Art download: The mountains keep rising
On the blue of distance.
“For many years, I have been moved by the blue at the far edge of what can be seen, that color of horizons, of remote mountain ranges, of anything far away.”
— Rebecca Solnit
Hello there! And welcome to Dandelion Seeds, an illustrated newsletter that is hand-drawn and hand-lettered, from my desk to yours.
This week marks the end of what could be called the first official season of Dandelion Seeds. Two months ago today, I shared the first chapter of “Home is a Window Seat,” and since then, I’ve loved sharing sneak peeks, the full essay, and even a special edition inspired by your own window seat stories.
That means there’s only one thing left to share before this illustrated essay series is complete: a free art download from the story that you are welcome to use and enjoy in your day-to-day life, inspired by my painting of the Andes mountains.
But first, I want to share a little about the process of bringing this painting to life:
Something you might not know about me is that I can be a rather impatient artist.
If a scene isn’t coming together by the point that I feel it should, I can get in a bit of a huff about it, and that’s exactly what happened with this painting.
At first, I really struggled with how to portray the snow-capped mountains. I couldn’t decide whether to start with a dark background and add layers of snow on top, or start light and then go dark.
My husband Jose — who’d taken Elena to see his family so I could have some time to paint — just so happened to walk in the door right between photos 2 and 3 above, and the first thing I said to him was, “I think I need to just start over with this one.”
But then, something told me to add that thin band of dark blue you can see on the horizon of photo 3, and suddenly the painting began to bring me joy. That one band of blue gave the whole scene a new sense of depth, and it gave me just the momentum I needed to see the painting through to completion.
In her book, A Field Guide to Getting Lost, Rebecca Solnit even has a name for this shade of blue — the blue of distance:
“The blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance…
“For many years, I have been moved by the blue at the far edge of what can be seen, that color of horizons, of remote mountain ranges, of anything far away. The color of that distance is the color of an emotion, the color of solitude and of desire, the color of there seen from here, the color of where you are not.”
I’ve always been moved by that last phrase: the color of where you are not.
Because the truth is, I’m not only an impatient artist; I can also be impatient in life, always eager to be further along on things than I am.
And so I’m grateful for both the process of working on this illustration, and for Rebecca Solnit’s poignant words, for the reminder that even when we aren’t yet where we want to be — in a painting, in a project, in life itself — there’s still beauty to be found in the journey of getting there.
There’s beauty in the blue of distance.
And now, for the downloads:
This month, I’ve created two new iPhone wallpapers — one featuring my painting of the Andes from “Home is a Window Seat,” and another with a few lines from the essay hand-lettered over the artwork. All you need to do is click on the button below each image to download it for free.
See you next week!
Candace
What a great perspective: "...for the reminder that even when we aren’t yet where we want to be... there’s still beauty to be found in the journey of getting there. There’s beauty in the blue of distance".
I have trouble being patient in the middle of a journey, when there are unknowns and endless possibilities. I had a vision 2 weeks ago that I was in the middle of a flurry of butterflies taking off. I described it to my husband as chaos - not being able to tell one butterfly apart from the other and desperately wanting them to all land and settle; thinking that the landing of the butterflies would help me get my bearings.
My husband told me that this is not the case at all. The only butterfly that takes off as a group is the monarch butterfly. And the explosive action is not a sign of transformation, they have already turned into butterflies. Nothing new is going on. Rather, this group soul of harmonized movement is an instinctive knowing that the next phase in life has come, the time for migration. Migration is a time of united action. No one flies into anyone, and they fly together, as a group, knowing that some will be sacrificed on the edge, eaten by predators, to protect the majority of the group. It is magnetic, a soul murmuring, and they are guided by the aura or energetic force from each other butterfly around them.
It really helped me reframe my vision. And this reminder to see the beauty in the journey is another reminder to stop and enjoy rather than grasping anything to move forward.
Gorgeous! Solnit’s words take my breath away every time. That’s one of my favorite books. I would love to be able to share an image in this comment - that deep blue line is the same I’ve painted my way into observing at a serene, special place called Brewster Flats on Cape Cod. (Indigo+ultramarine in my watercolors) I love that it brings you joy. And me, as well, looking at your painting and hearing about your process. Thank you!