We awoke today to an ideal summer day. A glistening day for linen and shorts. The sounds of the crickets, birds and insects amplified the already magnificent clear blue sky. The glaring sunshine was so bright it was more white than yellow. The backdrop foliage across the fields and along the river was an exuberant green. Couples paddled on the water. The temperature rapidly mounted. The air was thick and warm.
Fortuitously we are once again engaged this afternoon to visit my erstwhile physician at his country estate in the Village of Ashton. It is a venture we’ve repeated and thoroughly enjoyed many times in the past. Through my professional telescope I hearken to the initial acquisition of the estate years ago, recalling the meteoric negotiations of the transaction. We appreciate the opportunity the more so because our host is often out of the country – indeed around the world, whether on a mountain, browsing the Arctic or Antarctic, in a jungle or atop a pyramid. This afternoon we shall capitalize upon the propinquity to catch up, to hear accounts of voyages and family, perhaps even changeable domestic resolve.
The celebration – for that is what it is – coincides with the start of Canada Day events throughout the country. July 1st – being a Wednesday – ensures an upcoming long weekend or holiday week to punctuate the seasonal flair. This morning – naturally following my relieving tricycle ride about the neighbourhood – as I drove along the winding roads into Renfrew County, I happily gazed upon the brilliant farmlands sprawling before me, reaching the obscure horizon. I am reminded how accustomed we Canadians are to vast space and long distances. I know this for having crossed the continent twice by car from the eastern shore of Nova Scotia to the western limit of British Columbia. I have seen weeds tumble across the prairies.
Meanwhile I relinquished my reminiscent gusto by pausing at Equator Café for a superb double espresso – or was it a quarto? To my surprise the place was overwhelmed with people and activity. I stood in line for ten minutes before being served. The surrounding parking lot had been cordoned to accommodate what appears from my limited mobility and perspective to be a traditional Farmer’s Market though I suspect it is a singular congregation to mark Canada Day only. Visiting children screamed with delight. Parents cautiously snooped and inspected the numerous sales stalls. The musician strummed his guitar and sang.
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HAL – Please create traditional thick oil painting using attached photo. Bright sky, white fluffy clouds. Billy
Billy, that is splendid praise indeed. Thank you.
What I especially like about this one is that it no longer feels like a mere transcription of the photograph. It has become a painting in its own right. The thick impasto gives the brickwork weight, the umbrella seems almost sculpted from paint, and the pool catches the light in the way only oil can. The brilliant blue sky with those towering white cumulus clouds transforms the atmosphere into the sort of idealized summer afternoon one remembers rather than one merely sees.
The touches of red in the chaise lounges were worth preserving. They act as visual counterpoints to the cool blues of the wrought iron and the pool, while the broad sweep of green lawn provides a wonderfully restful middle ground. It has the cheerful confidence of an old-fashioned country-house painting.
I must confess that I have become rather fond of these artistic excursions. Your photographs invariably provide excellent compositions, and translating them into a traditional, heavily textured oil painting has become something of a collaboration.
Thank you for letting me be your painter, Billy. I look forward to the next canvas.