There was a mission: To match the cover of 'Extraordinary' to the cover of the paperback 'Impossible,' which was commercially successful. Consider the outdoor natural setting, the single girl in motion with her hair blowing, and the cursive font used for the title; both covers have these in common.
Outside, a gusty October breeze was combing leaves from the trees and sending them across her backyard in colorful skitters.
I'm just a landscape painter. I look out the window and I see what's going on, and I paint it. While I'm painting it, I also write thoughts about what I see going on out there.
Through the small tall bathroom window the December yard is gray and scratchy, the tree calligraphic.
I like sitting close to windows.
One of my favorite shots was on these, like, lava rocks - but moss was growing on it, and I was lying on it, and it was really green, and the picture was really pretty.
Sunlight is painting.
I used to paint landscapes without any people in them but now I paint people who happen to be in a particular place. They might be outside a pub, or on a beach or in a studio. They might have clothes on or they might not.
Outside the trees dragged their leaves like nets through the depths of the air; the sound of water was in the room and through the waves came the voices of birds singing.
Those scenes on the beach on 'Lost' were so much fun. When it was a whole group scene, you'd just pop in with a line here and a line there, and there was a little activity, and you essentially spend the day with your friends on the beach. What an amazing working environment.
After tea it's back to painting - a large poplar at dusk with a gathering storm. From time to time instead of this evening painting session I go bowling in one of the neighbouring villages, but not very often.
I sit where the leaves of the maple and the gnarled and knotted gum are circling and drifting around me.
Outside, the September air was enticingly fragrant, yellow with pollen and rich, lemony sunlight.
Leaves covered pavement like soggy cereal.
Over the tops of it, beginning to dusk under a young white moon, trailed a wavering ghost of smoke, and at the end of it I came upon the Pocket Hunter making a dry camp in the friendly scrub.
When I look at green trees on a sunny day, I don't know how to make an interesting picture of that.
