I woke up very early this morning with many things running through my mind. All sorts of thoughts and imagery crowded my thoughts and I found myself thinking of this painting above, Strange Victory. It was painted many years ago and this is the only image I have of it, a bit more washed out than the original so it doesn’t quite catch the subtlety of the snowfield. It has long been a favorite of mine as well as of my wife who calls it the Dr. Zhivago painting. It is perhaps the piece I regret letting go most of all but at least I know where it is and know that it is well cared for with its current owner.
I particularly like the barren feel of the snowy plain and the way the sky dominates and sets the emotional tone of the piece, its red tones set against the cold setting in a way that makes the moment seem large as the figure trudges slowly forward. The rifle slung over his shoulder with the gun barrel down gives it an ominous sense, as though this figure was returning from battle or returning empty-handed from a hunt for sustenance. The moment just seems to loom large in this piece.
The title came after the painting was complete and was based on a favorite poem from Sara Teasdale, the great and tragic American poet. It is short and elegant, filled with the grand emotional swing of going from the depths of despair to an elation in finding someone familiar who has somehow survived where others have not. To find this simple discovery as something to rejoice of in the face of what seems to be total loss. Just a powerful statement of existence.
So, while I am up much earlier than I normally would be, I find myself thinking of this painting and these words. There are worse things…
Strange Victory
To this, to this, after my hope was lost,
To this strange victory;
To find you with the living, not the dead,
To find you glad of me;
To find you wounded even less than I,
Moving as I across the stricken plain;
After the battle to have found your voice
Lifted above the slain.
—Sara Teasdale
Redtree Times 