Phases -- and faces -- of the Moon

After that playful Gemini romp in the previous post, The Zodiac Cafe series (first explained here) is moving right along.  But first, let's do a little sidebar explanation of what's meant by the correlation of physical characteristics with signs of the Zodiac.

First, it doesn't mean that everyone born in the same sign -- Cancer in this cycle -- will look alike or like the typical descriptions Manly P. Hall gleaned from medieval manuscripts, among other sources.  I've had many lovely friends (my mother, too) among Cancers, and none of  them has features resembling Hall's list:--

  

"Head large, neck short, eyes large; nose snub or full; mouth large, body heavy especially above the waist; hands and feet small."

His descriptions often derive in part from the symbol associated with the sign -- so if you keep in mind that the Moon is Cancer's symbol, it makes a kind of sense. 

Second, no, I don't do horoscopes and don't really know much about the theories behind them.  I am intrigued by symbol systems and typologies which can sometimes make for elegant puzzles.  At one time, I read enough about astrology to see that you can have fun playing with the factors a dozen ways.  And play I did many years back, packing all kinds of traditional lore into the Astrological Plants series:--

Now, onward to The Zodiac Cafe.   About two years ago, I saw a small exhibit of a wonderful Vancouver artist, whose figurative works include the self-portrait he makes annually on his birthday:

I've wanted to learn from his style, and the Moon was full!  I saw that I could try a spinoff matching Hall's description if I made his head bigger, his neck shorter, his nose snubber and...well, you get the picture.  What's more, since Cancer is a "water sign," I got up nerve to finally try the "Sta-Wet" palette I'd put in my Christmas stocking -- an ingenious device that defeats acrylic paint's tendency to dry out very quickly. (Verdict:  A genius idea.  How did I ever live without it?)

Away we go.  Here's an early stage (sometimes I like these the best):

And the final version "Zodiac Cafe - Cancer" (copyright 2020)

Yikes!  Is this our friendly local money-laundering biker?  I wonder if his beverage of choice at The Zodiac Cafe would be the deliciously subtle organic tea served me last week by a wonderful Cancer friend?

Let's further soothe ourselves with a retreat into the realm of the Moon, and the Pearly Everlasting featured in my "Astro Plants" series -- a favourite BC wildflower that's just coming into bud and bloom on many a local roadside and in my own back garden:

With Geminis, there’s always more than one

   

Hey, we're still in Gemini's section of the zodiacal calendar, so why have just one Gemini-themed painting when we can have two?  (Or as the irreverent have been known to say about Geminis, "Double Trouble")

I happened to meet a Gemini twin, or at least a somewhat kindred spirit with the same birthday, in my high school biology class.  That was the year I won an honourable mention at the school's Science Fair (who, me???!) for...heh, heh...craftily fitting my outdoor and art inclinations into the entry requirements with a show-and-tell of my own drawings and nifty little clay sculptures illustrating mushroom structures and varieties.

It was inevitable that my background research touched on the illustrious Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus, the creator of our enduring system of plant classification, an eccentric character (aren't they the best?) about whom the Swedish author August Strindberg wrote: "Linnaeus was in reality a poet who happened to become a naturalist."

Imagine my delight on an early BC hike when we spotted an expanse of the tiny flower that Linnaeus had declared as his favourite and which eventually received his name: Linnaea borealis, commonly "Twinflower."

Imagine, too, a more recent delight when I found the corner of VanDusen Garden that features statues of great botanists, of course including Linnaeus.

 -- complete with the Twinflower reference!

Well, there and then, I hatched my plan to hook up these botanists with my roaming art students who love to check out statues in our local parks.  You might remember last year's starting point, "Dr. Menzies Holds the Pose."

Intrigued by the garden setting of Linnaeus' statue, I quickly came up with a title, "The Twins Put Linnaeus in Perspective".  As the dark closed in last November, I spent a good bit of time letting the twins do some acrobatic stunts in the foreground.

I finally admitted that the landscaping and topiary that had enticed me resulted in a maze from which there was no exit.  The only thing to do was to send  the whole works to The Place of Abandonment until it was time for Renewed Effort 2020.

This time, I decided to be explicit about the lines of linear perspective.   Working through a half dozen small studies, I again made some false starts such as these:

I began to wonder if I'd wandered into another maze that tempts me -- having a better IDEA than an IMAGE to express it.  That sober self-talk helped me hone in on a simpler depiction of the elements of linear perspective.  I also decided to suggest aerial or atmospheric perspective, in which things in the distance become lighter, bluer, and less distinct .  Here's the launching pad:--

...and we have lift-off, with the first under-layer in the colour complements of my intended colour scheme:

Hmmm.  How do I carry on with this analogy? -- by going into orbit?  In any case, here's the final outcome, "The Twins Put Linnaeus in Perspective" (copyright 2020)

  

Call it "Botanical Surrealism" or "Botanical Enthusiasm," there's just a chance that Linnaeus might have approved since it's said that, like many an ardent naturalist, he played hookey himself to take long rambles in the fields.  Or maybe he's become too set in stone.