Margaret Leslie Utterback
"There are moments in our lives,
there are moments in a day, when
we seem to see beyond the usual.
Such are the moments of our greatest happiness.
Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom.
If one could but recall his vision by some
sort of sign. It was in this hope
that the arts were invented.
Sign-posts on the way to what may be.
Sign-posts toward greater knowledge."
Robert Henri; The Art Spirit
Today the sky is absolutely cobalt above, fading to pale rose madder at the horizon. I yearn for a stick of pastel with the same sense of blue, a sense of endless atmosphere. And one that would tell of the warmth or coolness of the breeze as it moves around me. And a stick of pastel that would generate the radiating sunlight, at dawn, at noon, or dusk. Today the objects in front of me are composed of a silent history. And again, I yearn for a stick of pastel that would tell it's tale, complicated with it's "self" and mine and another and another. The reality is that no single stick of color can replicate the beauty of nature or the complexities of a relationship. To copy is impossible; the attempt to copy is mundane. A painting is an image; a combination of the reality, the painter, and the viewer. And the reality is fleeting, instants of impressions, transmitted from the eye to the brain and translated in minute portions of time. The translated image of the painting only carries the "sign" of the artists visual "language," in hopes of a non-verbal communication and a connection with a reality.