on tranquil land

How come the larger paintings aren't as strong as the smaller ones? I've been fretting over this one for several days and I'm still not satisfied. Unlike the last one which I appear to have painted in my sleep, I can recall every inch of struggle to get this one right. Time to leave it alone. What's interesting about the creative process is its unpredictability. And as for me I'm either a goddess or a bum; there's never any in-between.

This title comes from a Wordsworth poem. My knowledge of the poet is very limited -- I wasn't exactly impressed when I studied him but then I was only 17. While searching for a title today I found this small anthology of his poetry that my grandparents had purchased at Dove Cottage, Grasmere (my grandmother made a notation and added the date: 1965), where he wrote a lot of his most famous poems. I remember choosing it (and others) among the books that were being distributed when my grandmother died. Today I finally read most of it -- not by intention but because there were very few of those simple, evocative phrases that grab me when I'm naming a painting so I had to keep searching. He used an awful lot of adjectives. I remember reading once that good writers use muscular verbs and try not to clutter their work with lots of flowery filler. At the end of my time with him, I was really no fonder of him than when I started. (I should really do some research and find out how highly regarded he is these days.) ... but according to the bio in the front he appears to have led a facsinating life.