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Tuesday, December 2, 2008

And so The Rainfall begins

So I know I've been on a bit of a kick with the videos so please forgive me (I plan on blaming it on my mother - she likes them because she gets to see me in action precious little - I love you Mum!).  BUT I was just starting a new painting in the studio yesterday and thought it might be interesting to record just how I attack (in the outpouring of creative energy) the canvas on day one.



As a total side note, do you know where the Umber of UmberDove comes from?  Now that I've officially published my website, I suppose the cat is out of the bag and I can let you in on the secret of half of my pseudonym.  I do not think a painting has ever, in the history of my oils and myself, gone without this particular luscious shade of deep, cool earthy brown.  And as a side note to the side note, I DO squeeze my toothpaste from the middle and it DOES look just like those tubes of paint in the background.  BC and I have come to a truce on it.  Which basically means once a week I painstakingly squeeze it all up to the top, rolling the flattened base like someone who is far more left-brained than myself.  But back to the real story.

The working (a.k.a. unofficial) title of this painting is "The Rainfall."  The last, larger painting, "The Inheritance" is still coming along but I had an experience this past weekend that had stuck in my head on repeat and I knew I need to get it down on canvas.  I feel pretty clear about the direction of the painting, but as they all go, there are many more layers to be put down, many more hours to spend with it, and many long meditative looks to give it.  The process in this video will be repeated (entirely) in about 48 hours, scraping and blending to create a ground of pure mottled color seamlessly flowing upon which to begin the "real" painting.

So, The Rainfall.  Day one.


And when it rained
The insects sang.
A primal chant of
Wing beats and
Thorax stomps

Antenna beseeching the heavens.

A melancholy pulse
Detritus laid out upon the altar 
Fog rising as burnt offering
Manna falling from the sky.

10 comments:

mme. bookling said...

you know how i gather information like a starving child gathers rice from the fields?

think harried and insatiable craze.

now that you have a mental picture,
this particular blog entry was specifically satisfying to that effect - i just am so curious about how you do what you do, so i am glad, so glad you posted!

(would love to know what your particular experience was this weekend. i hope it wasn't when i smelled your hair in a drunken cry fest (i am not knocking it!) )

also!
thanks to you, i know what detritis is!!!

UmberDove said...

HA! Nope, cry fest 2008 was a different experience all together. This happened on Thanksgiving day (which you were also near for).

Mum said...

Aaah...thanks for that delightful glimpse into your life. Now that I've had my Lavender Sunshine fix for the day, I can go forward with a smile on my face. And yes, though you may be UmberDove to the world, you'll always be my very own little Lavender Sunshine.

Brian Wigand said...

Awesome. Thanks for the glimpse. It's like watching a baby being formed in the womb. Is that gross? Let's try and think of it in the most beautiful way, shall we? Hot shirt, by the way.

The Noisy Plume: said...

I've never seen such a long limbed redwood paint with such fast forward finesse!
I love the beginning.
I'll surely love the end.

We just
really
must
have that entire telly call sometime.

I'm making something green today and thinking of you.
XO

Caitlin Kenny said...

Watching the process of you painting is absolutely fascinating. That painting is based on the most beautiful leafy colours, I can't wait to see more.

catholicbeer said...

ah! finally saw this video.

i know it's your soul, and i love it.
i know it's my soul, and i love it.

BUT.
how do you manage to always paint my soul?

i know we are different, but something deep inside the guts - we are made of the same salt water and tempestuous rain.

i would never claim that what is your is mine.
but your work always touches the deepest part of a very dark room, infusing it with light...

elongating the shadow.

(i am moved that my parents house made it into a painting)

catholicbeer said...

that was me, i was signed into joelio's computer.

thewindhover said...

Ah, the Dove at work. Truly, mesmerising... I could keep watching, and watching - without closing an eyelid (and I fear it may put you off after a while). I cannot wait to see this involve, in your loving hands, into something great, magical, true.

she said...

because i work for censoring corporate people who don't want me to have any fun, i can't view this video yet.

can't wait until i do.