Panhandle Sky and Intuition
Posted on 04 February 2010
Yesterday I painted a childhood scene, above. I was born and lived on the flat plains of the Texas Panhandle until I was about 10 years old. The land may be flat out there (oh yes, it defines “flat”), but the sky is multi-dimensional and ever changing. Clouds build in fathoms moving upward, their color and shape spectacularly mounting and powerful. Shadows from the clouds move like vast omens across the land at times. And when rain came, I remember running from it with other children in summer time, until at last, the cloud full of rain caught up with us, and giant round drops of warm water made dark circles on dry dirt, or on paved roads. The sky gave what the land did not–a particular elevated and hopeful, colorful, mysterious bounty. Where the land was austere, silent and seemingly ungiving for the most part, the sky was overly generous, entertaining and voluptuous. The wind was it’s agent, whirling up dust devils and making the songs of ghosts, the way it could howl an eerie song on some days. It brought jagged looking and well-beat tumbleweeds passing by. They seemed like roaming story tellers who happened along, and somewhat like victims of circumstance. The sky knew where they had been before. I grew up expecting the sky to tell me something. I learned to look at the clouds for information and guidance. The intuitive kind of knowing that comes from feeling inspired by the brilliance in nature is what I’m talking about here, the way sky communicates that which we ought to have recognized anyway, but need prompts and reminders. Gentle and sometimes dramatic. I believe the sky is “the veil” between us and heaven, and it symbolizes our ability to know intuitively and to quietly observe things which we need unveiled. It is like doing a tea reading, but instead of looking down into a tea cup, you just look up instead.
8 responses to Panhandle Sky and Intuition
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Perfect! I remember when Tom & Janey went with us to Colorado in the motorhome and we stopped in Groom. Tom was just so amazed at how the sky seemed never-ending; it could be seen as far as one could see. He was just in awe of this. You really capture the way it looks, but more importantly, the way it FEELS. I could really get homesick looking at this sketch. Mom
I have been sitting, watching the sky for a few days now, listening to the information that the clouds have been giving me. It’s like they were waiting patiently for me to listen and they seemed so happy when I did!
Much love, Caryl ♥
One of the activities for my ecopsychology class for this week was a reading about labels, words and domination over our senses. After reading we connect with Nature to see what shows up as an “attraction” to help us experience what was just read. Here’s what I wrote:
“I was attracted to the clear blue sky for this activity. I was pulled into the thought of infinity and the feeling that the sky cannot be contained, it’s endless. We cannot conceptualize the terms forever, infinity, endless; they are only words. And what is blue? The feeling I got from this section I wasn’t able to put into words.”
I was going to comment on your post yesterday about the river… funny how today you wrote about the sky which was more fitting. I had the sensation of being merged with the sky, just spreading out further and further. Then the sky became merged with me and inside of me. A very cool feeling.
Peace & Blessings,
Tania
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Funny, I was just had a conversation with Josh last night about the skies in Texas and Kansas. Your art just takes me right back there again!
Again, beautiful painting-what you’re doing right now would do well with your written observations in a gallery.
Like the idea of “reading” clouds-I think Joni Mitchell figured that one out too!
Su
The time I have spent in the south, flat and empty. I felt lost not seeing my mountains I have always been in the mountains about 4500 – 6500 ft area it is so hard to put into words my feeling and the relief of seeing my mountains.
Love the scale here, Elaine. And that green! The essence of spring.