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I've always felt a great connection to art made by people in cold places. It resonates with me. Somehow there is a great gentility in it's harshness - a kind of comfort in the conditions of a life that is looking back at me through the work. German painter Albrecht Durer's self portrait of 1500 is an excellent example. He looks back through the paint with cold glossy eyes and yet he reached toward his heart with grace and sensitivity.
To look closely at someone who has lived a long life in a place that is cold you can spot the wear on his skin, the lines on his face, and the notion of survival in his eyes. Where the conditions are grave life and death are as common as air and therefore understood more profoundly. The cold must freeze the fear of death because the people of the north face it with gentle indifference and fearless recognition. Northern European folklore personifies life in the form of a great snake constantly eating and regurgitating itself in an never ending circle of death, reincarnation, and rebirth. It's a culture which teaches it's young not to fear death and so installs courage at the very youngest of ages. It is this notion I spot in the art. Though it may not be specifically depicted it is there. It is in the honest representation of the figure, in the coldness in the eyes, the tears on the clothing, in the foreboding wind ripping at the figures and promising more to come.
Comparing my own art to Durer I understand what is lacking and this week I will try to honestly represent my own conditions through my work.
Above the rocks of Pine Tree Hill
Beyond the borders of my will
lies the place which isn't there
unless I am dreaming
from which it's reality I could swear.
Long boughs of twining twigs, growing still
Forms a large circular crest
a sanctuary not for living nor for death
but some unreachable thing far beyond
A gateway.
And I wonder to whom does it belong?
Although my heart knows
it is for these answers that I long.
And so I walk to Pine Tree Hill
Beyond the borders of my will
I found the place that was not there
And those that dwell
maidens in white and devil mares
black eyes and glossy skin, an iridescent shell.
I crossed beyond knowing an uncertain return
I was once young
now I am old and unlearned
replaced by the one who sung
trapped in this unreachable world
and so very far beyond.
And so you walk to Pine Tree Hill
To the border of my will
I am the voice of the girl who wandered there
long lost
waiting in a timeless lair
with eager skies for eyes
Take my place
Take my place or forever beware!