This is partly for June, who is studying landscape artists and her own role in landscape painting, and partly for Sherrie, who loves the Southwest and may soon win me over to it. And for the rest of you too:
Ok, this is not the Southwest, obviously, but my own "point of stillness" that is the rugged mountains of the north. This picture was taken on a family vacation up into Canada when I was in my teens. Mom, Dad & I take a quiet moment to drink in the near over-powering beauty of Waterton National Park at Lake Cameron. I will be forever grateful to my father for making time to take me to places like this, and then not just drive through but stop for awhile to reflect, to meditate, to watch as the landscape before us changed with the light and the weather. I've definitely been given the palette, am still working on composing what I want to project.
Here a a few more pictures from that vacation.
"The gratitude I have for being able to participate in the phenomena that happen when the light, weather, space and beauty of the Southwestern landscape come together is overwhelming. What I've worked to achieve through my art is that timeless moment of reflection, that meditative oneness when everything is silent. At the point of stillness, we realize we're a verb identifying with the forces of color, light and space. We're ever changing with actions and reactions to nature's assets. God provides us with the palettes necessary to mix our own colors, tones, hues and values. It's up to us to compose the feelings we want to project."David Rothermel, The Artists Magazine, October 2010
Ok, this is not the Southwest, obviously, but my own "point of stillness" that is the rugged mountains of the north. This picture was taken on a family vacation up into Canada when I was in my teens. Mom, Dad & I take a quiet moment to drink in the near over-powering beauty of Waterton National Park at Lake Cameron. I will be forever grateful to my father for making time to take me to places like this, and then not just drive through but stop for awhile to reflect, to meditate, to watch as the landscape before us changed with the light and the weather. I've definitely been given the palette, am still working on composing what I want to project.
Here a a few more pictures from that vacation.
7 comments:
Oh Sheila, that quote gave me goosebumps. That's EXACTLY how I feel when I'm in the desert Southwest. Thank you for this post.
Lovely - memories and photos. At first glance I thought that just might be Glacier, MT - for to me there is no more magical place than that. We will be purchasing a home out that way in the next year or so. Until now - I guess the beauty of North Carolina will have to suffice. (oh and loved the quote very, very much.)
Good eye, Cathie. In truth, the last two pictures actually are taken in Glacier Park. We entered the park from the south, took these on the way to Many Glaciers (that's Sherburne Lake according to the notation on the slide...yes, SLIDE) and continued north into Canada into Waterton Park. For as spectacular as all the views in Glacier were, we all thought those in the Canadian version even more so, if you can believe that. Glad to hear you are still hoping to move out to Montana - I've been waiting! One of the most haunting pictures for me is the one taken from behind you as you look off towards those spectacular mountains. One can't see your face, but I know there's a wistful look on it.
Sherrie, you are very welcome. I know I must have some pics from a family vacation through the Southwest but not close to hand. We spent extra time at the Grand Canyon, I remember, much to my mother's chagrin. She was trying to keep us on a schedule but dad was very intrigued with the area and insisted we spend another day. Yeah dad!
Lovely quote. Thank you.
One odd thought flitted through my mind: the author is correct that that's the moment we wait for -- but when it happens, I am not conscious of it. That is, the moment is the moment when I lose _self_-consciousness, lose myself in the moment, and so don't know that I've done so. That doesn't make sense when I write it down, but it still makes sense in my head (or where the Zen paradoxes reside).
Thanks for the photos, too. Really, the desert can do equally "senseless" (because of total absorption of being) things.
Hmm, I seem to be full of mystical nonsense tonight. Blame it on the lateness of the hour.
June, you are making sense to me - should I be concerned? ;-) I loved his thing about the artist becoming a verb - don't you agree that you do, even if you are not aware of it at the moment it happens? Also like that part about actions and reactions - explains a lot about how I see and how I can keep coming back to the same exact spot and come away with something different on my mind.
I love the mystical...
Many days later, I have to let you know that I used plein air as a verb today. I plein aired a low dive (tavern) that I have wanted to paint for years. Captured its Friday night happy hour -- from way across the street. The neighborhood is dicey but the "neighbors" (habitues?) were all quite delighted that someone wanted to paint their home territory.
But the verb form -- that's what I'm pointing out -- as you did earlier:-)
How fun, June! Good to hear you are verbing, I mean Plein airing again. ;-)
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