He was preaching to the choir because I have been pondering this while building the underpainting of this ancient tree. The rhythmic undulations of its roots were the very reason I had chased down this particular tree. I see that I should knock back the value of the rock on the far right, so as not to lead the eye out; the roots themselves will constitute the path which swings up into the brighter leaves. I hope the eye will swing upward and loop through the branches. I have roughly planned the route but need to add more hue to define it better.
For me, at least, these final glazes constitute the payoff for the slow and sometimes agonizing job of building a strong underpainting. By now, I'm generally champing at the bit, ready to lay out a full palette and get to work. If the muse shows up and I don't have to assign the painting to Le Salon des Refusees in our basement, this baby might be finished by Monday. Artists live in hope. You have a good weekend yourself.