Sunday, September 27, 2009

Autumn Landscape Upclose with Pumpkin and Asters -Oil Painitng, Jan Blencowe

copyright 2009, Jan Blencowe, Connecticut, USA
Asters and Pumpkin, 8x10, oil on canvas panel
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Though landscape paintings are my speciality, sometimes its fun to find (or create) an intimate scene, a slice of nature so to speak, and create an outdoor still life of sorts.

Here we have the warmth and glow of the autumn sun kissing the glorious orange of a beautifully shaped pumpkin, wreathed by New England asters and cone flowers that have bent to the ground after the rain.

I am particularly fond of this painting because it seems to capture so much of what I love about the season. The colors, the flowers, the sense of abundance, and a bit of the mystery and surprise I always encounter when closely observing nature.

Ode to Autumn
by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.


PAT MEYER -- said...

Wow!! You are getting us in the mood for fall. Your pumpkin just glows.

dawnblair said...

Lovely piece, Jan. I'm seeing more light coming into your paintings and I think it's great.