Haunted Wetlands
Haunted Wetlands
This began with a memory. The two applications of cadmium yellow and titanium white in the "horizon point" of the perspective's vanishing point on what they call in art lingo, the "picture plane", or the plannular surface area onto which the film of the paint medium is applied and so on.
Well, those are memories of... wait a minute. They're memories now about forty years later, but at the time I was sensing a premonition of riding the train to New York City later on in '68 and watching the lights of the Maryland farm houses gleaming a warm yellow in the nighttime's distance. It gave a moody sense of inevitability. A sense of the passage of life from one form to another. The awaiting of something greater to come. The sense of impending finality in the storms of time.
It's strange, I was just sensing that on the peripheral of my awareness (that's where the most interesting stuff usually happens, so it pays to perk up, your mind isn't going to give you bells and whistles every time that happens) just before I started to write this little article. There they were. In the foreground outside the window of the bypassing future train. The physical light bulbs of the existent people gleaming and twinkling in the turbulence of the temporal storms. There they were, those others.
It's their portrait. They who should have some respect for having existed. A trace or fingerprint of what had been. Hey, we're next, eh? But then, you look twice out the passing window. Nothing's there except dwellings of those residing in the seclusion of country life. Just a feeling of light bulbs gleaming in the distant darkness. Except this hasn't happened yet. I mean it happens three years after I do the painting. So maybe it isn't just imagination after all.
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