This is a painting of my Grandfather’s fiddle. He led a long, full life of dedication to his music. He got his first fiddle at the age of seven and never put it down. It got him through school, helped him and his buddies through World War II, took him around the country during the folk revival of the ‘60’s. He and his fiddle toured with Doc Watson, played and sang with Joan Baez, played Greenwich Village, and Carnegie Hall. But every time, his fiddle brought him right back to the simple life he loved here in the East Tennessee Mountains. For him, it was never about fame or money, it was about the music that came out of the land he loved. The happiest memories of my childhood are from time spent listening to him play, barefoot on cool grass, cherry blossoms or sweet smelling hay perfuming the air, and nothing ever seemed more beautiful than the layers of mountains and sky that surrounded his home, high in the hills. He and his music and the land were all one and the same, and still are in my mind. Like my Grandfather, who never read music, I am a self-taught artist, but it is this same connection to the land that guides me when I paint.