"A violet from a mossy stone, half hidden from the eye" - WW
Violet/Purple is the most difficult color to create. Ultramarine blue and cadmium red mix like blood brothers, but the right shade of purple still eludes me. A touch of black, perhaps? Or orange?
When the sun sets and the skies perform to an entranced audience, purple tinged with gold, fluorescent orange and deep grays assault my senses, urging me to pick up that brush and get to work. Only to leave me feeling incomplete--and the painting impoverished. The cityscape below never seems to let go of its hold. Even when smudged out. Colorless.
Last week, on a lazy afternoon, i spent time walking into a persistent drizzle, by the gray beaches of North Malabar, watching the mist set in over the rough waters of the sea. The belly of a cloud carrying a thunderstorm hovered threateningly close, ready to tip its ire. The sea woke up all of a sudden and the tides moved higher and faster, almost like it had been waiting-- for a lover's first touch, trembling. Much longed for, imagined and dreamt about. The sea gulls seemed to sense the imminent ritual and settled down on the craggy rocks, silent. The red crabs scurried faster into the crevices and the frothy waters sprinkled me with a cool, fresh spray. And, then, the monsoon arrived, bringing in a slate of gray, blurring every other memory. I could almost see the waters frolicking below. I stood there as long as i could watching...
By late evening, the verdant countryside, the family of greens, the feel of velvet, the smell of freshly drenched soil--all went into creating a heady mix, leaving me a bit dizzy and, at the same time, completely alive. (What is it about a rain-drenched, freshly washed canvas? )
When the sun finally dipped into the waters, creating the most unimaginable spectrum of colors I've ever seen, I just wished that I could catch it and go down with it, too.
When the sun sets and the skies perform to an entranced audience, purple tinged with gold, fluorescent orange and deep grays assault my senses, urging me to pick up that brush and get to work. Only to leave me feeling incomplete--and the painting impoverished. The cityscape below never seems to let go of its hold. Even when smudged out. Colorless.
Last week, on a lazy afternoon, i spent time walking into a persistent drizzle, by the gray beaches of North Malabar, watching the mist set in over the rough waters of the sea. The belly of a cloud carrying a thunderstorm hovered threateningly close, ready to tip its ire. The sea woke up all of a sudden and the tides moved higher and faster, almost like it had been waiting-- for a lover's first touch, trembling. Much longed for, imagined and dreamt about. The sea gulls seemed to sense the imminent ritual and settled down on the craggy rocks, silent. The red crabs scurried faster into the crevices and the frothy waters sprinkled me with a cool, fresh spray. And, then, the monsoon arrived, bringing in a slate of gray, blurring every other memory. I could almost see the waters frolicking below. I stood there as long as i could watching...
By late evening, the verdant countryside, the family of greens, the feel of velvet, the smell of freshly drenched soil--all went into creating a heady mix, leaving me a bit dizzy and, at the same time, completely alive. (What is it about a rain-drenched, freshly washed canvas? )
When the sun finally dipped into the waters, creating the most unimaginable spectrum of colors I've ever seen, I just wished that I could catch it and go down with it, too.