Owl on a Fencepost | Art Print
- Archival-quality giclée art print on a lovely heavy-weight paper with a smooth finish.
- Print is 11" x 14" in size; image is about 8 1/2" x 12".
- Does not come with the frame, but is so very suitable for framing.
Sometimes when the wind is up, and the dirt blows around, and your feathers get in a fuss, it is the best of days. Where did that dirt come from, you say to yourself? From the sandy edge of Namibia? From the Australian Outback dunes? Or from just down the road, where the tall woman in the worn, wooly cardigan keeps her cows well fed in their stout wooden barn? So if you need need a little prompt to contemplation about your own connectedness to the vast earth, why not put this little print right there in the entry-way, so you can see it everyday when you go out and about?
Other Things You Might Like to Know:
The original artwork is watercolor and india ink on paper | © 2015 Melinda Nettles | Designed and printed in Oregon, USA | Printed on Hahnemühle Photorag 308 gsm 100% cotton rag paper, with Epson pigmented Ultrachrome HD inks.
The Back Story:
Sometimes, thought Oleander, when the wind is up, and the dirt blows around, and your feathers get in a fuss and you cannot keep them out of your eyes, it is anyway the best of days. Where did that dirt come from, you say to yourself, the mind a-wandering far and a-wandering wide. From the sandy edge of Namibia, where the vast red desert slips after miles upon miles into the sea? From the Outback dunes of deepest Australia, where the dingoes howl and prowl past sacred rocks that tower a thousand feet above the open plain? Or from just down the road, where tall Wanda Elferidge, sporting on even the warmest of days her thick woolen cardigan, makes her way each morning to the sturdy barn to tend her well-fed cows? Sometimes, thought Oleander, when the wind is up, it is anyway the best of days.*
*Ever So Important Note: Come with me along the fence-line, where the mower cannot reach, and the grasses grow just a little bit higher. Where the wildflowers, too, escape the cutting blade. Where the blowing earth collects amongst the roots and the wire strands, and a little dam forms, keeping for a moment last-night’s quick-fallen rain from sliding too fast across the curving belly of the earth. Come with me to where the small be-furred creatures slip along in the shadows, along this small shield against the open fields. Climb with me up upon the fence-post, where the hawks perch, and the kites and owls too. Come along to where the grasses grow a little bit higher, and the wildflowers too, and the odd buried nut begins to grow. Come with me, down along the fence-line, where the mower cannot reach, and magical things begin to brew.