The sky, beauty, art and more.....
The entire day tinkered from cloudy to clear. When clear the scattered clouds were precisely constructed and the sky blue had a shimmer and calming energy to it. When cloudy the grays were gradual and gentle but the formations were strong. So it was in Florida on that afternoon.
When looking at the cloud configurations I found myself thinking of how they would be painted. What colors would I use? What is their anatomy? Dalessio, a younger man, who studied in the same manner I did but more extensively, would paint with color value shapes and his paintings were quick and virtuoso. They lacked the depth of a Collins, another younger painter, who early on realized the limitations of color values and made the effort to study the structure and anatomy of natural phenomenon, in this case clouds. His paintings had weight, not quite the same as a Claude Lorraine or German 19th century painters or the Dutch, but there was weight in them. He often went for the big effect and statement, can't blame him, but his technique was not always up to it. Still, as he said, he loved doing it and he did quite well.
I looked at the sky when it turned blue and thought of all the landscape painters I admired from the past. To paint half as well as many would be a joy. In my life my training was not that extensive and I was exposed to many other art influences and many other life influences. People don't realize painting can be enjoyable as you improve your craft if you have a craft or a way to obtain it. In this world on this plane it's a high way to appreciate the creation, combining the highest of intelligence, intuition, and knowledge onto one canvas. I had a taste of this but just a taste.
At 22 when I went to Gammell for a crit of my work he said I was late and I heard from one his students he thought Jews rarely became excellent painters. Well, I didn't prove him wrong but Collins did. Art has had a place in my life but not as a painter. This afternoon I had brief glimpse of what it would have been like. Naturally, mental gyrations followed. At first I was self condemning for not being able to become competent at the craft. Then I tried to figure out how I could shift my whole life to do so. I then backed off from both roads as I was being led to a black hole.
Tired that evening I pulled up both the shades on the patio and a panorama of the sky above the low buildings and some trees greeted me. Night was beginning to enter but not fully. I lay on the chaise and just looked up. Those blues, those pinks, those grays were caught so well by so many nameless painters. My juices stirred and I wanted to paint the sky too. Life would be so simple if I could. The artists of old had such fun with the skies. They were a playground for the imagination or just simply to observe and record. It was also a vehicle to take joy in the craft.
I realized that evening I was viewing beauty. Art at its finest was an appreciation of this beauty. How did I know this? I was feeling peace and harmony while looking upon it, that's how. Nature was at its finest. Why not build a craft based upon capturing what was so pleasurable and peace giving? Translation, why not paint it? I understood in a deep way after all these years why beauty in art and capturing it was so elevated on the scale of human activities. It was no accident that Leonardo could do everything, sing, design, and write but art held his fascination.
I then had another realization. When meditating, or appealing to the above, or hearing a soft voice from beyond, at least lately, tranquility was not forthcoming. In other words, the higher dimension, what is transcendent, or just God, lately was not easing my insides. Now, when viewing the sky and fading blues and silhouetted trees I felt a healing. The world, or a certain beauty from the world, was helping heal my wounds from the world. In other words, it took the world to cure you from the world. God could be an anchor, but you still needed the world.
From this followed another understanding . The focus was on living and making peace with my life. Uncharacteristically I was thankful just to admire what I saw. No action was required. I considered the effort to record the sky in paint. Truthfully, it would be beyond my strength. Then I mercifully understood such an effort was not necessary. Mere acknowledgment of what was before me and its grandness was the reward. Beauty and harmony in nature was enough in and of itself.
Finally, what followed was liberating. My ego could rest. I actually felt glad that other artists throughout the centuries had captured what I was appreciating. When I saw the sky I thought of them. I was grateful certain humans were capable, through environment and inclination, to have brought human craft and skill to a level that aligned itself with this beauty. Good job artists. I'm glad you did it and at least presently I feel no jealousy. I see the beauty, you caught aspects of it, and I'm content in knowing this. Nature and art had aligned in harmony. I was thankful for this awareness. A sense of completion had been reached, at least at this juncture.
Later that night the Cohanan, my dad, called because a piece of mail he sent me had been mistakenly sent back. I mentioned this insight to him and he seemed to say it was a blessing to have had it and that I was fortunate and that I should write a paragraph about it and he'd like to read it when it was done. Hmmm. More confirmation.