The Shadow of the Oak

Its hard to paint really. To connect with something outside yourself in a meaningful way. To believe in the action that you are taking. Its hard to know what to do. Yes there are known paths to things. Techniques. Laws of science. Rules of thumb. There is a method to everything. But here along this trail under the old oak I forget. I am lost again. The only way out IS to paint. So I set out looking for the dark undertones. I lay in washes as dark as I dare with pure watercolor. I let it dry. I do it again. So often and particularly in the winter time with its low riding light time simply passes too swiftly. I am late. Opaque gouache pigments enter. There is a strong sense of urgency. The paint is stiff and dries on contact. You have to live with what you put down so you don't think. Don't even look at what you are doing. You just let the strokes fly as fast as the hand and wrist will allow. The sun has set. The greens have turned violet. Too dark to even see. You come home and lift the paper to the light. And there it is.