A Way

There is a magic in the painting which appears after you have finished. I had a subject I wanted to paint. Trouble is, did I want to paint it now, I mean, on this day? Did I want to paint at all? I didn't seem too keen. Then, the image of the field maple branches looking up from the bench underneath under a cool, greyslate sky came to mind. One of my favourite images, one I'd used in a fillum, but paint it? It appeared simple, not many colours or features. Yet, I felt, difficult to paint well. But it fitted in with the mood of the weather outside and now, yes, I wanted to paint it. A4, I had in mind. A small miniature. Noooooo!!!!!! It had to be big, grand, so A3 it was!

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As usual, I studied the scene for 5 minutes, sitting quietly, looking for the colours (hues) I'd need, how the features would appear in proportion together on the page. I use a very simple method, dividing the page into thirds both ways, halves too, sometimes and estimating the lengths and dimensions. Perspectives tend to take good care of themselves. Beginning painting a couple of years previous, I was given two pieces of sponge, which I use to create dappled or mackerel skies. A white cotton glove, bought for covid shopping, had a hole in it. I almost put it in the bin, deciding to keep it, curious what effects it might painting with it. I would soon see!

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The grounding is the painting - a mix of titanium white, payne's grey, light blue violet and silver, the magic ingredient. I love working with silver :O)! Still wet, I rubbed the paints around on the page using the glove, giving no thought to shapes or textures of features. Let's see what happens. Not a great deal, I thought, at the time. Well, now let's put the leafless trees in at the bottom and side. Now, the overhanging branches, which still held some of their leaves. I was searching for the best naturalistic representation of the branches and leaves I could. Where I pressed on too quickly, painting lines, I wasn't satisfied. If I built up branches in stages, then the smaller branches, then the leaves, this seemed to work better for me. I sensed there was still some colour among the leaves, though they seemed dark in the image. I chose raw umber, burnt umber and lemon yellow, sensing that lemon yellow would bring out the light. Why I chose burnt umber, I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Feeling pleased at the end, only now noticing my hot drink cold, I added my monika, looking a bit like a butterfly, combining the letters K and B. But the figure stood out too starkly in the centre. I felt a bit embarrassed or arrogant, so added some leaf colour, lemon yellow, raw and burnt umber, the latter a lovely reddish hue, to disguise it.

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When I shared the finished painting, my sister asked if there were robins in the foreground. If you see robins, then, yes, there are, I told her. This is what I mean by the magic of painting carrying on after and why I love painting! Imagination and interpretation follow, differently for different people. I was delighted by the finished painting! Not only did I like the overall impression, I had lost myself in time for an hour or two.

Last night, I found myself drawn to the painting, like tele. There came a moment, like being hit or prompted when I noticed out of nowhere figures in the centre lowground, the robins. They appeared to be walking wearily towards the gorge inbetween the high escarpments. Wow! Good work, glove! The figure furthest away steps on, the nearer looks round in a half turn to see how far back I am. Suddenly, I am no longer a bystander, looking at the scene in the painting. I am part of the painting, walking through the frost and snow. Am I struggling to keep up? Am I with the others or on my own? It raises many questions. Where am I? How did I get here? Where am I heading? Who are these others I'm with? are they friends or..? And who am I?

Now, I knew the name of the painting. It was called  A Way.