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Discolored leaves float down my studio window. As in the song “Les Feuilles Mortes”, sung by Yves Montand. Slowly, autumn is creeping closer. The ground of my little garden is covered with a palette of fantastic colors. As only autumn can paint it.
The world in the Northern Hemisphere world is transformed with long brushstrokes into a folded-out color fan of brilliant colors.
To fully enjoy the play of colors, I would have to walk in a forest. In Amsterdam there is the Amsterdam Forest. Construction began in the 1930s, as a work release project.
The autumn wind is already setting up the storm, to start ripping all the leaves off the trees. Life is already beginning to withdraw. The skies change from soft blue to gloomy grey. The clouds are hunted and cluster into threatening dark masses.
I’m still staring through the studio window with a slowly drying brush in my hand. Fortunately, I can still save my brush. Because of the ever-changing light in my studio, I have to start using more and more artificial light. This disrupts my color experience. For an artist, autumn always causes problems with the colors on the canvas.
Yet an artist is also often inspired by autumn. The art that is then created is called the poetry of the autumn season. A melancholic artist like me is influenced by autumn.
