Blue, green, yellow, white: candy-coloured stripes of field and sky amaze me on these near-twilight drives I have been taking recently. So much so that I find myself wondering if the colours I see are only in my mind; if I am the only one seeing such excitement in a dull landscape.
Which in turn starts me thinking about colours, how it is that some knock you out while others are lifeless and shallow. What is it that creates depth in a colour? Or rather, what is it that makes us see depth and intensity? Is it in the thing we see, in the light around it, in the eye of the beholder?
Which takes me back a few months to conversation with friends about abstract art and why it works when it does – sparked by a mooch round Tate Modern where I was taken by surprise by Mondrian, a square of red that went straight to my heart – why?
I remember that feeling when I turned a corner and saw the painting, like a Cupid’s shaft to the heart, leaving warmth, recognition, calm, joy. It is the same feeling I have when I turn back at the end of the dog field, turn towards home and the view of church and trees against the sky; daily surprised by this everyday beauty, the colours everywhere.
I wish I understood the mystery; and / but I love the grace that comes from surprise and not-knowing.