Sunday morning and I’m thinking, of all things, about Henri Rousseau.
I’ve always been attracted to his work, mainly by the quality and density of his color. It is rich and deep and translates easily to the eye and mind. The lushness of his many greens and the way they all come together so cohesively is another factor.
Then there his life as a self-taught painter, a man who was never taken quite seriously in his lifetime. Quite compelling and an object lesson for artists everywhere to stick with their own vision and not be swayed by the style of the day to merely fit in with that which prevails.
Obsessionism…
That’s the first time I’ve used this term and one that my wife, Cheri, uses to describe my work. I’m still trying to define this definition. In my head, it’s the intoxication of color, when I’m in front of a piece and the color I’m working in is deep and strong and I seem to be within the paint itself, engulfed and embraced. Time is irrelevant at that moment and floats away.
Thought becomes mute. It is not from the front of the brain anymore, it is deeper, instinctual and reactive. Ancient and ingrained.
It becomes a different form of expression where language is reduced to sensation, the feel of the wind above, the excitement raised by a mere arc or curve. The depth of color. Raw emotion.
Obsessionism. It leaves me at a loss for words to properly describe what the term means to me but I see it in the work of Rousseau and perhaps that is why I am so drawn to it.
Redtree Times 