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The profanity of paint cover

The profanity of paint

Chapter 3: 2. My Friends the Trees
By William Kiddier
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ArtPhilosophy & Ethics

About This Book

A collection of short, reflective essays by a painter that privilege romantic vision and intuition over technical realism, treating colour as a mutable, almost spiritual force beyond pigments. Through meditations on trees and the limits of representation, the author argues that literal training and excessive knowledge can stifle true artistic feeling, and he champions silence, poetic language, and personal temperament as essential to creation. Individual chapters address rhythm, relation, critics, the middle class, extravagance, tragedy, genius, and the idea of a masterpiece, concluding with moral reflections on the artist’s mission and the tension between perception and portrayal.

2. My Friends the Trees

I   HAVE loved trees all my life; they were the friends of my baby years. Though the land of the trees seemed far away from the close-built houses, I wandered thither with great joy and never knew that my little feet were tired. The tall aspens were the most wonderful things in the world: they are still. I shed tears on being told that the Cross was made from one of them. I have wept since at the sight of their trembling leaves. They trembled for the tragedy of Golgotha. I know they will tremble to the end of the world. Melancholy trees! O but they are beautiful—beautiful and gentle like a nun with a prayer quivering upon her lips, with her white fingers and her rosary sparkling from under her robe: and, lo, the aspens are all alike, as she and her holy sisters must needs be for the sake of their holiness.

Sensitive to all the changes of the sky, the aspen reflects wondrous colour; the leaves, like a million little mirrors, draw the blue and the purple from above and drink the orange from departing suns. And all the colour and the light blend in subtle harmonies like the precious pearls on the neck of a goddess. Ah! do they not pulsate like the strings of beads on a maiden’s breast? The vision is fleeting as it is beautiful; the colour upon the leaves, like that in the dews around, is surely spiritual.