What can I say? A playful drawing begged for playful colours! And now the tiny cats are easy to see. UPDATE: See below to really see those kitties!
As usual, Tom saw all kinds of things to inspire his whimsical poetry.
Cotton candy clouds of wine
fill so full the valley cups
to the hill’s soft plimsol line
where the downs go to meet up
with the mysteries of the night
which rise while lovers dance in flight
toward completion, whole and right,
on to dawn’s emergence bright
from behind the hollow hills
where white cats lie nestled deep
practicing their purring skills
until they’re perfect, then they sleep
amidst the sun and shade of trees
while lowing herds cross o’re the leas.
So here is the finished painting! (although next week when I see it, I may want to make some small touch ups…) In any case, I am quite pleased at this point.
It has been an interesting process from developing the idea and thumbnail vignettes, to refining the painting – more patiently than I usually do! – under the guidance of the teacher. I am hoping I can take the many pointers and see my work better as I go along on my own.
UPDATE: New sonnet from Tom written to accompany this painting!
A labyrinth of waterways awaits
beyond the narrow passage to the sound:
islands, bays and harbours, open straits
that lead without a clew to truths profound.
She lets the painter go and takes an oar
pulling with the river’s ebbing tide
toward the dawn’s bright welcome, leaving shore
where her past will ever-more abide.
Her future beckons over wine-dark seas,
reflecting skies so full of cloud and light,
where she’ll drink her life down to the lees
embracing every moment, dull or bright.
Clotho’s thread is cut, her fate’s her own,
though she be tempest-tost or typhoon-blown.
I did this quick sketch (about an hour) this morning to study the sky for the voyage. Photographing an oil painting while wet means that there is glare and the colours aren’t quite true. I may come back to this one later and make a more finished painting or else use it as a base for experimentation…
dawn comes in silence, slipping past the night
with stealthy steps it moves across the land
setting candles in the clouds alight
awakening the the trees that stay and stand
where glaciers once scraped a path of stone
across the empty landscape of the north
though so many left their weathered bones
from emptiness the dawn can still bring forth
the richness of a cold autumnal day
as shadows steal behind the rocks and hide
waiting for the winter come to play
patiently they lurk where night abides
neither light nor shadow wins the game
but darkness dances with the dawn’s bright flame