At the beginning of a thirteen hour drive to Ohio a week and a half ago, Joseph and I passed through the Berkshire Mountains on I-90 W. I had a sketchbook on hand and wanted to get in a study of the lower hills enshrouded in fog.

It's a mercy that Joseph loves driving because I get to spend all of those travel hours looking at the rapidly changing landscape from the passenger seat of the car.

If I see a scene that looks painting-worthy, I pull out the sketchbook. Sometimes I'll make written notes on specific things ("cobalt blue heavy in the shadows," or "underside of clouds are a warm purple gray") if I don't think my camera or sketch will sufficiently commit a detail to memory.