I'm pleased to announce my new association with Hughes Gallery of Boca Grande, Florida.
Every Friday we feature an artwork from the store.
This weeks featured art is Day’s End.
An original egg tempera painting of peaceful mountain pasture scene in North Carolina. Visit store to see the painting and read a bit about it.
Please email me if you have any comments or suggestions about the store.
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From the age of four, I have associated each day of the week with a particular color.
I know I was four because we lived on Linda Lane. I remember sharing a room with my little sister Terri, and Sammy our yellow parakeet. Peering through the shadows of time, I can still see through our bedroom window, the white church across the road, its silver cross gleaming in the moonlight under the dark pines. I remember kindergarten at Hurst Elementary, lining up with the other kids with my nickel for milk, taking naps on the floor with my aqua towel, and spinning the metal merry-go-round in the Florida sugar sand.
That was fifty years ago, and only now do I attempt to illustrate the colors assigned to each day. Why reveal them now? Perhaps for imagination’s amusement, the path of least resistance. A difficult passage in a painting is vexing me; it’s easier to indulge a distraction devoid of restraint, than paint in the dark.
What day is it? Tuesday – Yellow. . . Saturday? – Orange, and so it goes. I didn’t select the colors, they appeared and remained. I wonder, if the days had different names, would the colors be the same? It’s not a very appealing arrangement of colors, my day’s. I like Thursday’s blue-gray and the brown has possibilities. Brown can become mysterious. When I think of brown, I see a deep, transparent abyss folding into a soft, shadowy, violet-brown. I can get lost in twilight browns. Color space is a fascinating topic, in future articles; I’ll cover in depth, the properties of color.
None of these is my favorite color.
Friday is green, odd, and probably my least favorite. It wavers between a medium and deep green and spatially is the furthest away. Because it fluctuates, it’s not a very truthful color, is it? Since my dad was Catholic, Friday meant confession at Saint Paul’s, and fish sticks for dinner. I loved my dad, but I hate fish sticks.
Somewhere along the line my day’s became colored, and each color has an associative feeling in nature attached to it. That feeling is ineffable.
That I can only describe in paint.
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