The end of summer has come with some hot days, but autumn is near. The sound of falling acorns can be heard everywhere and the cobwebs glisten in the evening sun.
The growth of foliage on trees, undergrowth and grass is at its peak now. Each and every patch of soil seems to have done it’s job for this year. The clear transparent order of bare trunks and branches in winter has made place for a veritable jungle in green.
I try to do my sketches only with a minimal plan and prefer to play with the colours and forms as I find them. Not much thought about composition is necessary in the forest, also it is easy to neglect and change elements of the scenery.
I just put in patches of colours creating a pattern that finally weaves an image of a forest.The sketch is what has been there, but it is not a copy.
My thoughts go to poetry I am reading : John Burnside an English,German volume of poems called “an attempt about light”. I snatched a signed copy in one of the most “beautiful european bookshops”. Burnside is a remarkable author who evokes images and resonances from unknown places inside and yet unfolds his view of the world. I wonder whether his poems are realistic, more realistic than that what we see?