The Hues: Nuances of Warm Whisps
Light in Nature creates the movement of colors.
Winter in the mountains can be unforgiving. We are at the whim of the elements, must we ever adapt to their harsh conditions. Storms come and go, and snow stays there for months on end.
But out of this harshness comes dramaticism in landscapes. It whimpers and dies, the light, should it blow snow and water to redo the whole stage of the land. It screams and shouts in front of you, to tell you, in rough songs, the story of the Queen of Veils, who is Mother Nature. And it is impressive to see the effects of such music across the entire stretch which you see.
Climbing was hard but an enduring workout for the ready muscles of my body. I went up there for its heavenly beauty, to experience, once again, what it has to show me. And I did so by seeing how tones of what we call white can change and shape the earth, the mountains and the trees, and how this white can change from just tones to nuances, hues and then shades of gray to black. It was a feast of light. So I saw the entire specter from white to black, but guess what, there are colors between white and black. All is not lost.
Don’t be fooled by what you see but mesmerized. In this inner process of the mind there is truth. What can it tell you? It tells of change. Adaptation is not an answer, but always an unanswerable question. The answer is balance. Keep your feet on the ground and your head up in the sky. But what of your eyes? Look for light!
Before night, up there, in one of the most beautiful meadows in the mountains, at the chalet, I discovered the essence of painting the sunset. In front of my eyes the photograph was set, but moving fast. It was the last light of the sun in the distance creating this whisp of pink and orange hue over the land. And then, the light was turned off and the shades turned to black in a quick pace. Want to know the secret of this movement of hues, high warm and low cold? It is air, not snow, therefore not water. Air over the landscape is painted abruptely with such hues in order to convey the effects of movement, the sculpture of the recognizable shapes and its hues are from the low cold spectrum. Much like the desert is shaped by the high warm hued whisp of the trickles of sand, separated but together dancing with the blows. I heard its whispered roar. It was the speed of the song, the high pitch but subtle like the mild wind.
The high warmth of my subject belonged to fire.. that of the Sun. But beyond, there was an ever ending array of possibilities, those with which I am trying to make the connection between music, painting, photography, colors, hues, tones, shades and contrasts, vibrance.. there is the energy of art.
My trip continued with sensing the coldness of the night air. It started to snow and, while I was getting out of the chalet to look, to see the spectacle of the winter night in that area of the mountains, I felt the cold wind stinging my face from time to time. I finally felt its rhythm. Up until then I felt its harmony, its melody. It was like a soprano singing in a minor scale the setting of the Sun out there. She tried to scare me but I was heedless to it. I did feel the message though.
One can never understand the language of Nature if one doesn’t stop and listen. For this, the mind needs to listen and to look consciously focused. The lips of trees and the openness of the mouth of air speaks clearly. I am cold and will suck you down of the warmth of your blood, says the wind. I am hot and dry you out of your liquids, says the Sun. I am ice and fire, and will sting you till you become stiff, says the winter storm. I am not affraid, says me.
I love your colors and thank you for your hues at sunset.
I can never bring you a grand vista of such, to satisfy your thirst of colors. That’s all there is to it: a whisp of warmth afar in the nuance of the low tidal light, in a cold moment.