On the March

P1080948

Turkeys strutting it along the boulevard in front of my urban studio! I’m a lark, an early riser.  I swear that you see the most interesting sights in any city in the morning.  This fellow was preening, opening his tail, and doing a mating dance for a stopped car  as I went early to the studio to prep for my art class.

In Bodrum, Turkey, I saw sheep being driven into the surf at the beach at dawn to wash them off, baaa-ing in the foam.  In Naples, Italy at dawn, the gentle sound of sweeping of the stoops and streets in front of the stores fills the air. This meditative cleanup of ancient byways readies space and soul  for a new day of commerce.  Later in the day this vanishes, filled with shouts, songs, scooters, and swearing. In Rome, the church doors open at dawn for an exquisite, almost empty mass, echoing in the vaulted arches, remnants of incense lingering in the air.  Only the devoted come to church at dawn. In Bangalore, India, the temple elephants are taken out for dawn walks through the town to eat from the vegetable garbage reserved for them by restaurant and shop owners the night before, large grey walls of breathing hide  swaying in the dim light.

I love the feeling of a clean new start that each dawn brings.  Soon enough the “marching orders” for the day begin– the schedule, the calender, the workday, the clock.  Dawn is still time-less.  March is from the god Mars.  Spring starts up and gives its orders.  Under the shoots of tender green a red power and force turn, turn the wheel of seasons.

Here are my canvas soldiers, abstract starts lounging on the couch, waiting for marching orders.

Saltworkstudio sofa

Saltworkstudio sofa

This piece got its marching orders, and went forth into the painted fray.

Suzanne Edminster, Mixed media, 12" x 12"

Suzanne Edminster, Mixed media, 12″ x 12″

March forth.  What time of day reveals the most unusual sights and beautiful visions for you?

8 comments

  1. I love your poetic musings about what happens (or rather doesn’t) during those wee hours of nascent daylight. Makes me wish I were a morning person. Sigh. (My motto: The best thing about morning is that it’s over by noon…..) Love your painting starts awaiting further orders.

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  2. I can no longer do the early morning rising, so I dearly love hearing about it and seeing your images! I never thought of March as related to Mars, but of course, of course! The month has definitely been giving orders. . .and what month gives forth the restfulness?!

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    1. Restful seasons… the dog days in late July and August, when Leo the lion lazes and lets others do the work and serve the king or queen. But it seems in our culture we object to rest. It has to be hidden, or done secretly, under the guise of illness– the “sick day.” It is sick to think that rest is illness or shameful. Uh oh, I got on my soapbox here…

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  3. Dusk is the witching hour for me.
    In the deep of winter on the Oslo Fjord dusk begins at 2:30, often with the magic sundown colors of orange, purple and red mixing with mists rising from the fjord. Or turning the fjord to strips of pink and bright blue reflecting back from the ice. The magic of the movement of color. Lights twinkling from across the fjord in the deepening blue dusk.
    In the summer when the sun is still watching over everything until almost midnight, the only sign of the day deepening is the subtle movement of color on the rippling water below, even a ripple from a swimming duck or swan gives off a color that isn’t seen in the bright of day.
    I am watching nature in these dusk moments.
    I will have to get up for dawn to watch the movements of man, I see.

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