I haven’t posted to Illustration Friday in quite a while, and wouldn’t the topic, “Night,” just so happen to suit my newest little painting, “October Moonrise,” perfectly?
I painted this earlier this morning using a photo I took three weeks ago as I was driving on Hwy 40 towards Fraser. Between the towns of Tabernash and Fraser, a vast cattle and horse ranch flanks the highway on either side. It was about 6:30pm when I started taking pictures of the sunset, which quickly faded to dusk. On the westward side of the road, the sky glowed for a moment in hot pinks, lemons and tangerines until the sun dropped completely behind Byer’s Peak. To the East, Byers and the surrounding mountain range cast a cool shadow on the Continental Divide, and at that moment the moon made it’s appearance–but gradually, as if on a dimmer switch. The gold fields held onto the pink of the sun for a moment longer, and within nanoseconds, the chill of night fell.
In this valley, no sooner does the sun drop than the temperatures plummet, as any residual warmth is ambushed by the heavy, cold air that was trapped around the snowcaps during daylight. Always have a warm coat with you if you venture out past noon, no matter how persistent the sun seems to be. It WILL get cold.
Before Sunrise, October 30, after an overnight snowfall
The landscape outside our window was particularly eerie the morning before Halloween. I had almost forgotten about it until I downloaded my last batch of photos. Andrew was up before me, and called me out of bed to look at the unusual scene, not unlike a daguerreotype of our usual view. It felt atomic, surreal.
Sunrise, October 30, facing further East
If that wasn’t wonderous enough… when I peered as far East as I could, what I saw looked like Heaven. That’s the only way I could possibly describe it. This must be what cloud living would look and feel like. I wish I could have gotten a shot of the ethereal scene without any reflections from the windows. It was a bit too cold to venture outside in my pajamas… though in some weird way, it doesn’t really look that cold, does it? The light looks warm and inviting, and if I had tiptoed outside, I think I might have been able to walk on air.
When things feel lonely or strange, there is always some unreal natural wonder to marvel at and reassure me that there is no other place like this on Earth. This is why I am right here, right now. I have been craving this kind of inspiration.
