Monday

Time: it's on my side?


From time to time I become totally and completely absorbed in work and these past few months has been one of them.  A few walks, a few visits here, there but mostly work.  And that's alright as most of the people in my life understand that this happens and are, in fact, quite supportive. Some.  Not all.

When Salvador Dali painted an image of a melting clock I think he found the perfect metaphor for what happens to us in the studio.  Time goes and we just don't care.  We might have some sort of sniggling thought creep in from time to time that perhaps we should care, generally brought on by someone who misunderstands who we are.  The thought, like the clock, melts away fairly quickly.  Sensitive as we may be thought to be, and sometimes actually are, guilt's currency is seriously devalued in the studio.

Red and yellow leaves smattering through the tops of an occasional maple tree have caught my eye these past few days.  These colored harbingers of fall bring with them an almost inevitable consideration of Time. Elusive, abstract, powerful; natural time has one order and that is submission.  No matter that I have loved the dark greenery of the deep woods in this year as much if not more than any other.  Like all lovers I convince myself that this love is the truth of love and the delicacy of spring's chartreuse I was so very wild for was not after all what I have best loved. Time cares not at all that I would like a bit more of it to spend on deep green. That my meditations on its beckoning power are inconclusive.

These reds and yellows...how demanding they can be.  I may turn from them for a moment thinking I'm not quite ready but my rejection affects them not at all and on they come.  And on I go.  To them.  Leaving the embrace of summer's greens, dark and hypnotic, as easily as I walked away from the dancing joy of spring's chartreuse.

Submit.  And be glad.  These reds and yellows!  Whatever I may have heard of photosynthesis they seem almost from another realm entirely.  As though a painter, maddened by the excess of green, has started throwing pigments from the other side of color's spectrum.  The beginnings of yet another season.  Another canvas.  Another love.  Another time.