á la longueur du lac

á la longueur du lac. 8x24 oil

One of the rewards of making paintings is that I find myself looking more, observing light and color in a way that I had not done before.  Sure, I saw the sunset, admired beauty, even noticed nuance, but I don't think I really paid as much attention to the way the sky changes in color as you lift your gaze from the horizon to the zenith, deepening, becoming more blue, more ultramarine blue, slipping along the color wheel.  I often find myself sitting contentedly for long stretches of time as my eyes drift from one thing to another: like the dull, cool greens of the inner cedar branches, and then the warmer, yellower tones at the edges in the sun.  Subtle things, and things we see every day without giving much thought.  It is so easy to take the world for granted.  We will live forever, and there is always another day to feel grateful for it all, or at least we might choose to live that way until it is too late and our time on this earth runs out.  So I am pleased that trying to paint allows me to slow down enough to observe more, and to be grateful for those little things of beauty.

In the case of the above painting, I was struck by how the sky in the west was so lemony yellow, but as the eye tracks eastward it shifts subtly greener, and then into a deeper blue.  These same changes are reflected on the lake, and I often notice that it isn't just the beauty of a scene I admire, the warm glow of light, the blue of the lake against the green backdrop, but it is the subtle changes along a distance, how the morning light to the east sings one note while the still sleepy light to the west sings in harmony, and each are beautiful in their own right, but together they are something more, something that feels like an understanding, and an acceptance and a need for the balance.

And then again, it's nice to have a faithful companion who is always willing to enjoy the beauty with me:

Below the Powerhouse 11x14

Oswego Creek 12x12