Sunday, April 19, 2009

"Spring and Fall"

(5x7)

Another little study (also on hot press, as was yesterday's): I was trying to concentrate on showing the shapes, rather than the details within them, to delineate the scene. I see the perspective of the path is off: if you're doing shapes, get them right!

I see I've done it again, what every art teacher I've ever had says is a no-no: divided the page exactly in half. I do it all the time, without realizing it.Well, perhaps it's just an outgrowth of some aspect of my being: balance, not dynamism; calm, not tension.

Today I'm going to fill my two new palettes: I'm doing a four-day workshop in Rehobeth, DE, with Ken Hosmer, and should start getting my kit together.
Actually what I should do is stay home and work, but my friend Shelby, exuberant plein air painter and generous host, is letting me stay at her house, so how can I pass it up?
I'm thinking of devoting one of Thumbox palettes (I bought two, of course) to "my" palette, colors I would normally choose, and the other to Jim Kosvanec's "essential" palette, which is not what I would choose--for one, he has four greens (out of fourteen colors!) and no purples or violet: no cobalt violet--a color I've come to feel I can't do without. (His "optional" colors, for an expanded palette of 21 colors, does included cobalt violet and ultramarine violet.) Might be a total disaster; might be a great shake-up!


Here's one of the first poems I memorized (the others were Shelley's "Ozymandias" and Keats's "On First Looking into Chapman's Homer"). I wish I had the time, and the brain cells, to memorize poems again--what a worthwhile thing to do!
Hopkins's poems are just a pleasure to say, to pronounce the words, a characteristic shared, I think, by the poems of Wallace Stevens.

Spring and Fall: To a young child


by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

6 comments:

Barbara M. said...

Wowee Laura,

You have to get up pretty early in the morning to keep up with you! Now what are you saying about the path? The painting is lovely. One of the great things that differentiates us from the camera, is our ability to "make it up" as we go along. Therefore your perspective is always perfect.

Incredibly great poem.

Love your blog.

Barbara

JoAnn said...

Laura, am pretty sure that I stumbled onto your blog through Sherry/latebloomer and I enjoy looing at your paintings..and hers, as she knows!

I live in PA and Delaware. In fact, I first started taking watercolor lessons last spring at the Rehoboth Art League. I am still very much of a beginner. My beach house is ten miles from there. It is a beautiful setting for art classes. Enjoy!

Charlene Brown said...

I'm looking forward to finding out how things go with the new palette -- it's good to be forced to paint in other than your favourite colours. (But I can't imagine going a whole week without purple!)

A Brush with Color said...

I like the hot press paper when I've used it, but rarely do these days as it's just not as readily available. This is a really lovely landscape. Lucky you heading off to a workshop. It sounds fabulous. Have a great time, and let us know how you feel about changing that color palette. It will be curious to see what you gravitate towards in a new palette.

Carol said...

Lovely painting! I have only painted once on hot press, but I enjoyed it.

Ruth said...

I was going to start memorizing poems again, about a year ago. I memorized Robert Herrick's "Upon Julia's Clothes."

I think Stevens' "The Snow Man" might be my next choice. Short, and that phrase "shagged ice" is already in my head, and that wonderful last line of nothing.

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