Friday, March 27, 2009
I finished this small painting the other day, and for some reason was compelled to title it Sensing. I just knew that that was its title. In nature, there is an automatic response to the physical stimulus of light that induces birds to migrate. I kept looking at this painting, thinking it reminded me of spring, or the fragility of spring, the forms still converging and perhaps being obscured by the elements. Then, last night, the snow began. It fell on the plum blossoms, the red tulips, the delicate grape hyacinth. Covering everything, until this morning I awoke to over a foot of snow. I now think I could sense deep within me, on some sort of primal level, that snow was going to fall, a lot of it. Like migratory birds, I was connected to nature on a deeper level and responded to the inner urging, to follow my instincts when it came to titling the painting. This is where abstraction leaves me breathless with wonder -- I didn't know where the painting came from, or how it arrived, or why I was so certain of its mysterious title.