How colour meets the eye

 

A neighbour's grey weathered back yard tent doesn't look like much.  But – what if?  Just imagine if it were a lovely medium shade of lavender.  Since my right-eye cataract surgery late last month, I haven't needed to imagine – that's just how it appears to my right eye!  (As a sidebar, individuals can perceive colours differently, and here's an interesting synopsis on that subject).

 

As my "Spectral" series is rounding another bend in the colour wheel, I've given hours of thought to just what's happening between red and blue.  Not a day goes by that I don't see another example of purplish hues.  Even right outside my eye doctor's office!

 

Yet Sir Isaac Newton's colour wheel, as it's come down to us, has no purple.  As introduced in my Grade 7 science class, its seven colours make the acronym "Roy G. Biv".   Red-Orange-Yellow-Green-Blue-Indigo-Violet.

 

Here we are at indigo, and I ask:  What colour IS that, anyway?  Take a look at the cover of educator Betty Edwards' very useful book:

 

…and at my long-ago exercise, suggested by another source:-- Assigning paint pigment samples to their places on the wheel.  (Did you notice that RED is sometimes on the left and sometimes on the right?  That's a hot debate I don't want to know about).

 

Okay.  I'm going to translate "indigo" as the blue-purple hue that Crayola added to its crayon choices in its expanded mid-1950s box (another childhood gift that I remember!)  This article validates this view.

 

And we're off, with this early stage:

 

Oh, sigh.  The research had been more fun than the production, and I was finding this all a bit boring.  But my deadline was closing in so I simply put a face in the midst and called it a day:  "Indigo Unveiled" (Spectral Series, copyright 2026)

 

Then I went searching for a known artist's work in the same colour and, very coincidentally, found this face by Edward Burne-Jones. 

In a deeper tone, here's a figure in a rich blue-purple dress by artist Kees van Dongen. 

 

Let's end this exploration of the colour indigo with a salute to artist Louise Bourgeois who said:

"Art is a way of recognizing one's self."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blue without limits

 

Next up in the "Spectral" series is the colour blue -- always my favourite.  For years, before my finger knuckles became unpredictable (some too knobby, some too thin), my trademark piece of jewelry was a ring of lapis lazuli stone mounted in silver.  The colour was sublime, and I've always loved the fact that lapis is the historic source of the paint pigment Ultramarine Blue.  From the same era as my ring, I made a birthday splurge on one small tube of a fine quality "genuine" ultramarine:--

 

Nowadays, the ultramarine of artists' pigment is a chemical mix, and lapis is most likely to be found at rockhounds' stores.  How could I resist a very cheap chunk that I came across at a hobbyists' show a few years ago?

 

Ultramarine is only one of a dozen or more artists' blues.  I have just some of them in my studio.

 

Some notables in the art world have become obsessed with it.  The artist/teacher/theorist Johannes Itten is almost synonymous with colour studies.  In his famous book "The Art of Color," he investigated the "behavioural" qualities of colours – where they fit and how they interact -- and proposed spiritual and psychological correspondences for each.

 

The earlier 20^th century artist Franz Marc also proposed symbolic meanings for different colours – and won my heart in my teenaged years with his series of blue horses. 

 

As I considered What to Do with Blue, a woman who was indubitably spectral showed up at a meeting I was attending.  I admired and complimented her wild fluffy hair and, with a laugh, she told me that someone had come up to her and asked if her tufts were actually feathers. I couldn't quite capture her image when I sketched at home from memory. 

 

She was irresistible, though, and I knew my Creative Packrat's hoard would offer some helpful bounty:--  the crinkly paper packing material that sometimes replaces plastic, and some fabric remnants from my all-time favourite blouse.

 

A swatch of plastic netting that contained a half-dozen avocadoes helped get me started – oh, and the plastic lid of a samosa sauce container.

 

Moving right along:--

 

Suddenly, at this stage, I was reminded of an early Renaissance painting by Rogier van der Weyden:-- 

 

VanGogh's Breton women crowd in on this association, too.

Here's my final version, with all its faults:  "Portrait of a Rare Bird with Feathers" – Spectral Series (copyright 2026).

 

Looking for a blue painting by a known (or little-known!) artist, I had lots to choose from.  How about "Portrait of a Lady in Blue" by Rembrandt Peale?  (That's no joke – his siblings in this noted early American family were named Raphaelle, Rubens, and Titian).

 

If you're feeling joyfully awash with blue at this point, you might want to check out short-lived 20^th century artist Yves Klein who said, "Blue has no dimensions.  It is beyond dimensions."  

 

He experimented with over a hundred pigment mixes to finally create what's internationally known as Klein Blue.   Along the way, he was the first and not last to use the human body to apply paint!  If you're now really keen to experience the Full Klein, check the video here for his sculpted blue sponges!

 

Whew!  What a journey this is, whizzing around the spectrum circle.  Meanwhile, a friend has helpfully reminded me of Emily Dickinson's brief poem that begins, "Hope is a thing with feathers."  Let's hold that thought as we keep rolling along.

 

 

 

Sunshine, blue skies, and a whiff of green

 

This fall-winter season, it feels like we've had endless rain.  Not so, say official sources, who do say, officially, that last month was Vancouver's warmest December on record.  So when the sun shines, and everyone runs outside to dance in the streets (one of my fantasies), it feels like spring will be here soon.

 

Riding the bus in late December, I sat across from a man who seemed to be travelling unfamiliar territory – shown here, with the blank look my eraser tool has thoughtfully provided for him.

 

His timing was perfect – just as I was mulling over a green theme for my Spectral series.  No doubt about it:  This was The Green Man of Celtic (and other) mythology. 

 

However it all came about, The Green Man is also known as The Foliate Man – an architectural motif of a male face surrounded with foliage.  Scroll down in this link to see some marvellous examples from historic European buildings.  I don't think I knew any of this when I modelled this small head some years ago.

 

All right:  Onward with the Spectral painting.  Photos of my early layouts vanished in my laptop's end-of-year breakdown – but those are usually of interest only to me.  Here's a mid-stage in the process.

 

And here's the final:  "The Green Man Takes a Bus to the City" – Spectral Series, copyright 2025.

 

To wrap things up, I went searching for a green painting by a known artist and came across this half-familiar example:

 

Well, if that isn't………no, it ISN'T George Washington. 

 

It's a contemporary of his, William Bayard, and the paintings are by the same artist, Gilbert Stuart. 

 

Finally, to show that there is a whiff of green even when it snows, here's my back yard with the only real snow we've had here this year – all melted two hours later.

 

Time out for some year-end sparkle

 

As the year draws to a close, I'm busy with lists and files and memories and thoughts – things that have been, things that might still be – in my life and in my art.  Some time in the past few months I came across mention of the Japanese art form kintsugi.   The word means (they tell me) simply "repair," a word that doesn't begin to suggest the beauty of kintsugi creations, in which broken ceramics are mended with gold-infused lacquer.  The outcome often out-dazzles the original piece.

 

In September, as I began to weed out my packrat's hoard, I wondered if it wasn't time to part with the two pieces of a broken teacup.  But I couldn't – this was what remained of my first post-university tea set, when flavoured teas were just appearing in North American  specialty shops as a trendy alternative to Lipton's.

 

Why not give kintsugi – or a pale imitation -- a try?  Surely my Spectral Creatures would be glad  to take a holiday break.  So I gathered my Reasonable Facsimile supplies (oh quick, write that down – Perfect name for another series!).  Here are my broken pieces with gold-coloured pigment powder and tube gouache.  Off-camera are my gloved hands and a small tube of kid-friendly white glue.

 

It required some careful handling, but here's the outcome.  My verdict:  Neither big enough nor broken enough to produce a glitzy splash.

 

But then, what to do with my leftover Golden Glue Goop?  Not that it was 10-karat, but still –

 

I poked around in my caches of oddments -- make that "found objects" --  and created a little – spillway?

 

If only there had been more broken pieces with that jug spout that forms the upside-down centrepiece.

 

Never mind.  Kintsugi is one more thing I've gotten out of my system for the year just ending.  Let's sit back now and go with the flow of this golden stream.  I think I'm hearing Leonard Cohen's "Anthem."    There is a crack in everything… That's how the light gets in.

 

 

A cautionary note

 

Just in time for our mega-stormy weather, officialdom has introduced colour codes for warnings posted by Weather Canada, the national meteorological service.  Their codes make total sense, a little like the colours of traffic lights. 

 

But, careful now!  We need to exercise caution towards yellow itself.  Like most colours, its symbolism varies with cultures, and yellow can have both positive (warm, cozy) and negative (warning, creepiness) associations.  And there are a gazillion tones of colour, too.  Here are just a few:--

 

Thinking about yellow in the midst of these chilling winds and rains, I've found myself thinking of…….hot buttered rum!  It sounds so comforting even though I've never had it, never even had rum that I can remember.  And then, as I've said before, my choice of alcohol (to give, not to drink) usually runs to funky labels.

 

Meanwhile, too, the human fly continues at work on the building to my north.  Yesterday, he (or a clone) worked all day, applying meticulous patchwork to that exterior wall.

 

I imagine some future tenant of the finished building, grateful for their own balcony on which they might enjoy a warm drink on a cold day.

 

That became my theme for yellow in the series of Spectral Figures, and I plunged right in.  Forgetting everything I'd previously resolved, I did a quick lay-in with little pre-planning.

 

Now, moving right along, the persona is taking shape.

 

But – he looks worried.

 

You'd be worried, too, if your face was too wrinkly, your head was too small, your cap was too big.  Where did this cap come from, anyway?  Was it left behind by some of the circus folk?

 

I was so tempted to call it quits, but it was all off-key.  Time was running out, and I didn't want this weirdo hanging about in my studio.  Then the long ago words of artist-teacher Richard Schmid seemed to offer the direction I was looking for: "Never leave a mistake on the canvas."   So – I hauled out my jar of gesso and whited out the worst of it.

 

Next, I painted separately a small head that seemed to be the right size, about 3" x 4" and with a better head to cap ratio!

 

Placed on the painting-in-progress, this seemed about right. 

 

Oh, I was again tempted to just glue the darn thing to the canvas and be done with it.  Bravely (if I do say so myself), I used the head as a rough guide for size and placement, and painted into the gessoed whiteness. 

 

And here we have it:  "Hot Drink on a Cold Balcony," Spectral Series, copyright 2025.

 

Now let's see what that master colourist Van Gogh has done with yellow in this painting of Armand Roulin, the son of Vincent's postman friend.

 

Coincidentally, the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam is having a lavish exhibit right now of Van Gogh and the Roulin Family and more.  I wish we could all be sitting quietly together in their café (they must have one), just letting it all sink in.

 

Instead – closer to home – we can await the new moon, and then the Solstice, and celebrate whatever activities the weather allows.