Robert Henri continues from "A set palette ...
" ... may look quite impossible for its want of white in comparison with the subject before you.
It certainly is, any paint is, if you expect to reproduce the thing in nature.
But your work is not, and cannot be, a reproduction.
Nature has its laws. Your pigments and your flat canvas have other laws.
You must work within the laws of your material."
|12:30 pm Juneau 6 x 8 inches oil on Arches Huile paper|
I couldn't help but find a poem for this painting today.
A vagueness comes over everything,
as though proving color and contour
alike dispensable: the lighthouse
extinct, the islands' spruce-tips
drunk up like milk in the
universal emulsion; houses
reverting into the lost
and forgotten; granite
subsumed, a rumor
in a mumble of ocean.
definition, however, has not been
totally banished: hanging
tassel by tassel, panicled
foxtail and needlegrass,
dropseed, furred hawkweed,
and last season's rose-hips
are vested in silenced
chimes of the finest,
opens up rooms, a showcase
for the hueless moonflower
corolla, as Georgia
O'Keefe might have seen it,
of foghorns; the nodding
campanula of bell buoys;
the ticking, linear
filigree of bird voices.