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bright and dark
Jan. 16th, 2009 01:33 pmJanuary seems to be crushing everyone's souls. Some years it seems worse than others. This January isn't terribly kind.
I have this terrific pile of books waiting for me and I seem to lack the attention span to attack them. Maybe my brain is a bit fuzzy these days.
Time to organize myself a bit. I need to begin planting seedlings, and plan the next few weeks so I don't go absolutely bonkers.
Anyways..
Andrew Wyeth has died. He was older than sin and such so it wasn't terribly surprising. But a particular painting of his came to mind.
Groundhog Day
Some of my earliest memories involve this painting as my parents had a print of it up on the walls. I recall liking the orderly nature of the set table and the winter light. But for some reason it took me awhile to figure out or understand the cut logs out the window. Before I was four there were a number of images that didn't appear clearly in my eye. I distinctly remember a sense of confusion about the logs and trying to understand what they were. Were they oddly shaped balls? or something to be scared by? I had a similar experience with a cover of a Little House book that had a sheep dog of some kind. The sheep dog appeared like a monster to my two/three year old eye and so I couldn't stand to look at the cover. If I would see the cover I would immediately cover it up with other books or a blanket so I wouldn't have to look at that monster attacking the couple.
But back to the Wyeth, I didn't like to look out the window. It always seemed so...stark and unpleasant.
It was a definite contrast to another print that hung in my parents house (Renoir's The Luncheon of the Boating Party) which was all brilliant color and obvious joy. (the Renoir usually was hung in the bathroom) So it was an early education in instinctive response to art.
I have this craving for a hot fudge sundae. It is awfully cold out but somehow the idea of hot gooey fudge sounds very appealing right now. Something to think about for the weekend.
I have this terrific pile of books waiting for me and I seem to lack the attention span to attack them. Maybe my brain is a bit fuzzy these days.
Time to organize myself a bit. I need to begin planting seedlings, and plan the next few weeks so I don't go absolutely bonkers.
Anyways..
Andrew Wyeth has died. He was older than sin and such so it wasn't terribly surprising. But a particular painting of his came to mind.
Groundhog Day
Some of my earliest memories involve this painting as my parents had a print of it up on the walls. I recall liking the orderly nature of the set table and the winter light. But for some reason it took me awhile to figure out or understand the cut logs out the window. Before I was four there were a number of images that didn't appear clearly in my eye. I distinctly remember a sense of confusion about the logs and trying to understand what they were. Were they oddly shaped balls? or something to be scared by? I had a similar experience with a cover of a Little House book that had a sheep dog of some kind. The sheep dog appeared like a monster to my two/three year old eye and so I couldn't stand to look at the cover. If I would see the cover I would immediately cover it up with other books or a blanket so I wouldn't have to look at that monster attacking the couple.
But back to the Wyeth, I didn't like to look out the window. It always seemed so...stark and unpleasant.
It was a definite contrast to another print that hung in my parents house (Renoir's The Luncheon of the Boating Party) which was all brilliant color and obvious joy. (the Renoir usually was hung in the bathroom) So it was an early education in instinctive response to art.
I have this craving for a hot fudge sundae. It is awfully cold out but somehow the idea of hot gooey fudge sounds very appealing right now. Something to think about for the weekend.
