Starry night revisited

 

Every few so often the New York Times presents to its viewers this 10-Minute Challenge to spend a few valued moments in front of a work of Art. The other day they proposed Vincent Van Gogh's Starry Night. Here (below) are a few details I liked. Little to say about it except that in this crazy news cycle it's a 10 minute oasis of calm.

If you are not a subscriber to the NYT they generally allow one or two free peeks at articles during a month. If you are a subscriber then it's just a quick click into a wonderful image that b.t.w. was completely invented by the artist while living in the asylum his small room in the asylum in Saint-Rémy. And b.t.w. (encore) When I visited the asylum back in the early 1970's, I managed to find my way into his old run-down room which was not at all difficult nor even forbidden. It was a run-down building at that point in time and watched over by a friendly guard, long before the commercial renaissance of Vincent Van Gogh. I remember the bars on the windows and the view of the field below, Les Alpilles beyond. 

Unlike so many of his large late pictures which were almost always finished quickly in one or two sessions, this was laboured and one can see the dry thick paint underneath later layers. I wonder if it's because when he was in front of Nature on the motif he 'saw' everything he needed at that moment to complete his vision? But without the motif at hand, he struggled to get everything 'right', thus the subsequent layers? 

Rain, rain, rain

 

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 29 April 2025, oil on canvas, 30 X 25 cm

Rain Rain, go away, please come back so I can paint today! "Well, what can ya do?" As my Uncle Morty in the Bronx used to all the time. Every morning when I see the clear sky I'm given hope but by afternoon, the sky plugs up like my bathwater after a day of cleaning out the hog house. 

So, both the Summer and Autumn have been wet. Hopefully it will be a drier Winter here Down-Under. But last week I did manage to get out a few times and work. One recent evening I came home with these three studies so I was appropriately grateful. They are shown in the order of execution.

The first one reveals a gentle-looking sea when I arrived at the dunes. It was placid and easy to get into. Looking at it now it seems that I wanted to channel Monet (which I regret, but hey!) I like it anyway. 

Truthfully, I really accept everything that comes out of a session, the good, the bad, and the ugly. But in this one I rather appreciate its delicate feeling and that's because I can sometimes be so brutal with my brushwork. In the end though, I am really just amenable to whatever the sea and the sky offer up to me on any given day. Not only any day, but any moment as twilight begins to cycle through the stormy stages of the colour wheel. Like the logic of harmonic laws regarding the circle of fifths, the colour wheel shows me how the chromatic changes proceed in a logical fashion. One can watch it unfold easily at dusk when everything has sped up.  

So the first study (above) was a warm-up. Then came this one (below) which of the three, is my preferred. I think it's because I really struggled with it and it only 'came right' through a serendipitous accident that I was able to exploit at the last minute, then bingo! "Never give up on a picture". I wish I had learned that adage decades ago and my road would have been far easier.

 

 

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 29 April 2025, oil on canvas, 30 X 25 cm

This last one was really an afterthought because the sky was so exquisite right up until nightfall. I would have kept working had I been able to see the palette clearly. It was one of those rare evenings when the luminosity felt turbo-charged and was enriched right up to the edge of night.   

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 29 April 2025, oil on canvas, 30 X 25 cm