Thursday, 8 November 2012

Towering Sky

By Julie Hinton Walker

Georgian Bay, Towering Sky 2009
Oil on canvas, 77 x 68 inches
John Lennard

Wondering where and what lay beyond the horizon has possessed the minds of thinkers since the first “look-out” posts for predators. Where once it was regarded as a perimeter of safety getting the tribe through the night, eventually it provoked dreamers to look beyond, to wonder about the undiscovered and for those fearless adventurers, to capture and learn its secrets…
     Each day breaks open the horizon flooding the sky in light and gifting us time in which to prepare for the night ahead. The steady rocks beneath our feet pool our water and allow us earth enough to plant our food.  We build shelters and find safety soothing our senses. It is a physicality we trust. It is a reality feeding our bodies and keeping us strong and grounded as the bottom edge of this canvas anchors the composition in bold and solid masses of colour.
     As the sun dips below the horizon, it leaves a stain of caution gilding the rocks; a yellow-orange alert that settles into the gut touching the primal. For those who react, there is a choice; stay comfortably within the familiar or, take leave of what holds us and approach the horizon with the mind to conquer. For those who dare approach, there is no longer night. There is no darkness. Primal fear finds its host now in the wind.  Perpetual light opens up and the adventurous ride with it rising above all senses.
     You have smashed through the horizon as an impassioned animal to its destiny. It is the rapture as a lover reclines lifting her head looking straight into the eyes of her lover in anticipation of skin. Hearts beat wildly racing towards this union falling into the arms and depths of the other. Clouds take shape as we explore the canvas. Her satin dress reveals just enough breast and he aches as she nudges her legs slightly. The blue-grey shadows of her gown shift and play in the light and their minds switch to white fury.
     Elemental energy infuses the sky. The explosion leaves nothing concrete. It is a battleground of shape over shape, colour weaving in and out of colour and the sound of our breath as witnesses. Clouds push and pull with no centre; ethereal moments without beginning or end dancing across, what was once, a blank canvas. You hear fragments of noise around you; notes that if pulled from the clouds and arranged on paper, would make music.
     When the clouds pass and the lovers fall breathless into one another’s arms, when the painter has filled his canvas and the musician plays his one last note, the moment of reveal is upon us. The story has been told and looking outward still, the next horizon comes clearly into view.