Dressed in Fog

Lost Leaves K Howell 2011 Acrylic on Paper 21cm x 30cm

     Trees wear the weather. The moisture in the air traps what little light lingers on these almost mid-winter, snowless days. This is magical and incredibly cold. If I had an ounce of sense, I'd paint burning candles.
     But where does sense get anyone?     
     In the book Don't Ask Me What I Mean (poets talking about the business of poetry), Ted Hughes describes his writing as a celebration of the solidity of his illusion of the world. And this I find heartening, so I pass it on. A wonderful description of the inside out nature of attempting to recreate an aspect of the world in order to understand it.
    

Clarity

Limber K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

  
Mornings have been foggy. Very atmospheric. Quite conducive to contemplating the yogic exercises of trees.
    
I love the rich reduction of autumn. A new clarity in the bare trees. Crisp line and hanging mist. The sharp smell and cold air preparing the way for winter.
   
 Don Paterson, in his Book of Shadows, says:

     The trees in winter, those exact diagrams of all our dead yearnings.

   
It's a terrible thing to be distracted from work by an aphorism.