Today’s scribble is inspired by Claude Monet and May Sarton’s poem For Monet:
Changing light changes the very nature of things. The glow of sunrise is different than a midday sun. The light and shadow dance is what makes things alive and never static.
I have poor vision. Without my glasses or contact lessons, I can’t see a thing. I am legally blind.
Now I have to contend with getting reading glasses. My arm just can’t extend far enough for me to read the small print. My astigmatism is getting worse. My left eye drifts lazily to the centre and my world is not only blurred, it is doubly blurred. I worry about losing my vision, my eyesight too impaired for any supplementary aids.
I am a visual person.
I am delighted by the play of light and shadow. I believe I see things in a way that allows me to draw with ease. I notice the curves and lines of objects, the patterns and striations of textures, the shapes made in the spaces in between objects, and the colours – oh the colours – that blend into each other from afar and in the smallest of details. I see things in relation to each other. My eyes understand the language of scale and proportion, angles and perspectives, colour and shape.
I made tiny thumbnail sketches of some of my sunrises:
It frustrates me to no end when I can’t mix the exact colour or even capture in a photo the electric reds and pinks of what my eyes see in the sky. I can only draw or paint light as it reflects of the surroundings and in its relationship to darkness. The flecks of light between and on surfaces all tell a story.
How do I hold the fleeting flash of light? Will it stay longer if I absorb it all or if I reflect it back? If one day my eyesight fades and I no longer see the contrasts or be a part of the audience in the drama of light and dark, will I still have the will to imagine it all?
100 scribbles…hurriedly writing the here and now.
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