I think I've entered a brown period in my artistic endeavors. These past weeks mostly everything I touch, whether a painting or a photograph has been tinged by brown, by sepia, sienas and umbers.
Does the season influence one's palette? It must.
I know that by late winter I am hungry for exotic tropical colors. And sounds change, too, the melodies change and gavottes and rondels, maypole dances and young girls skipping double-dutch pervade the air and continue through the warm summer days alongside colors of kiwis, persimmons, mangos, flip-flops and bubble-gum.
But now the pace slows. The rhythms are more pensive as if leading us to that lullaby time of deep winter, a time for adagios and nocturnes, of lullabies and bittersweet love songs. So, too, the colors of November -- subdued tones and hues, the splash and cacaphony of summer have now mellowed to the eye and ear.
This painting marks a departure for me. I usually paint landscape; this is more a land(es)cape.
After weeks of walks in our local woods and along footpaths, of browsing quiet lakesides and beaches, the play of light and shadow seemed to insist itself upon me. And so, Shadowplay evolved.
I liked working with the layers of acrylics, of daubing and stroking in small skidmarks of color with pastels and oil pastels, of scraping back to a layer beneath, uncovering more patches of light. This is also much larger than I'm used to working with, 24 x 36, with a 2" gallery edge.
I am terribly fond of the Pre-Raphaelites, of their deep umber passages of foliage entwining the edges, of the voluptuous folds of shawls and gowns; also of Julia Margaret Cameron's 19th c. photography. It's interesting when we stop to consider how much we are influenced by other mediums and textures.
So, another brown creation -- Renaissance -- a digital image of a clematis vine that wraps and entwines itself throughout part of my garden:
Using various techniques for texturing the original photograph, I tried to bring a certain mood to this image, one of a waning blossom with the tiny promise of a new life nestled beside it.
For within deep autumn is always the promise of a spring yet to come . . .