Weekly Zephyr #120: Walkway

This is one of my favorite paintings. I’ve put this painting on my phone as wallpaper so I can see it every day, many times a day.

What is it that I love about it so?

The lamp, for one, the streetlamp. I’m mad for lamps in general. Such a kind form of light. Non-oppressive, hope-delivering.

For a lamp to be relevant, to be what it’s meant to be, there has to be at least a dusk or deep-cloud-level darkness around it. They’re for night, in their hearts. (I’m endowing them with hearts. I can do what I want.)

Lamps don’t send the darkness all the way away, like ridiculous overhead lights do, the worst, my sworn enemies. Relentless, overhead lights. Trying to only have their own way, who cares how *you* feel about light in the given moment. Lamps say, “Here’s some light. Come near if you want some. Or step away if it’s too much, that’s fine.”

The darkness is a presence with a lamp. Contrast is a presence. I love high contrast almost as much as I love a lamp. Well, those loves are bound together, aren’t they.

What else do I love in this painting. The trees, evergreens, the saturated color that’s still not too bright. I’m not one for your summer citrus colors. I like things darker. Dark and vivid together in a color, that’s living.

The walkway, finally. We’re still alive and have no choice but to go forward. Even if we stand still, time is going to move us forward anyway. The simple visual representation of a way forward without a lot of noise around it, without people saying “That’s not a way forward, that’s blocked” or “There’s no way forward”, just: look, here’s one. The path implies us moving along it. Which we will have to do anyway.