The Woodsman and His Wife

Sometimes I don’t know what comes first, the painting or the painter.

One day, while in my forest painting, I realized the painting was painting me…

Somewhere along the way, my painting became it’s own creation, with it’s own purpose and reason for being...

So I stepped back and let it speak to me.

It was telling me a story...


Once upon a time there was a Woodsman and his wife who lived in a tidy, little cottage in the woods. Surrounding the cottage were beautiful red, yellow and white roses that filled the air with their scent every summer.

But winters in the cottage were bleak and cold. From morning until night the Woodsman would be gone, hunting in the forest and chopping wood for the fire. The Woodsman’s wife stayed home, weaving rose patterned tapestries and minding the cottage. They were long, lonely days and she would count the days until spring buds would once again appear in the garden.

One particularly cold and dark winter day a baby daughter was born to the Woodsman and his wife. She had lips as red as rubies, hair as yellow as the sun, and skin as white as snow drops. They named her Rose so the wife would always be reminded of her summer roses whenever she looked at her.

But the Woodsman’s wife was not a strong woman and after the birth of their child she became ill and shortly thereafter she died.

In his grief the Woodsman cried out in distress, “Who will mind the roses? They will surely die!"

Just then there was a knock at the cottage door. The Woodsman opened the door and an old woman entered...

(Continue reading...)