It's like the sun can’t quite break through, the hills are too steep, the branches tangled up, and the light is caught between the cusp. Betwixt the night and day, light is matted, woven together by absence or by presence, and it’s the feeling of what might be in those negative spaces, it’s comforting, but also it’s haunting.

The castle like a ghostly ship - my mind wanders, but what of it? Is it blue or purple, I can’t fully tell, it recedes, a dancer disappearing into the wings, or the mist, is it ocean, whatever it is, it feels like risk.

It’s an echo of another canvas, broader brush stokes, paint loaded like a burial shroud. These men who wandered, carefree, looking, looking, at things and always, wondering.

Wondering how does it look, how could it look? How can I make it seem human, even though they’ll argue it’s made by God?

There’s lightening there, although you can’t see it. The consumption of painting, it’s at the heart, producing it costs more than art.

And looking at it.

Look at it….tell me,

what do you see?

—-

I’m off to have a look at the Turners at the Tate next week, very excited!

https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/turner-sunrise-a-castle-on-a-bay-solitude-n01985