Eastern Parkway and The Loneliness of Autumn
Where I reside it's been overcast for some time now. An inconvenience or even a nuisance to those here who wish to soak up the sun. Well as for a chionophile like myself I've found a temperature I'm accustomed to. I’ve finally found comfort for the first time in weeks. Along with this "frigid" veil, a few scattered showers made appearances throughout the past few days. Thus spoiling my inner pluviophile.
Days such as these remind me of a painting I’m incredibly fond of. I believe it's called The Loneliness of Autumn. A walkway enveloped by trees. Lit by lamps that beamed on the thin layer of water that rested on the hexagonal stone tiles that form the walkway itself. The painting is so dear to me because of its ties to a very fond memory of mine. I was around the age of 4 my grandmother had me for the day, and from what I can remember from the thick haze I call a memory (I’m only sixteen, hopefully, it gets better with age.) I recall it being fun. It was a rainy day in Autumn quite similar to the one depicted in the painting. It must have been a lovely evening because I wasn’t happy about leaving, but it was getting late. We ended up walking down Eastern Parkway in a light drizzle under the gaze of lamps strung about the path. I remember the warmth of her hand around mine and her big clear umbrella. She swung our hands the tempo matched the song she was humming as an attempt to cheer me up. Despite the seemingly great resistance it worked.
Most notably I was captivated with the interaction between the lights and the rain. The warm reddish-orange hues pierced the prismatic mist created by the rain like needles through a cloth. This formed an ambient cinnabar brume. The precipitation left behind little droplets on the foliage and on various benches in the current lighting they seemed like gemstones. As if someone sprinkled little garnets and ambers. The spray also left us a thin film of water that birthed a breathtaking speculum. Each step either of us took sent a rippling effect that distorted the image and the light it reflected. To a four-year-old, it was like walking on a magic mirror.
The delicate dazzling brilliance of the lighting coupled with the mellifluous static of the rain brought into being a real phantasmagoria. Almost as if this very moment was serenity’s paragon. A reference to tranquility. In my mind, whenever I overlay this painting over my memory it creates something that moves me to my core. The rumination of my memory coupled with this painting it created a picture indescribable with words alone. Its medium varies from various emotions without proper nomenclature and the secluded memories of a sixteen-year-old. It is both equal parts terrifying and comforting to note that no artist could ever hope to muster any masterpiece that could captivate me more than that little memory in my head.
Thank you, for reading! Tell me what you think down in the comments.