We’re all affected by the weather. It’s just that we’re affected in deeply different ways. Art is the same. There are commonalities, we know something is abstract or naturalistic or minimalist. But how we feel standing in front of a Rothko or a Gericault or a Morris is personal.
I’ve been lamenting the weather here. It’s warm and sunny, and has been mostly so for the past couple of months. One of the reasons I wanted to move to the Pacific Northwest was weather, change of season, a break from constant hot and sunny. Wishing for change won’t make it so.
So it was that, after the third person chided me for being anxious to get into the rainy cold season, I sat for a minute and thought about what I was doing. I was rushing the moment, trying to affect transformation of reality instead of accepting and living in the moment. I know that must sound terribly mushy-headed or what used to be called airy-fairy, vague hand-waving near-mysticism. But there’s a usable, practical, real component to a lot of New Age type ideas: being present helps us live our lives more fully.
I noticed good things about having sunshine on these fall days above the 45th parallel. I can seen the colors of leaves turning gold, orange, and red more clearly. I can look up at the wonderful heights of the city around me without a face full of water to squint through. It’s easy to get around. Leaves are delightfully crunchy as I kick through them on my way to work. I accept what is, just as I’ll accept how the constant rain to come is renewing all this life around me.
And art? Art is the same. I have to be good at accepting how it is in the moment, and try not to spend too much energy and time wishing it were better. Everything in time.