Been no sun show its face today, and a little cold snap in the Southern springtime air, dipping into the middle 40s tonight. And along Waterhole Branch here, the wind is moving the trees around, bending their branches, shuddering the leaves when it gusts. Chilly, but can’t call it a gray day, too much green at play here on the cusp of April. Even with some light rain now and then, and the sky like a sheet of flat galvanized tin.
I can sketch and draw pretty good, but I’m not an artist. I don’t understand how colors work from pigment knifed or brushed onto canvas. I’ve tried. I’ve made some muddy messes, some lifeless and faded pastel mistakes. Randy Moberg, my friend who is a gifted painter, told me color must be discovered. I’m not even sure I know what that means. I’m sure, however, it’s not what happens when I try to render an image with acrylics.
I’d like to watch Randy, for instance, paint the greens I see out my window. How can there be so many shades of green? Or would an artist say values of green? I can tell you this, the display in these woods this late afternoon, as the twilight settles beneath a clouded sky, softening and blending the greens is a thing of exquisite and priceless beauty. An ancient slab of precious jade could not inspire the wonder and awe of this scenery. This little touch of colorless winter is so reluctant, yet so out-matched.
Sonny. Susan and I have been reading all of your recent posts and they are terrific. You take a small thing or a small event and write about it in extreme detail very eloquently. Really a wonderful talent that even Ernest Hemingway would have been proud of. We have both been enjoying them. You still have what it takes obviously. We miss seeing you and i miss Fairhope alot. Returned last weekend for first time and stayed with Charlotte & Steve for the Azalea Trail Run. Saw Bruce, Cindy and even saw Nall. Realized how much i miss living down there. Keep up the great writing. The Van Antwerp Building still looks great too. Appreciate all you did on that project and glad you wrote about it. . Bill Bowman
Bill, my friend, whom I miss. Next time you’re in these parts, please let me know. I’d love to see you.