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I sold Autumn. Of all the paintings I've created, this is one that's nearest and dearest to my heart. I painted this in the fall of 2009, after I'd been living in Seattle for a few years. Although I'd acclimated quickly to the quirks of the weather in the PNW, I still missed the typical Northeast seasons that I was accustomed to. Autumn is my favorite season. I loved the sudden crispness in the air -- from balmy verdant summer to the quieter, refined and complex fall. I never saw death & decay, or mourned the end of summer holiday. I always saw September as a new beginning, heralded simultaneously by the start of another semester and reversion to dignity and order in life.
Autumn came, in part, by accident (happily so, like many paintings). At first I wanted a stately and refined pronouncement of the changing leaves against the yet vivid blues and greens of sky and earth. As I painted, though, I realized that part of my love for this season came in the unpredictability and ebullience of its expression -- whirling leaves finding flight in the air torrents, a cacophony of yellows, oranges, reds, sienna and umber swirling around you. Once I found the spirit, it was surprisingly quick to capture it. I actually finished this piece in a relatively short period of time, compared to many of my other works (which end up taking weeks or months or years).
And thus, a chapter comes to a close. Autumn symbolizes an end of a period, but also another beginning. I bid farewell to an old friend, but on her exit, she opens the door for further opportunities. I give another piece of my heart away, but willingly and with the openness that will allow for greater experiences to find me.
“Know’st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?
Know’st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
Autumn Song
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI”
