September 9, 1997

"Porch, Provincetown, 1977" - Joel Meyerowitz

If there was a photo that could capture the essence of serenity, Joel Meyerowitz's photograph, "Porch, Provincetown, 1977" does it. The usual rough edges of human-made objects like the porch is softened by the setting sun's reflection off the water. The color of the sky consists of blues fading into reds that is set against a gray-blue sea. You can hardly even notice the little boat with people in it, which adds to the idea that nature is magnanimous to people. I think that is a great touch because while this view makes me feel calm and peaceful, it does not make me feel lonely. I think that this photograph has great balance: balance between the sky and the sea, balance between natural and human-made objects, balance between red and blue, balance between night and day. The reddened part of the sky almost seems to fuse the blue sky and the blue sea below it. The porch takes over the left side whereas nature dominates the right. The timing of the photograph seems to be dawn or dusk, two times that sit between night and day. Everything is smooth…serene. It's as if I can glide my palm along the column, along the railings, along the sea surface, along the sky and feel the same thing. There are no signs of chaos. Even the water around the boat is still. The tiny ripples in the sea are similar to the streaks of white clouds in the sky and the hints of red along the porch.

Porch, Austin, 1997

It was about 6:30 in the evening when I decided to go out my balcony and sketch the large tree that overlooks it. I just watched the tree for about five minutes before starting to sketch at all. The tree's size made me think about how long the tree has actually been there and why it was there. Was it there because someone loved trees and decided to plant one long before the buildings were built? Or was it there because the apartment owners thought it would add to the appeal of the property? And even more curious is why, in this industrial economy, is the tree still standing at all? Perhaps I should not be concerned with why, but with the simple fact that it exists right here in front of my eyes. The important thing is that someone loved trees enough to plant it, and we still love trees to leave it there.

The mass of leaves could not help but be the central subject of the sketch. I decided to start with everything that framed the leaves. First I started with the balcony itself, which served as a frame for the tree itself. Then I drew the trunk and the branches. There is another building behind the tree on the right hand side. When I started to draw it, I had a very difficult time getting the perspective right and the lines right. I constantly erased and redrew. It made me realize how much more natural it was for me to draw the natural objects in relation to the man-made ones. There is a sort of freedom and flow that comes with drawing nature that just does not come with geometrically-perfect buildings.

I saw the leaves as a mass and in order to capture that unity, I sketched in the open holes of sky that I saw instead. It is somewhat ironic that I drew everything surrounding the leaves in order to "draw" the leaves. When I started to color the leaves it made me think about how each leaf was a "green prism." The leaves would vary from deep green to yellow depending on how the light, in this case it was the sun, reflected off them. The sun was bright and obvious when I was sketching and you can distinguish (hopefully) where the sun was in relation to the tree by looking at the leaves' colors.

It is rather evident that I am no artist, but I enjoy the process. I enjoy the concentration and the careful coordination between eye and hand. Although the sketch itself is not one of immense detail, the amount of detailed concentration that was put into it was high. I am greatly influenced by the impressionists and the artwork that I do is often an "impression" rather than a realistic depiction.

Looking at the sketch, there are noticeably some flaws in my observation. The trunk is clearly seen without a single leaf in front of it. There must be leaves that block some part of the trunk, but I just overlooked it. I'm not sure why except when I sketch, I break up objects into parts, and because the part with the trunk was done, I did not bother to go back and fill in any leaves that my have covered it. Perhaps now when I sketch or paint, I will learn to look at the scene as a whole instead of the sum of its parts.