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husband Jim had written to her about Vastansjo. Titled Whitescape, it talks of “<juiet gallops over snow” and an “air of things about to happen, a thing of dreams, thingstead, of presence gathered unaccustomed, acute to the quick shifts, a sleep shaken half-waking to the wolfhour, when weather has us weakest, everything in place in darkness. . .and nothing waits. . .stirs.”
“The poem is telling me to look closer at things — tracks, wood, waves, gravel — for they are much more than they seem,” Mrs. Wine explains. “In the grain of wood you see clearly the passing of time. You can count the years, how many times this planet has circled the sun. Each thing tells a story.
,flt is especially true of tracks on a fresh cover of snow. It is like a fresh canvas, It is white but not blank. It is a meeting ground. Tracks mean that someone or something has come before you.” ,
The tracks in her paintings were left in the fields and forests surrounding the couple’s home near Linden. They are the tracks of rabbits, deer, the family dog, the footprints qf Jche artist ahd her husband, and others — maybe strangers —out
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