A small woods, cloaked in the lonesome air of winter

A Snow Story [in progress] from Elizabeth Daggar on Vimeo. Here are the bare beginnings. (And more Ravel, as it happens.) For context, see this post and this post.

The bicycle was still there as the sun went down

Day ten of #Inktober: The bicycle remained leaning in the clearing where it had been left hours earlier. The sun had begun to set and some stars winked into the deepening darkness high above. . Follow me @edaggarart on instagram to see more art, or @electrofork to see more photos. Even more art at: elizabethdaggar.com.

A lantern in the dark

With day seven's drawing, I extend a warm and heartfelt thanks once again to WordPress Discover for sharing my opening post from this #Inktober, and to new followers here! Welcome! . Follow me @edaggarart on instagram to see more art, or @electrofork to see more photos. Even more art at: elizabethdaggar.com.

A single light burned late into the night in the little saltbox house

And so the story continues. Have I deferred the mystery, or deepened it? Who lives in this little house in a copse of winter trees? Why is there no fire burning within, when someone is clearly still awake upstairs? Stay tuned as the story continues to unfold. (Some progress images after the jump) I thought… Continue reading A single light burned late into the night in the little saltbox house

the lake is blue, the forest watchful

"every detail clear, tin cup and rippled mirror. The day is bright and songless" —from Morning in the Burned House, by Margaret Atwood Spent two days camping upstate midweek, and the first day was clear and beautiful, temperate.

a long ago winter place

There was a woods across the street from the farm. On the far side of of a large corn field, then through an encircled meadow that remained un-tilled, too inaccessible for farming. A small woods through which ran a narrow, banked ribbon of stream. In winter it was the most beautiful place I could find. I'd make… Continue reading a long ago winter place