The Masters Hand
Posted: Saturday, April 30, 2011
by Richard Radtke
http://www.cottagebythelane.com
The Winter mural is done, set aside, yes, it is put away. Now there upon the easel sits a new, clean canvas awaiting his hand. Soon, upon its white empty space into its depths he will stare, ponder, and prepare before he begins another work, another masterpiece, one more of those that he has done a thousand times a thousand before, but yet, in the end there have never been any two the same. Each one has been its own, each one flawed in its own way, perhaps by intention and not mistake, who knows? But each was better than the one before if that could be...
The colors are new, never seen in just that hue, and as he lays them on the canvas thick here, thin there they are never the same. The things he paints each one perfect, each one its own, standing out, but yet blending into the scene as it grows. The hills, tall in the background roll forward as they fall, some to a stream that cuts before them, others melding into tall trees that even now seem to tremble as if in them a gentle breeze blows them gently and with it they sway...
In the foreground a field grows, grass growing heavy, each blade seemingly the same, but yet each one colored in a differing way, Their forms are different, some tall, some short, with others that bend in the breeze that puffs its way across the broad canvas, yes even this he paints too. And we ask ourselves as we gaze upon the scene, was ever the grass this green? No, no one can say...
He paints away, concentrating on each detail, each ray of a new born day, and within them the dust that dances there on its way. In the field that disappears in the depth of the oils he lays, a daub of color quickly laid, transforms a dew covered bud, painted only moments before, to a flower and it is joined by another and another, until the green field is now ablaze with blues, oranges, and reds among which bees play...
With powerful strokes now, some broad, some thin, he creates a sky that was unseen until now, laid atop and within a thin blue shell, across it he lays broad strokes of reds, and yellows, that peek out from behind floating clouds daubed on with care. Then slowly, carefully as he brushes in the golden orb of the sun rising from behind the hills, that in the distance lay we stand back and greet the day...
Authors Note: This one I am not sure of, your comments are appreciated
Copyright RRRadtke 2011
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)Decipher. What are you telling me? quite a lot. I like this, I feel the picture growing.
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