Back when I was single and fancy-free (in other words, without a date), I spent a Saturday wandering a local outdoor art show. It was a perfect spring day in Texas and a good many people strolled through the park, taking in each exhibit and buying their favorite pieces of art.
I stopped at the booth that displayed the wispy, watercolor prints of Texas artist Michael Atkinson. One, titled Secluded Manor, caught my eye. As with many of his other works, only the top two-thirds contained the painting. The rest was blank, with the exception of a mare and foal, and his signature v-shaped birds.
Now, anything with a horse receives my wholehearted attention. But something else drew me to this particular print. Rather than only imagining it in my mind, I felt as though I were actually seeing an illustration
Here's my terrible photo of Secluded Manor by Texas artist Michael Atkinson |
Though I didn't buy the print that day, it made such an impression that I saved the money needed to purchase and frame it. (Did I say I was young and single ... and poor?) As you can see from the photo, I still own it, along with two others by the artist.
I can't tell you the name of the book this reminded me of, but the writer had painted the setting so vividly that, even now, when I look at that scene on my wall, I remember the emotions evoked while reading the story. I'm right back in the attic room with the imperiled heroine, anxiously looking out a window at the fog-blanketed landscape below.
Sandra Ardoin writes inspirational historical romance. She’s the
author of The
Yuletide Angel and A
Reluctant Melody. A wife and mom, she’s also a reader, football
fan, NASCAR watcher, garden planter, country music listener, antique store
prowler. Visit her at www.sandraardoin.com
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I can't tell you the name of the book this reminded me of, but the writer had painted the setting so vividly that, even now, when I look at that scene on my wall, I remember the emotions evoked while reading the story. I'm right back in the attic room with the imperiled heroine, anxiously looking out a window at the fog-blanketed landscape below.
Has there been a time when something you saw or heard suddenly transported you back into the setting of a book? Did it give you a new respect for the author or the book?
(This post was revamped from a long ago post on my personal blog.)