Somewhere in my 20s my then-budding, now full-blown Zen Buddhist older brother turned me on to American Transcendentalism. I struggled through half of Walden by Henry David Thoreau (which I have yet to finish) and thumbed through essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson. While I found some things that resonated with me more than any scripture did, I was still too distracted to absorb much of it. At around the same time I stumbled across the work of Thomas Cole and the Hudson River School painters. At the time I knew virtually nothing about the visual arts, let alone a group of 19th century landscape painters, but something clicked. I’ve always been drawn to the Hudson River; First as a place to hang out when there was nothing else to do, but later as a place to go to quiet my mind when there was too much going on. As it turns out, my family on my father’s side lived throughout the Hudson Valley for generations dating back to New Amsterdam. Call it what you will - instinct or genetic memory, but I refuse to call it coincidence.
In the years since I’ve brushed up on Emerson and Thoreau (why Walden is still taught in high schools is beyond me. Kids need to read LIFE WITHOUT PRINCIPLE!) and I’ve become mildly obsessed with the works of the Hudson River School painters, Thomas Cole, Frederick Church & Asher Durand specifically. I’ve volunteered several times with Hudson River Sloop Clearwater which gave me the opportunity to live on a replica of an 19th century sloop for a week at a time, sailing from as far north as Kingston, NY down to Chelsea Piers in Manhattan. And just a few months ago I finally made my pilgrimage to the house and studio of Thomas Cole in Catskill, NY.
On that initial trip I was on a mission to not only see where he had lived and worked, but also to hike out to the Kaaterskill Falls which is the subject of one of my favorite Cole paintings. After taking a guided tour of the house and studio, I found directions to the falls which were about 10 miles away. Clearly I was not hiking this. I jumped in my car and picked up route 9 headed for route 23 which would take me into Catskill State Park. I drove along this winding two lane road up into the mountains and eventually found a sign on the side of the road just before a big bend that said “Kaaterskill Falls -->”. I eased on the brakes to take it slow around the bend and was surprised to see a portion of the falls right at the roadside! I drove a little further to a small parking area, found a spot (barely), grabbed my gear and headed in. It’s a short hike - less than 1.5 miles round trip - however it’s anything but level. In some areas the parks service was kind enough to build actual stairs, in other areas they placed large rocks in a stair-like fashion. I tried to imagine Cole lugging his paints, canvas & easel through the then-untouched terrain. Did he paint on site or did he sketch first and paint at the studio? He must have sketched first.
As I looked around me I had this uncanny feeling that I knew this place. It wasn’t a case of deja vu. It wasn’t a matter of looking familiar. This knowledge was intrinsic. As peculiar as that was to realize, it was almost reassuring. If I was ever supposed to be anywhere at any point in my life, clearly I was meant to come here. I continued along the trail, scrambling over rocks and seemingly ancient tree roots smoothed by centuries of providing a steady hold for those who walked this trail before me. All the while the sound of rushing water filled the small valley.
As I approached the falls I was almost in a state of disbelief. It was like finding out Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny really do exist. It’s been nearly 200 years since Thomas Cole painted these falls, yet there they were right in front of me. A massive testament to his artistic brilliance, and his work a testament to the beauty and importance of our environment (and conservation thereof). I let that thought circle around my head for a while and then I allowed my mind to become still. Allowed. I didn’t have to force it. Standing at the base of the falls, dwarfed by the 260 foot drop, there is an effortless stillness. Well, for me at least. Some people may just think it looks pretty, which it does. But for me there is this amazing sense of peace. Of quietness despite the roar of rushing water cascading down nearly 30 stories. It takes more effort to speak of anything, rather than just be still and feel connected to something bigger than myself.
This is where I find my peace.
This is where I can be still.
This is my church.
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