The Trees Were All Waiting For Him

WP_000453

9×12″ pastels on paper
July 20, 2012

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Inspired by the following passage from The Golden Key by George MacDonald:

The forest lay to the east, and the sun, which was setting behind the cottage, looked straight into the dark wood with his level red eye. The trees were all old, and had few branches below, so that the sun could see a great way into the forest and the boy, being keen-sighted, could see almost as far as the sun. The trunks stood like rows of red columns in the shine of the red sun, and he could see down aisle after aisle in the vanishing distance. And as he gazed into the forest he began to feel as if the trees were all waiting for him, and had something they could not go on with till he came to them.

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Where’er Thou Art, All Things Are Glorified

WP_000519

8×10 oil on canvas
July 23, 2012

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Inspired by the following section from the poem “Light” by George MacDonald:

The trees lean toward thee, and, in loving pain,
Keep turning still to see thee yet again;

South sides of pines, haunted all day by thee,
Bear violins that tremble humanly.

And nothing in thine eyes is mean or low:
Where’er thou art, on every side,
All things are glorified;

And where thou canst not come, there thou dost throw
Beautiful shadows, made out of the dark,
That else were shapeless; now it bears thy mark.

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The Sun, That Had Nursed Them So Long, Grew Weary of Loving

WP_000538

7×9 oil on canvas
July 23, 2012

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Inspired by the following passage from Phantastes by George MacDonald:

She watched them dying for many a day,
Dropping from off the old trees away,
One by one; or else in a shower
Crowding over the withered flower
For as if they had done some grievous wrong,
The sun, that had nursed them and loved them so long,
Grew weary of loving, and, turning back,
Hastened away on his southern track;
And helplessly hung each shrivelled leaf,
Faded away with an idle grief.

And the gusts of wind, sad Autumn’s sighs,
Mournfully swept through their families;
Casting away with a helpless moan
All that he yet might call his own,
As the child, when his bird is gone for ever,
Flingeth the cage on the wandering river.

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She Looked a Wanderer

WP_000546

9×12″ watercolor on paper
July 24, 2012

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Inspired by the following passage from “The Homeless Ghost” by George MacDonald:

He watched, but saw her speak to none,
Saw no one speak to her;
Like one decried, she stood alone,
From the window did not stir;
Her hair by a haunting gust was blown,
Her eyes in the shadow strangely shown,
She looked a wanderer.

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Eye of the Child

Eye of the Child

9×12″ watercolor on paper
July 24, 2012

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Inspired by the following passage from Phantastes by George MacDonald:

But is it not rather that art rescues nature from the weary and sated regards of our senses, and the degrading injustice of our anxious everyday life, and, appealing to the imagination, which dwells apart, reveals Nature in some degree as she really is, and as she represents herself to the eye of the child, whose every-day life, fearless and unambitious, meets the true import of the wonder-teeming world around him, and rejoices therein without questioning?

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