22 March 2021
Veins of light
Heavy rains have again returned off and on which complicates things yet I did manage this small thing in between a few squalls the other night.
When I arrived at the beach it didn’t look brilliant and I initially wondered if I could find something to grab hold of long enough to make picture as I could see rain menacing both to the right and left of me. As I unpacked and set up a palette, indeed, some patches of pink opened up almost as if I had commanded “Open Sesame!” Faith or superstition? More like just dumb luck I think but I took it gracefully.
A parallel to rock climbing is always my go-to analogy in this business of painting at the beach. Arriving at the motif, I will immediately assess the wall of fragmented and uneven clouds above me, looking fo a point of entry. If it isn’t opaque there will usually be some veins of light running through it to provide me with a idea and a few handholds. Without light there is less of a chance for colour. Alas, the maxim is alway: no light, no colour.
Like the climber, a painter is a child of patience, mostly. Without it, one could be reckless and cannot proceed as easily with care. But in failure, obviously, the climber has more far to lose than the grounded painter. And yet, arriving at the summit, the climber and painter both feel an enormous relief and a great satisfaction too.
Despite the worry of rain, I love these afternoons when low cotton balls of colourful cloud gently roll overhead like bales of hay offering a jolt of warmth quite separate from the cooler tint of clouds higher up. Happily, on this night, there was both light and colour. The result isn’t exactly fireworks, but maybe there is enough subtlety within these harmonies that might lead me to newer images in the near future.
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