you drank from that jug, the more the autumn stars swirled....</p><p>This collection began as a simple gathering of solo demos intended for what might have been-- might still be someday--the second Big Hat, No Cattle record. Although Covid sent the band into total hiatus, I still wanted to document the songs in a more "finished" way. Over the spring and summer I worked alone at home, recording, layering parts, and mixing. The result is by nature stripped down and spacious. My goal was to write, sing, play, and record with a vintage vibe, making music that might sound like it came from 75 years ago.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1786580781/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="https://kevinmacneilbrown.bandcamp.com/album/lets-saddle-up-and-ride">Let's Saddle Up and Ride by Kevin Macneil Brown</a></iframe>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-643312211613236122020-10-12T08:38:00.001-04:002020-10-12T08:38:32.372-04:00Harvest Home, Part One: Asking October<p> I have been away from this weblog for a few months, but I'm back now, ready to share, over the next few weeks, an autumn harvest of the work I've made over the course of the spring and summer stay-home time. </p><p>I'll begin by presenting my new book of poetry, ASKING OCTOBER. This cycle of poems follows the inner and outer journeys of a year--October to October-- immersed in the energy and stillness of mountains, waters, skies.</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDsZRd_ZfYgfmBcn5YxUYKmuMdsa0WQTtu-9hc7F9HSwoeOV6MFth89tQ5GKOmK-klF2HQS8kyCqsC9QdJ82LQHrzSqzspJ8877_1uQr_hKY7w4SQr77JFu1GEfuSRzPqf199/s669/october+cover+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="669" data-original-width="465" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDsZRd_ZfYgfmBcn5YxUYKmuMdsa0WQTtu-9hc7F9HSwoeOV6MFth89tQ5GKOmK-klF2HQS8kyCqsC9QdJ82LQHrzSqzspJ8877_1uQr_hKY7w4SQr77JFu1GEfuSRzPqf199/s320/october+cover+1.JPG" /></a></div><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Boundaries
are beginnings here</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">in
this place: this hard and perfect light.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">North
wind brings shimmer to the</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">gold
of aspen, copper of beech</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">rust-fire
stillness of mountain tamarack.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Nothing
now to do but wait</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">for
night, all colors covered</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">to
rest deep in moonlight, shadow.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">And
above--far above, too distant for our ears</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">to
receive--</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">flights
of geese in southward motion, calling.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Yes--
too far, too high for our ears</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> to
receive,
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> and
yes, when we listen</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> we
hear.</p><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">-Kevin Macneil Brown</p><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">ASKING OCTOBER is available through Amazon.com</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p></p>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-31634656658060417142020-06-30T07:40:00.002-04:002020-06-30T07:58:58.473-04:00Mountain Waters- new paintings<br />
I have been drawn, since the Stay Home/Stay Safe order here in Vermont, even more than usual to places where water, rock, stillness, flow, and reflection come together.<br />
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I go to these places in reality, or in memory and contemplation.<br />
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Here are some recent paintings.<br />
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Morning River<br />
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Mountain Waters 2<br />
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Hinman Lake, Routt County, Colorado<br />
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Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor and gouache on paper, 2020.Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-38559821365099351842020-04-18T08:07:00.004-04:002021-02-22T10:33:57.189-05:00Western trails and tales-- new paintings and drawings.One of my favorite things to do is to head for the Old West in my memory and imagination, drawing and painting the journey.<br />
The scenes and people that arrive when I do this usually have stories to tell me-- stories that might eventually show up in my writing.<br />
Here are some recent works in this vein, made mostly on toned paper, which helps create the retro mood I'm seeking.<br />
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Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-12585467679463507472020-04-08T13:31:00.002-04:002020-04-08T13:33:06.428-04:00Mountain, Sky, and Dreaming Water- New Music<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1154533537/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://kevinmacneilbrown.bandcamp.com/album/mountain-sky-and-dreaming-water">mountain, sky, and dreaming water by Kevin Macneil Brown</a></iframe>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-13577245626194465272020-03-25T07:40:00.002-04:002020-03-25T07:40:35.898-04:00In these placesPainting again to return to places: Aspen grove, mountain waters calm or rushing, the mountains on my home horizon,....<br />
I go inside to find the memories, feelings, textures, and then follow paint, pencil--whatever tools suggest themselves--onto the paper.<br />
This is one way I can put myself into places of power and resonance, share them with others.-KMB<br />
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<br />Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-49770207478807384812020-02-07T11:25:00.002-05:002020-02-07T11:28:56.799-05:00Almost Silence- Poem and painting<div class="_5pbx userContent _3576" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-testid="post_message" id="js_3g" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 6px;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> All senses</span></div>
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flooded into</div>
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almost silence--</div>
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by grace and</div>
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the mountain, the sky, and</div>
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dreaming water.</div>
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- Poem and painting by Kevin Macneil Brown, February 2020.</div>
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Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-40990387274112787742019-10-11T07:22:00.000-04:002019-10-11T07:22:07.053-04:00Range, Divide, and Endless Sky, a novel.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am thrilled to announce that my eleventh novel, RANGE, DIVIDE, AND ENDLESS SKY., is available now.<br />
After two sojourns in Routt County in northwest Colorado I knew that I needed to write about this beautiful, powerful place. Of course I needed to paint it as well, and as I did so an idea began to make take form, taking shape as the story of an artist who comes to the region to paint and explore in the 1930s. <br />
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Below are a couple of excerpts, for any who would like to sample the story:<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b>Chapter
One</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> If
you are fortunate in life, you will know what it is to have a
particular mountain, with all the land, water, and sky it surveys,
haunt your dreams and memories.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Wait…
Let me write that again. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> you are unfortunate in life, you will know what it is to have a
particular mountain, with all the land, water, and sky it surveys,
haunt your dreams and memories. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The
mountain can bring beauty and inspiration: the power to lift your
soul, your imagination. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> The
mountain can also bring pain and suffering: the power to break your
will, destroy your body; to bring misery and death.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> The
particular mountain that haunts my horizon now is known as Hahn’s
Peak. Before it was given the name of the man whom it helped destroy,
it was known to trappers, explorers, and wanderers here in northwest
Colorado as “Old Baldy”.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> The
Indians in this country, the Utes, might have their own name for it,
but I have yet to learn it. I do hope to know that name some day, and
even speak it myself. There’s so much I’ve yet to find out about
this place, and that’s just one example.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> I
will try to describe the mountain with words, though it will take me
some time, I think. I’m a painter by trade and calling, an artist.
I describe best with line and color; with brush and wet pigment and
the carefully preserved white of the paper. And painting was what
brought me here to this wide and quiet wilderness in the high country
near the Continental Divide, brought me here to live within sight of
the mountain called Hahn's Peak......</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b>Chapter
Two</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0in;">It
all started with a shave, a haircut, and a new Stetson hat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There’s
nothing quite like the feeling that comes with a fresh shave and
haircut in town after you have been two weeks alone in the mountains.
Add to that the feel of a stiff new fur-felt hat with a high crown, a
broad brim to keep out the sun and rain while letting the cool breeze
stir against the back of your neck—-well, maybe you get the idea of
just how fine I was feeling. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I
stepped out of the cool leather-and-felt mercantile smell of F.M.
Light and Company, into the late-morning sunshine of Steamboat
Springs, my new hat clamped down tight on my head. That sun was
strong, but I was ready for it now. That cool breeze did its job on
the back of my neck, right where the barber had splashed me with bay
rum and dusted me with talc. I looked out at the clean streets and
brick and wood buildings of town, the cars parked and shining in the
sun, the big masses of mountains rising blue-black, streaked with
remnant snow, that ringed the town.</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Good
morning, cowboy.” The burr-throated female voice made me turn my
head. Ursuline Kelley grinned at me. She had her hands in her
dungaree pockets. Her green eyes glinted, even beneath the shade of
her beat-up hat.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Let
me make it clear that I would no way pass for any kind of cowboy, and
that despite the Stetson. My eastern boots and paint-spattered pants
were just the first things that gave me away, I’m pretty sure.</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Would
you care to buy me a cup of coffee?” she asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Ursuline
was for sure the forward type. Easy to get along with. But maybe not
so easy to figure out.</span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Hoped
to</span><span style="font-family: Nachlieli CLM, serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">umm,
had a feeling</span><span style="font-family: Nachlieli CLM, serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I’d
run into you,” she said, “It being the ranger’s day in town.</span><span style="font-family: Nachlieli CLM, serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> Got something I want to show
you.” She tapped the toe of a riding-heeled boot against a
curbstone. “Over coffee.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I
had all day. Well, until four o’clock when I’d be meeting the
ranger for a ride back to the Reserve with the supplies I’d be
buying today. I had an order of watercolor cakes and papers to pick
up from the stationers; groceries to purchase and pack back to the
cabin. None of that would take a whole day. </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">And
I bet you can guess that after two weeks alone in the mountains and
another two weeks likely ahead of me, I was not at all averse to
having a cup of coffee or two with Miss Ursuline Kelley.....</span></span></div>
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excepts from RANGE, DIVIDE, AND ENDLESS SKY, by Kevin Macneil Brown</div>
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You can purchase a copy here:</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Range-Divide-Endless-Kevin-Macneil/dp/1096853795/ref=sr_1_1?crid=AK0PJF265QIC&keywords=range+divide+and+endless+sky&qid=1570792775&sprefix=range+divide+%2Camazon-devices%2C157&sr=8-1">https://www.amazon.com/Range-Divide-Endless-Kevin-Macneil/dp/1096853795/ref=sr_1_1?crid=AK0PJF265QIC&keywords=range+divide+and+endless+sky&qid=1570792775&sprefix=range+divide+%2Camazon-devices%2C157&sr=8-1</a>
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<br />Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-60510521180786620412019-09-02T08:08:00.002-04:002019-09-02T08:18:02.254-04:00Depth of Place (new paintings)<br />
I've written before about what I call depth of place: the resonance of sky, water ,landforms, weather, memory. There are certain places that, once experienced, might make their own inner harmonies and mysteries sound inside me. These are the places I cannot help but paint over and over again- KMB<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWe11Ww3wex7cwGWpwzWFoTrYXCTbIsjxQosgVSSZ_Y-NsaSnTEbVDkXR8W_eayVGDtb8WZSB7eB5d91jgnDgS016PNb8SugH9Dkzpp0HF1UunKPpbMe9BS8BO518j9Vwt1H58/s1600/DSC08624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWe11Ww3wex7cwGWpwzWFoTrYXCTbIsjxQosgVSSZ_Y-NsaSnTEbVDkXR8W_eayVGDtb8WZSB7eB5d91jgnDgS016PNb8SugH9Dkzpp0HF1UunKPpbMe9BS8BO518j9Vwt1H58/s320/DSC08624.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Lake Champlain, changing skies<br />
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South Fork River, NW Colorado</div>
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Summer stillness, Hinman Lake (2)</div>
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Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor and gouache on paper, summer 2019.</div>
Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-70421276550035158902019-06-07T08:10:00.000-04:002019-06-07T08:10:11.737-04:00Morning Sky, May<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Morning Sky, May 24- Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown,<br />
watercolor and gouache on paper, 2019.<br />
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The sky and light of late spring in Vermont can offer change and surprise. Here is a moment caught just after 7 AM, with wind and rain moving through and sudden breaks in the clouds bringing splashes of light to the new green on the hills.Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-42443516421238414242019-02-27T08:09:00.000-05:002019-02-27T08:19:38.562-05:00range and divide (with endless sky) - New Music<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt9AX1JBpoVb5vN2cH-2gsLzxqZK-irO2EU2vP-qYbuVhT-9gk1V0BDbrMRV-2I2pNEw7aljT4fV_lqP5z-lfbWxG5us5QOot__NA0xBMQzBGnZ80rXzt8GmjKuf7wzdRxndt/s1600/img804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1157" data-original-width="1600" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt9AX1JBpoVb5vN2cH-2gsLzxqZK-irO2EU2vP-qYbuVhT-9gk1V0BDbrMRV-2I2pNEw7aljT4fV_lqP5z-lfbWxG5us5QOot__NA0xBMQzBGnZ80rXzt8GmjKuf7wzdRxndt/s320/img804.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Continuing my inner resonance with the mystery of high peaks and big sky, this soundscape composition works with material made with steel guitar back in October of 2018, later shaped and altered digitally to create texture and harmonic haze.<br />
The shape and sound of this piece had been hovering in my mind for months, and in January of 2019 I awoke from a dream wherein I had heard--and seen-- it complete.<br />
That morning I sketched the score/map shown here, and used it as a guide as I made the piece, which was finished and recorded in February.<br />
- KMB<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1892559092/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=614810742/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://kevinmacneilbrown.bandcamp.com/album/light-on-high-peaks-shadows-below">light on high peaks, shadows below by Kevin Macneil Brown</a></iframe>
Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-82908254964492568072019-01-26T06:55:00.000-05:002019-01-26T17:27:19.065-05:00Mountains, again....This winter I have been focusing much of my painting time on mountains. The shapes and textures, the mystery and science of the way they change from day to day in different light and shadow continue to hold me in thrall.<br />
Along with a few recent watercolors of mountains in both Vermont and Colorado, I'd also like to share an excerpt from my latest novel-in-progress. The words below are in the form of a journal entry by the book's narrator and protagonist, an artist named Euclid Lane who has, in the 1930s, come to paint in the high country of Northwest Colorado.<br />
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Paintings by Kevin Macnieil Brown, watercolor and graphite on paper, January 2019.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s a struggle, sometimes, to keep
certain aspects of the painting in balance. The urge is to paint what you see.
But then there’s that other urge, sometimes just as strong, to paint what you
know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The thing is, what you see and what you
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<span style="font-family: "courier new"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You can always fall back safely on what
you see, but as you learn to see better—- to see more and to see more deeply—-you
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<span style="font-family: "courier new"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One day, then, you find yourself using
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know, to start painting what you don’t know, won’t ever know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new"; text-align: center;">If you manage to get that all going
together, well, you just might have a chance of painting the mountain--or
anything, really—- and getting it almost right.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new"; text-align: center;">- <b>Kevin Macneil Brown, excerpt from a novel in progress, 2019.</b></span></div>
Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-14371878144121913702018-12-15T11:07:00.002-05:002018-12-15T11:08:49.555-05:00Mountains in Winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b> Alpenglow on Worcester Range </b><br />
Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor on paper, 2018.<br />
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<b>Sunburst Over Continental Divide</b></div>
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Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown, watercolor and gouache on paper, 2018.</div>
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Snow came in November here in Vermont, and I prepared my winter palette earlier than usual. Having just finished the first draft of a new novel set in mountainous country, I found that mountains were very much in my heart and mind, and mountains are mostly what I have been painting in these last months of the year. </div>
Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-72484630541548636712018-10-27T08:20:00.002-04:002018-10-27T08:26:22.074-04:00two quiet autumn places in soundDuring the month of October I made two pieces of sound art inspired by a desire to create an audio analogue to the inner and outer energies of two quiet places in the autumn landscape.<br />
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The tools I used were simple: a steel guitar tuned to proportions that came from meditation and listening, a decades-old reverb unit with delay and echo settings I had made a long time ago, and a laptop for capture and mix.<br />
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The music was played and recorded in one pass, which resulted in the first piece below. The same material was shaped in mixing to create the second piece.As I worked I immersed myself in memories and feelings from the places that were the inspirations.<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/track=2290479266/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 442px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://kevinmacneilbrown.bandcamp.com/track/a-place-with-falling-leaves">a place with falling leaves by Kevin Macneil Brown</a></iframe>
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/track=2582222590/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 442px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://kevinmacneilbrown.bandcamp.com/track/light-on-high-peaks-shadows-below">light on high peaks, shadows below by Kevin Macneil Brown</a><p class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;">
<a imageanchor="1" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9IO7o6SZQ47FXi_sfeCiS8MARhW2890PmWGZBIc2qye5PGKtTPCZYamVD5qVYm_3tfyjwxrnpDPgYIneNu3cZaYO14KgG0cdmM5CwksPgA31ppAoi5FIQXRNAPxqlhhpYuUX/s1600/IMG_4473.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9IO7o6SZQ47FXi_sfeCiS8MARhW2890PmWGZBIc2qye5PGKtTPCZYamVD5qVYm_3tfyjwxrnpDPgYIneNu3cZaYO14KgG0cdmM5CwksPgA31ppAoi5FIQXRNAPxqlhhpYuUX/s320/IMG_4473.JPG" border="0" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1600" style="" width="320" height="320"></a></p>
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<br />Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-61642709939650088342018-10-20T11:33:00.002-04:002018-10-20T11:33:27.914-04:00October Colors and Textures (New Paintings)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYZxK1S57hU6ABLCcEHM7n4ZnYklS6zKTvKYvMYUs4_RRoVahJaBp4FzN08a7Zqc6UrbDTITGdduLVgR_fabe6YD2MtxXD-rme7toLbbxafnmDyOQQ8K-MA2SY4HGSJKru4Nl/s1600/img730+%25281755+x+1275%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="1600" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYZxK1S57hU6ABLCcEHM7n4ZnYklS6zKTvKYvMYUs4_RRoVahJaBp4FzN08a7Zqc6UrbDTITGdduLVgR_fabe6YD2MtxXD-rme7toLbbxafnmDyOQQ8K-MA2SY4HGSJKru4Nl/s320/img730+%25281755+x+1275%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mountain Pond, October Morning</div>
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(watercolor and graphite)</div>
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October River ( watercolor and gouache)</div>
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October, View North ( watercolor and gouache)<br />
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<b> Paintings by Kevin Macneil Brown, October 2018.</b>Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-79433834805056767122018-10-07T06:54:00.001-04:002018-10-07T06:54:23.390-04:00Rust Mountain Poems <br />
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My dreams find </div>
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in distant mountains.</div>
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in sacred places:</div>
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open meadow meets birch thicket;</div>
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Not quite</div>
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crescent moon</div>
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white pine is</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dark and tall</div>
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and swaying </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>strong</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>also</div>
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holding hard to</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>earth.</div>
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Easy to see the wind </div>
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stir quiet water, make </div>
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ripples outward—</div>
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but it might take this lifetime</div>
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to know and become </div>
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ripples deep and inward.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> - Kevin Macneil Brown</span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hDelPPEoWny9oaTEM2RkyZ3k2gDNrXT_I_IOrya9o-wYzh-oywlODji1airePcAtZ2R9qXd4yKSv_Sm4ir0jLrG-NP-onCI2gIdCvtWEV72nHEnk3rioN6UoPLEYBIT_fvaR/s1600/IMG_4445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hDelPPEoWny9oaTEM2RkyZ3k2gDNrXT_I_IOrya9o-wYzh-oywlODji1airePcAtZ2R9qXd4yKSv_Sm4ir0jLrG-NP-onCI2gIdCvtWEV72nHEnk3rioN6UoPLEYBIT_fvaR/s320/IMG_4445.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22351412.post-82787288111043748312018-07-16T08:10:00.001-04:002018-07-16T08:10:25.847-04:00Hinman Lake, July Morning<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvYq2AUJCcuTxXSWwQOSvq_uaQko0EQclT0A8_YElIJFqG1WxCyVcHItEhI7uN9zpccwNenMja2s9LHNmvVh8QaZwvwoMZrIOPJA0xwYuh5i-318hcPRgY0FfDJu_rMzZ2Qc-r/s1600/img687+%25281738+x+1252%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="1600" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvYq2AUJCcuTxXSWwQOSvq_uaQko0EQclT0A8_YElIJFqG1WxCyVcHItEhI7uN9zpccwNenMja2s9LHNmvVh8QaZwvwoMZrIOPJA0xwYuh5i-318hcPRgY0FfDJu_rMzZ2Qc-r/s320/img687+%25281738+x+1252%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Hinman Lake, July Morning-<br />
Painting by Kevin Macneil Brown, gouache on paper, 2018.<br />
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This summer I've been focusing on painting in gouache. As my favored medium is watercolor, it has been challenging and satisfying to explore different ways of thinking about color, light, and texture; layering opaque, rather than transparent, colors..<br />
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Working from sketchbooks and memory, I decided to make a gouache painting of a place that continues to resonate inside me: Hinman Lake in the Routt National Forest in Clark, Colorado.<br />
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<br />Kevin Mac neil Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295392790359620451noreply@blogger.com