"You have a sculptor's eye for painting."
A friend told me that several years ago when looking at one of my artistic attempts. It was not meant as a compliment.
I thought of that comment on Tuesday evening. Jiggs and I were sitting on the stoop of the gate leading to the beach behind the house.
The evening was gray. Not emotionally. In fact, it was a joyous evening.
Small familiy groups swimming in the sea. Boardshorted boys skimming along the beach and launching themselves over the crest of waves. Counter-balanced by young women walking the beach, looking as if they were spending the week at a Nazarene church camp.
And dogs. Chasing sticks. Sniffing. Running.
Like a George C. Cohan production -- all of that joy played out against a somber sea and sky constructed of a hundred shades of gray. The combination was a perfect blend of serenity.
When Georges Seraut decided to paint bourgeois Parisians enjoying a Sunday afternoon on à l'Île de la Grande Jatte, he concentrated on how to bring order to the whole -- through design, composition, tension, balance, light, and harmony. And he made it work.
If I had an artistic hand, I could have produced something that would have Incorporated the principles. But even without my sculptor's eye, I could not have done justice to the scene.
Instead, I put down my Lincoln biography and simply watched what I would never capture on canvas play itself out in grays and joys.
It truly was a practically perfect evening.
A friend told me that several years ago when looking at one of my artistic attempts. It was not meant as a compliment.
I thought of that comment on Tuesday evening. Jiggs and I were sitting on the stoop of the gate leading to the beach behind the house.
The evening was gray. Not emotionally. In fact, it was a joyous evening.
Small familiy groups swimming in the sea. Boardshorted boys skimming along the beach and launching themselves over the crest of waves. Counter-balanced by young women walking the beach, looking as if they were spending the week at a Nazarene church camp.
And dogs. Chasing sticks. Sniffing. Running.
Like a George C. Cohan production -- all of that joy played out against a somber sea and sky constructed of a hundred shades of gray. The combination was a perfect blend of serenity.
When Georges Seraut decided to paint bourgeois Parisians enjoying a Sunday afternoon on à l'Île de la Grande Jatte, he concentrated on how to bring order to the whole -- through design, composition, tension, balance, light, and harmony. And he made it work.
If I had an artistic hand, I could have produced something that would have Incorporated the principles. But even without my sculptor's eye, I could not have done justice to the scene.
Instead, I put down my Lincoln biography and simply watched what I would never capture on canvas play itself out in grays and joys.
It truly was a practically perfect evening.
8 comments:
I am happy to see you are back to upbeat topics. Your last few posts had me a bit worried. They did not sound like you.
Horst
I like how you photoshopped your photograph to make it look like a painting. Glad it was a practically perfect evening. Cannot think of anything better than sitting on the back stoop watching the ocean.
And that is one of the many unpurchaseable reasons why we love Mexico.
Yup, its those little unexpected events that if we take time to notice, lift our hearts and cause us to shout (sometimes to ourselves) Viva Mexico!
Horst -- Life is good here. The only thing that could be better is Jiggs. But everything ages.
IreneAdler -- It will be one of the nights I will remember in Mexico. I even have a "painting."
Islagringo -- You are correct. I could not buy a night like that.
Babs -- Viva Mexico, indeed!
Reminds me of a poem by Carl Sandburg in which he is observing Gypsies on the other side of a river, playing music and dancing, and his just watching and appreciating it all, the life of it.
I am glad you are able to sit and enjoy the beauty around you. “Be still and know that I am God”
Mom
Anonymous -- Nice poetic reference.
Mom -- Well put.
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