We’re just coming off the April full moon (last night, gleaming through the slats in the blinds, she woke me; though waning gibbous, she still left me breathless) . Her names are hopeful: the Pink Moon; the Full Sprouting-Grass Moon; the Egg Moon; the Full Fish Moon.
Here in the Bay Area I think she’s best called the Grass Moon. It’s a name that celebrates the luxurious growth of plants reveling in moisture at the end of our short damp winter.
This is a painting from Russian Ridge (right now one of my favorite places in the Bay). On the day I painted this, the marine layer (aka fog) covered the mountains, hugging the ridge in the drippy embrace of the not-too-distant ocean. The grass raved viridian, turquoise, and shining wet jade green around this little outcropping of rocks.
In just a few weeks the grass will yellow and turn white-gold in the California sun. Even now the poverty grass is silvering, turning the color of a new moon.
4 thoughts on “Grass moon”
Breathtaking, as usual. I love your work!
Thank you! It means a lot to hear that.
I find my mouth watering while reading your descriptions of the colors. You really capture the FEEL OF FOG in this painting: lovely.
Thanks Chris. I love fog. It’s like swimming, only you can breathe. It softens all the edges and colors and sounds.
I love this quote:
“Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land. The fog and the sea seemed part of each other. It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. As if I had drowned long ago. As if I was the ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea. It felt damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost.”
― Eugene O’Neill, Long Day’s Journey Into Night
Comments are closed.