Even my myriad descriptions for that which is grey in the skies above fall flat in this winter of myriad grey day, upon day, upon day....
Yesterday, just as the last light eked from the sky, a crack opened on the clouded horizon and lo, sun. The light in the work room shifted dramatically, and every piece of glass took on new color and intensity. I announced that we all must hurry outside and soak up, if only for a single minute, this rare sliver of sun. Grumbles from my compatriots "I'm busy working", but I insisted, and so the three of us tromped out in the mild afternoon where the colors went from this:
in as long as it took me to shoot the first photo.
We spend all day inside working with color, struggling with angles of light from the work lamps, mixing colors on the palette. M. painted a new batch of glass the other night and in daylight all the colors appeared muddy. And then we are given this gift from the universe of less than five minutes of intense natural light, and then it's gone, and we must go back to trying to recreate that in the studio, hoping that some neural pathways in the brain made their infinitesimal chemical connections so that it's not lost to us.
As I sit and type this, the first streaks of the dawn sky appear through the leaf-stripped maples -- a black lacework against blue and pink rays. Need I mention that, once again, I rush outside (this time in nightgown and bathrobe) to soak up yet again those fleeting bits of of the troposphere? The spin of the planet, celestial bodies in motion... Welcome back, Sun. And stick around this time, will ya?