Seasons of Nature, Seasons of Art
Story 1, Seasons of Nature
Perhaps you’re familiar with e.e. cummings’s poem, in Just- spring, which celebrates the mud-luscious, the puddle-wonderful, the running, the dancing, and the whistling of the micro-season he identifies as Just-spring. It’s a distinct mini-season in the big picture of spring as a whole—that little stretch of time when leaves are tender chartreuse confetti-like bits, just unfurling; buds are tiny and tight for a few minutes, pop open in brilliance for a few more minutes, then drop to the ground; catkins open up in wonky sci-fi configurations before leafing out.
Story 2, Seasons of Art
Boxing Day
Story 3, Seasons of Art, Update
At the vernal equinox, I propped Lichen-Rusted Kaffeeklatsch in a stand on the small side table in our front entry. At that time it complemented what could be seen outside our front door—bare branches, stark tree trunks, a dull color palette. But then Just-spring arrived, and I just could not let that painting stand as it was. So I updated it!
6 x 6″; acrylic, ink, oil pastel, and pencil on canvasboard
abstract treescape
2024=====
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9 responses to “Seasons of Nature, Seasons of Art”
Even though the English of your blog is almost out of my reach, I think I know what you’re talking about. I always feel that (when it’s correct what I understand of what you wrote) when I see the very first leaves of the beech, when the leaves are bright, bright green, curled, hairy, the light goes straight through, and puts the whole wood in a bright yellow green light.
I just recently learned of the concept of micro-seasons, through something Roseanne shared (The ancient Japanese almanac of 72 micro-seasons provides a map of time that is a mixture of culture and nature. This calendar notes incremental changes in nature, demarcating different periods with names that reflect these seasonal changes.) I have long observed personal micro-seasons that are a mixture of personal experience and nature; now I know to call them micro-seasons : )
I have several favorites among e.e. cummings’ poems, and in Just- Spring is one of them!
Lola, I love picturing your being on your hikes commenting on how unbelievably GREEN everything is in the newness of spring. I can see you both hiking, feel you both noticing, hear you both exclaiming. That green is magical. Magnificent. Miraculous. Life-affirming. and SOOO GREEN! Thanks for running your fingers over those textured lichen-rusted trees in my painting : )
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