Wayne cut the hold for the bookcase, removed the old pipes and boxed in the case. We put fireproof board over the firebox, taped and plastered the wall. Then we carried an 8' MDF board that weighs more than a Mac truck into the house. Cut a piece to mark the height of the mantel.

So the first thing is to create a huge hole in the wall when the old insert is removed. The new firebox is much larger. We've decided not to use the marble surround. Instead, we will build a new mantel and open up a space for a bookcase.

All painting is on hold while we remove this fireplace insert, replace it, and build a new mantel. We have to carefully remove the marble surround and the kick out marble on the hearth. We haven't firmed up plans enough to know if we will reuse everying. And the new insert will be flush to the wall requiring replacement of marble on the hearth.

The marsh is ever changing, although so subtly that I'm always surprised when the new season appears in full regalia. Such a moment came in early November with the first frost. As the days shorten and the weather cools the marsh slowly gives way to umbers, ochres, and sage greens. The grasses take on a brittle and aged appearance. What in high summer looked like a velvet covering of green inviting enough to lie down in, now looks as if it threatens to prick and tickle. In the strong fall winds the grasses undulate like waves of water. By September the osprey have flown away, Venezuela I've heard, and the Great Blue is once again left in peace to squawk and hunt side by side with the Canada geese. The tupelos shock us with their sudden donning of cadmium red. And the skies are brilliantly blue with dramatic cloud formations. So rising early and opening the shades that November morning I'm greeted with sparkle and dazzle. Every blade of that brittle grass is crystalized and white as snow. The maples have shed all their leaves and each tiny branch holds hard to the frost. Behind them the oaks are just beginning to turn a most red color this year, unlike their usual burnt sienna. The sage grasses along the tree line are soft and truly sage green. And the fragmite wave their frozen fronds.

Worked mostly on the lower right quadrant. But also realigned the direction of the water trenches.

Changed the sky today and at the same time redefined the tree line which will now need repainting. I now see the gradation from pink to blue is too abrupt. Will have to correct that. Continued to work the marsh grasses and correct the lines of water inlets. Still work to do on that in the center. The bits of water in the lower right will change color and the tall fragmite needs definition and contrast. The marsh is ever changing, although so subtly that I'm always surprised when the new season appears in full regalia. Such a moment came in early November with the first frost. As the days shorten and the weather cools the marsh slowly gives way to umbers, ochres, and sage greens. The grasses take on a brittle and aged appearance. What in high summer looked like a velvet covering inviting enough to lie down in, now threatens to prick and tickle. They undulate like waves of water in the strong fall winds. By September the osprey have flown away, Venezuela I've heard, and the Great Blue is once again left in peace to squawk and hunt side by side with the Canada geese. The tupelo shock us with their sudden donning of cadmium red. And the skies are brilliantly blue with dramatic cloud formations. So rising early and opening the shades that November morning I'm met with sparkle and dazzle. Every blade of that brittle grass is crystalized and white as snow. The maples have shed all their leaves and each tiny branch holds hard to the frost. Behind the the oaks are just beginning to turn a most red color this year, unlike their usual burnt sienna. The sage grasses along the tree line are soft and truly sage green. And the fragmite wave their frozen fronds.

Yesterday several friends visited the studio and had praise for the work. It wasn't a critique of any sorts, but did encourage me to work more today.