"Les Tuiles aux Poires" 16 x 16 oil Occasionally I am asked to paint a house. Occasionally I have made the mistake of doing so. Gradually I have come to understand that they weren't "in my line."
While my linear-sequential left brain thoroughly enjoys kakuru (number crosswords - try one - they're marvellous) and deductive reasoning, when I am in my right mind I choose the curvilinear. My brushwork instinctively traces out the seashell of an ear, the tangle of vines, or the curl of a wave. The calligraphy I do from time to time is in cursive italic rather than gothic script. Even if I choose to paint more abstractly, again the brush resists straight lines.
Perhaps this strong inclination just reflects my sympathy for the underdog. Human beings are responsible for most of the perfect right angles on this planet. Consider the connotations of the word "twisted."
In all of its complex and crooked loveliness, raw nature needs all the positive publicity it can get and I am one of its committed public relations officers.
"Les Tuiles aux Poires" focuses on a snippet of Rita and John's magnificent pear tree. It seduced me with its contrast between the fruit's blushing ripeness and the cool dark gloss of the leaves. Surrendering to the Mediterranean mood it evoked, I even divided the canvas into four "tiles." It took forever to sort out all of the leaves as well as to coordinate the 8 x 8 tiles; then poor Jon had to create a backing for them because I had neglected to think about the challenge of hanging them separately. I am glad that we both went to the trouble, though. The painting has been hanging in our kitchen ever since.
While my linear-sequential left brain thoroughly enjoys kakuru (number crosswords - try one - they're marvellous) and deductive reasoning, when I am in my right mind I choose the curvilinear. My brushwork instinctively traces out the seashell of an ear, the tangle of vines, or the curl of a wave. The calligraphy I do from time to time is in cursive italic rather than gothic script. Even if I choose to paint more abstractly, again the brush resists straight lines.
Perhaps this strong inclination just reflects my sympathy for the underdog. Human beings are responsible for most of the perfect right angles on this planet. Consider the connotations of the word "twisted."
In all of its complex and crooked loveliness, raw nature needs all the positive publicity it can get and I am one of its committed public relations officers.
"Les Tuiles aux Poires" focuses on a snippet of Rita and John's magnificent pear tree. It seduced me with its contrast between the fruit's blushing ripeness and the cool dark gloss of the leaves. Surrendering to the Mediterranean mood it evoked, I even divided the canvas into four "tiles." It took forever to sort out all of the leaves as well as to coordinate the 8 x 8 tiles; then poor Jon had to create a backing for them because I had neglected to think about the challenge of hanging them separately. I am glad that we both went to the trouble, though. The painting has been hanging in our kitchen ever since.
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