Hermès scarves draped across the sky

 

2 September 2020

Hermès scarves draped across the sky

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 28 August 2020, oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

This study from last week seems to confirm yet again my increasingly apparent interest in a more formal structure from this motif. I like it but it begs the question: Is it possible to transpose ephemeral things as inherently unruly as the sea and sky into an image more fixed and solid? Can I create one that demonstrates the savvy geometry of this wise and logical earth?

Thinking of light as something solid is already a curious thing to imagine, much less paint with oils, come to think of it but to paint the gaseous clouds and the liquid sea? Yes, it’s possible because a trail of other artists have already done it, but just the air, as a band of luminosity, something that hardly exists? This seems to be the cul-de-sac where I’ve found myself in this series, and I’m looking for a way through it.

Turner did this spectacularly in so many of his larger paintings, especially those shimmering views of the river Thames from the Mortlake Terrace estate of his patron William Moffat. But before him, Claude (Lorraine) 1604 - 1682, also appeared equally obsessed with large and spectacular sunset views which seemed to hold colour in ribbons of translucent silk. And though he may seem old-fashioned today, he was way, way ahead of his time and I think Turner himself was indebted to Claude, as he is known today. But not to be outdone, the Dutch were also masters at depicting this luminescence that hovered over the sea. 

From working here so often in front of the sky each day, it seems to me that where light really shines is when it’s just a by-product of a perfect drawing. That is to say, a place where everything resides in complete harmony over an entire graphic surface. How else to render this light than by using a refined, almost polished format of chiaroscuro? 

In this image from last week, I can see that I’m falling into a form of abstraction that allows me to treat light (as manifest in colour) like a material substance. At certain times, like in this image, when I’m painting a full bloom at the beach, I can almost imagine these ribbons of colour streaming across the sky as smooth as Hermès silk scarves. 

I don’t know how far I can push this motif which now goes on for over two years, but as long as new questions keep coming up, I suppose I will keep on working there.

The other afternoon when I arrived to set up, there were a dozen kids playing cricket on the beach to my right. I set up and made a palette and got right into the first picture when I immediately noticed a whale splashing not 100 metres offshore.

I could see it was part of a large pod of several whales in migration going north, but this was the only one which seemed quite excited. It suddenly made me think of a kid I knew back in elementary school who, when he went to the playground at recess hour, he went just completely nuts, just bonkers dancing and rolling around in the grass. Brian Cruikshank, whose name I still remember, oddly enough, was otherwise, a completely quiet and withdrawn child in class the rest of the time.   

I shouted out to the kids playing cricket to watch the whales pointing offshore. They stopped playing and they got all excited themselves seeing the whales. Then they wanted to come see my painting, so they all came up and encircled me, full of questions with lots of ooohs and ahhhs. They were on a school trip from Lismore, a small town inland about 50 kilometres away so they don't often get to the sea. Being winter, no one swam but I could feel their complete joy at being there and playing cricket on the hard sand. 

We who live so closely by sea are extremely spoiled I realised.

I managed four studies, all somewhat similar in spirit to this one. I left the beach in a happy mood.