There seems to be a lot of weather in my paintings again lately. It's not uncommon for a weather system to move in while I'm working, bringing clouds and wind and rain, and completely changing my original plans for the artwork. I wonder what changes are in store for me when it passes through?
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| Sweet Unrest II, gouache on cotton rag paper |
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| December, gouache on cotton rag paper |
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| Festival II, gouache on cotton rag paper |
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| Oh My Stars, gouache on cotton rag paper |
As usual I've been finding inspiration in other people's beautiful words, and I have gathered quite a collection of weather quotes and poems in my art journal. Every book I have enjoyed lately has provided a new one... here are a few of my favourites at the moment.
I could tell the season was changing because in daylight the air moved, moved ceaselessly, not what you would call a wind, but restlessness and unease which were delicious to the bones and skin.
Helen Garner, Monkey Grip
Ah, not to be cut off,
not through the slightest partition
shut out from the law of the stars.
The inner - what is it?
if not intensified sky,
hurled through with birds and deep
with the winds of homecoming.
not through the slightest partition
shut out from the law of the stars.
The inner - what is it?
if not intensified sky,
hurled through with birds and deep
with the winds of homecoming.
Rainer Maria Rilke
This memory moved like a weather system through my body.
Karen Joy Fowler, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves
It was dark outside, and spring chill was in the evening air. He breathed deeply and felt his body tingle in the coolness. Beyond the jagged outline of the apartment houses the town lights glowed upon a thin mist that hung in the air. At the corner a street light pushed feebly against the darkness that closed around it; from the darkness beyond it the sound of laughter broke abruptly into silence, lingered and died. The smell of smoke from trash burning in back yards was held by the mist; and as he walked slowly through the evening, breathing the fragrance and tasting upon his tongue the sharp night-time air, it seemed to him that the moment he walked in was enough and the might not need a great deal more.
John Williams, Stoner
