Sunday, March 11, 2012
Gray and Tender Rain, a new painting of a marsh in Maine
I love a silvery, gray, rainy day, when you can feel the moist air against your skin, the damp earth beneath your feet. Leaves turn emerald and grass lime green. The sky shimmers like a pearl. Ancient rocks lay carelessly scattered about and pines wizened and twisted by wind and weather are silhouettes, angular and sharp. There's something forbidding about this place. The sense that perhaps we hapless city-folk, too used to comfort and convenience, wouldn't last a mere forty-eight hours if we lost our way wandering through the marsh. What if we couldn't get a signal and the compass app on our iPhone didn't work? What then? Better not risk it. Best to stand on the edge of the road, peer in, enjoy the grandeur from a safe distance then retreat to our car when we've had our fill of rugged, primeval beauty. But would we have enjoyed it at all, or must we come back again and again and venture in a little further each time? Would we not enjoy it more and understand it better if we gave ourselves over to it and strode in courageous and unafraid? Would not the spirit of the wild marsh then be our spirit too?
Posted by Jan Blencowe