One of my favourite painters had an ancestor who coined new names for clouds.
He made a taxonomy for those flickers and flares of light and dark that hang ominously or stream like banners over the landscape of our days.
Clouds are the roof of our world. Dismal or fair, grey or white, looming or bright cirrus streams through blue space.
Light and cloud are the visible weather of the heart.
I spent a month in Newfoundland, more precisely, on the Northern Peninsula with a short journey to Battle Harbour in Labrador. What place has so much air, sky, sea, and land? The sculptured contour of it all…
The painter is drowned in light, drowned in dark, shadowed by grey fugitive light and the deep flaring red of the sea as last dregs of day drain into fallen evening.
