April never arrives all at once. It slips in. A shift in the air, a softening of edges, a color that wasn’t there yesterday. This painting feels like that moment—the one where you realize the season has already changed around you.

What stands out here is not just the landscape, but the movement within it. The trees are not fixed—they flicker. Color is layered, broken, searching. Greens push forward, violets pull back, and light threads its way through everything without ever settling in one place.

This is not a description of a place—it’s a record of attention. Bill is not painting objects here as much as he is painting relationships: how light hits the fence, how the ground warms near the road, how the trees dissolve into one another as your eye moves across them.