Moroccan shades of light

I was being driven along through the African countryside early one evening, which gave me time to enjoy the view. When dusk started to tumble from her perch, my artist’s eyes became enamored with the peculiar light of the dusk, which is decidedly different on this continent, than anywhere else I have ever been. Could the reason be that this is the place, which purportedly saw the dawn of mankind and that the Africa‘s light therefore seems older and truer to these tired eyes of mine? Or is this just another of my romantic notions?

Although I dearly love the mountains, hills and valleys in Spain, I could not in all honesty say that they I find them beautiful, in that the light(always the light!) over there is too harsh and blinding to differentiate between the myriad shades of colours that Nature provides. Not so here! I was thrilled to the core by the tones of burnt Sienna and green Umber that melded into each other in exquisite harmony. Would that I had my easel and paints with me and time to depict it for your pleasure.

I had noticed these shades and tones in certain paintings by wonderful masters of their art, but had written them off as fanciful dreaming and wishful thinking by the authors. I am ever so glad to be caught out and can finally admire this beauty for myself,  in the flesh of Mother Earth’s skin. I’ve had an epiphany of sorts, concerning the greys, which I had hitherto despised as being untrue to the spectrum. Again, I have to admit that I was gravely mistaken and that they are indeed needed, as glue to hold the complete picture together.

If only the esteemed Mister Monet could have visited these hallowed grounds and been at liberty to regale us with a symphony of his own unique palette for a rendition of this African peacock, which stuns us with his magnificence. The mountains here seem to look down upon us, mere mortals, with an ancient wisdom and a sadness at the loss of their collective virginity. Ugly monotonous buildings are like scars on the faces of these holy surfaces of the planet’s shroud. Man and his infernal progress has arrived and has defaced the original canvas with his infantile attempts at improving that which needed no change whatsoever.

My heart bleeds in sympathy and my artist’s psyche is revolted at the spectacle of monstrously bland concrete highrises, for the new lords of mediocrity and the tourists to dwell in, at the same time despoiling the authenticity of the maker’s creation. Where once cranes flew in circles that were in harmony with their surroundings, now other cranes stand still and force ever higher eyesores upon our irises. What a crying shame!

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