As I turned to go into the house from the back deck late one summer evening, I noticed the way the thermometer was illuminated. The light came from the same fixture that filled the kitchen with a warm, domestic glow. Yet the intensity of the bright slash of yellow-orange was a bold contrast to the purpley-blue-black of the house. The next night, as I waited for dark and set up to paint, I became interested in the strong pattern made by the clapboards and decided to use it to balance the window in the composition.
For many years, I would go out to the front porch on my way to bed to look at the sky. On this particular night, I was struck by the slivers of moonlight peeking through the cloud cover and how they animated the dark shapes of the trees. I started the painting from memory the next morning in the studio.
Standing in my front yard admiring the night sky, I noticed a dim light appearing on the telephone pole. As the vehicle approached, the light became brighter and brighter until a flash hit my face, followed by a moment of total darkness. It reminded me of the surprised look of deer caught in headlights. I waited for a couple more vehicles to pass and considered the shapes, colors, and which elements to include in the composition. The next morning, I returned to the same spot with my easel and painted the motif before me combined with my memory of the night before.