#18 winter solstice 2012

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I started my day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the last room of the Matisse show. My brother, a friend and I studied how the canvas had been re-stretched. We noted drips and choices of red and quality of line. I was struck by Matisse's assurance in brush stroke and variation in color. Still there are huge mysteries in how he captures light. I walked back to the subway in the grey mist of December, and when I arrived back downtown talked about the shape of cups on a table with a writer. I told the story of how I came to make pots. I described fluid nature when using wet clay and the angles of use when fired. I look for clarity in pale light and find answers by putting stems in a vase. When the sun sets I try to remember to catch the colors in the evening clouds.

_MG_4288.jpg"Every thought had a long meaning; every motive had angles and corners, and could be measured. And yet whatever she saw and thought and attempted was still fluid and vague. The shape of a table against afternoon light still held a mystery, awaited a final explanation. You looked for clarity, she wrote, and the answer you had was paleness, the flat white cast that a snowy sky throws across a room."
--Mavis Gallant (Irina from Paris Stories, 2002)


3 Comments

Your remarks make me want to set up easel and begin something of winter-lit interior space.

I am sad that the solstice is so near and your gift of emails in my inbox will disappear ....
Another season of poetry and form to remember. Thank you Catherine.

Now you see, Catherine, how many lives you have affected by your winter solstice series. At least three. Greg's, Josine's, plus one other's.

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